Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER I. MOROK.

  The month of October, 1831, draws to its close.

  Though it is still day, a brass lamp, with four burners, illumines thecracked walls of a large loft, whose solitary window is closed againstouter light. A ladder, with its top rungs coming up through an open trapleads to it.

  Here and there at random on the floor lie iron chains, spiked collars,saw-toothed snaffles, muzzles bristling with nails, and long iron rodsset in wooden handles. In one corner stands a portable furnace, such astinkers use to melt their spelter; charcoal and dry chips fill it, sothat a spark would suffice to kindle this furnace in a minute.

  Not far from this collection of ugly instruments, putting one in mindof a torturer's kit of tools, there are some articles of defence andoffence of a bygone age. A coat of mail, with links so flexible, close,and light, that it resembles steel tissue, hangs from a box beside ironcuishes and arm-pieces, in good condition, even to being properly fittedwith straps. A mace, and two long three-cornered-headed pikes, with ashhandles, strong, and light at the same time; spotted with lately-shedblood, complete the armory, modernized somewhat by the presence of twoTyrolese rifles, loaded and primed.

  Along with this arsenal of murderous weapons and out-of-dateinstruments, is strangely mingled a collection of very differentobjects, being small glass-lidded boxes, full of rosaries, chaplets,medals, AGNUS DEI, holy water bottles, framed pictures of saints, etc.,not to forget a goodly number of those chapbooks, struck off in Friburgon coarse bluish paper, in which you can hear about miracles of our owntime, or "Jesus Christ's Letter to a true believer," containing awfulpredictions, as for the years 1831 and '32, about impious revolutionaryFrance.

  One of those canvas daubs, with which strolling showmen adorn theirbooths, hangs from a rafter, no doubt to prevent its being spoilt by toolong rolling up. It bore the following legend:

  "THE DOWNRIGHT TRUE AND MOST MEMORABLE CONVERSION OF IGNATIUS MOROK, KNOWN AS THE PROPHET, HAPPENING IN FRIBURG, 1828TH YEAR OF GRACE."

  This picture, of a size larger than natural, of gaudy color, and in badtaste, is divided into three parts, each presenting an important phasein the life of the convert, surnamed "The Prophet." In the first, beholda long-bearded man, the hair almost white, with uncouth face, and cladin reindeer skin, like the Siberian savage. His black foreskin cap istopped with a raven's head; his features express terror. Bent forward inhis sledge, which half-a-dozen huge tawny dogs draw over the snow, heis fleeing from the pursuit of a pack of foxes, wolves, and big bears,whose gaping jaws, and formidable teeth, seem quite capable of devouringman, sledge, and dogs, a hundred times over. Beneath this section,reads:

  "IN 1810, MOROK, THE IDOLATER, FLED FROM WILD BEASTS."

  In the second picture, Morok, decently clad in a catechumen's white gownkneels, with clasped hands, to a man who wears a white neckcloth, andflowing black robe. In a corner, a tall angel, of repulsive aspect,holds a trumpet in one hand, and flourishes a flaming sword with theother, while the words which follow flow out of his mouth, in redletters on a black ground:

  "MOROK, THE IDOLATER, FLED FROM WILD BEASTS; BUT WILD BEASTS WILL FLEE FROM IGNATIUS MOROK, CONVERTED AND BAPTIZED IN FRIBURG."

  Thus, in the last compartment, the new convert proudly, boastfully, andtriumphantly parades himself in a flowing robe of blue; head up, leftarm akimbo, right hand outstretched, he seems to scare the wits out of amultitude of lions, tigers, hyenas, and bears, who, with sheathed claws,and masked teeth, crouch at his feet, awestricken, and submissive.

  Under this, is the concluding moral:

  "IGNATIUS MOROK BEING CONVERTED, WILD BEASTS CROUCH BEFORE HIM."

  Not far from this canvas are several parcels of halfpenny books,likewise from the Friburg press, which relate by what an astoundingmiracle Morok, the Idolater, acquired a supernatural power almostdivine, the moment he was converted--a power which the wildest animalcould not resist, and which was testified to every day by the liontamer's performances, "given less to display his courage than to showhis praise unto the Lord."

