Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XVIII. THE SQUARE OF NOTRE DAME.

  A week had passed since Rodin was seized with the cholera, and itsravages had continually increased. That was an awful time! A funeralpall was spread over Paris, once so gay. And yet, never had the sky beenof a more settled, purer blue; never had the sun shone more brilliantly.The inexorable serenity of nature, during the ravages of the deadlyscourge, offered a strange and mysterious contrast. The flaunting lightof the dazzling sunshine fell full upon the features, contracted by athousand agonizing fears. Each trembled for himself, or for those dearto him; every countenance was stamped with an expression of feverishastonishment and dread. People walked with rapid steps, as if they wouldescape from the fate which threatened them; besides, they were in hasteto return to their homes, for often they left life, health, happiness,and, two hours later, they found agony, death, and despair.

  At every moment, new dismal objects met the view. Sometimes carts passedalong, filled with coffins, symmetrically piled; they stopped beforeevery house. Men in black and gray garments were in waiting before thedoor; they held out their hands, and to some, one coffin was thrown, tosome two, frequently three or four, from the same house. It sometimeshappened that the store was quickly exhausted, and the cart, which hadarrived full, went away empty, whilst many of the dead in the streetwere still unserved. In nearly every dwelling, upstairs and down, fromthe roof to the cellar, there was a stunning tapping of hammers: coffinswere being nailed down, and so many, so very many were nailed, thatsometimes those who worked stopped from sheer fatigue. Then broke forthlaments, heart-rending moans, despairing imprecations. They were utteredby those from whom the men in black and gray had taken some one to fillthe coffins.

  