  Through the trap-door which opens into the loft, reek up puffs of arank, sour, penetrating odor. From time to time are heard sonorousgrowls and deep breathings, followed by a dull sound, as of great bodiesstretching themselves heavily along the floor.

  A man is alone in this loft. It is Morok, the tamer of wild beasts,surnamed the Prophet.

  He is forty years old, of middle height, with lank limbs, and anexceedingly spare frame; he is wrapped in a long, blood-red pelisse,lined with black fur; his complexion, fair by nature is bronzed by thewandering life he has led from childhood; his hair, of that dead yellowpeculiar to certain races of the Polar countries, falls straightand stiff down his shoulders; and his thin, sharp, hooked nose, andprominent cheek-bones, surmount a long beard, bleached almost towhiteness. Peculiarly marking the physiognomy of this man is the wideopen eye, with its tawny pupil ever encircled by a rim of white.This fixed, extraordinary look, exercises a real fascination overanimals--which, however, does not prevent the Prophet from alsoemploying, to tame them, the terrible arsenal around him.

  Seated at a table, he has just opened the false bottom of a box, filledwith chaplets and other toys, for the use of the devout. Beneath thisfalse bottom, secured by a secret lock, are several sealed envelopes,with no other address than a number, combined with a letter of thealphabet. The Prophet takes one of these packets, conceals it in thepocket of his pelisse, and, closing the secret fastening of the falsebottom, replaces the box upon a shelf.

  This scene occurs about four o'clock in the afternoon, in the WhiteFalcon, the only hostelry in the little village of Mockern, situatednear Leipsic, as you come from the north towards France.

  After a few moments, the loft is shaken by a hoarse roaring from below.

  "Judas! be quiet!" exclaims the Prophet, in a menacing tone, as he turnshis head towards the trap door.

  Another deep growl is heard, formidable as distant thunder.

  "Lie down, Cain!" cries Morok, starting from his seat.

  A third roar, of inexpressible ferocity, bursts suddenly on the ear.

  "Death! Will you have done," cries the Prophet, rushing towards the trapdoor, and addressing a third invisible animal, which bears this ghastlyname.

  Notwithstanding the habitual authority of his voice--notwithstandinghis reiterated threats--the brute-tamer cannot obtain silence: on thecontrary, the barking of several dogs is soon added to the roaring ofthe wild beasts. Morok seizes a pike, and approaches the ladder; he isabout to descend, when he sees some one issuing from the aperture.

  The new-comer has a brown, sun-burnt face; he wears a gray hat, bellcrowned and broad-brimmed, with a short jacket, and wide trousers ofgreen cloth; his dusty leathern gaiters show that he has walked somedistance; a game-bag is fastened by straps to his back.

  "The devil take the brutes!" cried he, as he set foot on the floor;"one would think they'd forgotten me in three days. Judas thrust his pawthrough the bars of his cage, and Death danced like a fury. They don'tknow me any more, it seems?"

  This was said in German. Morok answered in the same language, but with aslightly foreign accent.

  "Good or bad news, Karl?" he inquired, with some uneasiness.

  "Good news."

  "You've met them!"

  "Yesterday; two leagues from Wittenberg."

  "Heaven be praised!" cried Morok, clasping his hands with intensesatisfaction.

  "Oh, of course, 'tis the direct road from Russia to France, 'twas athousand to one that we should find them somewhere between Wittenbergand Leipsic."

  "And the description?"

  "Very close: two young girls in mourning; horse, white; the old man haslong moustache, blue forage-cap; gray topcoat and a Siberian dog at hisheels."

  "And where did you leave them?"

  "A league hence. They will be here within the hour."

  "And in this inn--since it is the only one in the village," said Morok,with a pensive air.

  "A
nd night drawing on," added Karl.

  "Did you get the old man to talk?"

  "Him!--you don't suppose it!"

  "Why not?"

  "Go, and try yourself."

  "And for what reason?"

  "Impossible."

  "Impossible--why?"

  "You shall know all about it. Yesterday, as if I had fallen in withthem by chance, I followed them to the place where they stopped for thenight. I spoke in German to the tall old man, accosting him, as is usualwith wayfarers, 'Good-day, and a pleasant journey, comrade!' But, for ananswer, he looked askant at me, and pointed with, the end of his stickto the other side of the road."

  "He is a Frenchman, and, perhaps, does not understand German."

  "He speaks it, at least as well as you; for at the inn I heard him askthe host for whatever he and the young girls wanted."

  "And did you not again attempt to engage him in conversation?"

  "Once only; but I met with such a rough reception, that for fear ofmaking mischief, I did not try again. Besides, between ourselves, I cantell you this man has a devilish ugly look; believe me, in spite of hisgray moustache, he looks so vigorous and resolute, though with no moreflesh on him than a carcass, that I don't know whether he or my mateGiant Goliath, would have the best of it in a struggle. I know not yourplans: only take care, master--take care!"

  "My black panther of Java was also very vigorous and very vicious," saidMorok, with a grim, disdainful, smile.

  "What, Death? Yes; in truth; and she is vigorous and vicious as ever.Only to you she is almost mild."

  "And thus I will break this tall old man; notwithstanding his strengthand surliness."

  "Humph! humph! be on your guard, master. You are clever, you are asbrave as any one; but, believe me, you will never make a lamb out of theold wolf that will be here presently."

  "Does not my lion, Cain--does not my tiger, Judas, crouch in terrorbefore me?"

  "Yes, I believe you there--because you have means--"

  "Because I have faith: that is all--and it is all," said Morok,imperiously interrupting Karl, and accompanying these words with such alook, that the other hung his head and was silent.

  "Why should not he whom the Lord upholds in his struggle with wildbeasts, be also upheld in his struggle with men, when those men areperverse and impious?" added the Prophet, with a triumphant, inspiredair.

  Whether from belief in his master's conviction, or from inability toengage in a controversy with him on so delicate a subject, Karl answeredthe Prophet, humbly: "you are wiser than I am, master; what you do mustbe well done."

  "Did you follow this old man and these two young girls all day long?"resumed the Prophet, after a moment's silence.

  "Yes; but at a distance. As I know the country well, I sometimes cutacross a valley, sometimes over a hill, keeping my eye upon the road,where they were always to be seen. The last time I saw them, I was hidbehind the water-mill by the potteries. As they were on the highway forthis place, and night was drawing on, I quickened my pace to get herebefore them, and be the bearer of what you call good news."

  "Very good--yes--very good: and you shall be rewarded; for if thesepeople had escaped me--"

  The Prophet started, and did not conclude the sentence. The expressionof his face, and the tones of his voice, indicated the importance of theintelligence which had just been brought him.

  "In truth," rejoined Karl, "it may be worth attending to; for thatRussian courier, all plastered with lace, who came, without slackingbridle, from St. Petersburg to Leipsic, only to see you, rode so fast,perhaps, for the purpose--"

  Morok abruptly interrupted Karl, and said:

  "Who told you that the arrival of the courier had anything to do withthese travellers? You are mistaken; you should only know what I chooseto tell you."

  "Well, master, forgive me, and let's say no more about it. So! I willget rid of my game-bag, and go help Goliath to feed the brutes, fortheir supper time draws near, if it is not already past. Does our biggiant grow lazy, master?"

  "Goliath is gone out; he must not know that you are returned; above all,the tall old man and the maidens must not see you here--it would makethem suspect something."

  "Where do you wish me to go, then?"

  "Into the loft, at the end of the stable, and wait my orders; you maythis night have to set out for Leipsic."

  "As you please; I have some provisions left in my pouch, and can sup inthe loft whilst I rest myself."

  "Go."

  "Master, remember what I told you. Beware of that old fellow withthe gray moustache; I think he's devilish tough; I'm up to thesethings--he's an ugly customer--be on your guard!"

  "Be quite easy! I am always on my guard," said Morok.

  "Then good luck to you, master!"--and Karl, having reached the ladder,suddenly disappeared.

  After making a friendly farewell gesture to his servant, the Prophetwalked up and down for some time, with an air of deep meditation; then,approaching the box which contained the papers, he took out a prettylong letter, and read it over and over with profound attention. Fromtime to time he rose and went to the closed window, which looked uponthe inner court of the inn, and appealed to listen anxiously; for hewaited with impatience the arrival of the three persons whose approachhad just been announced to him.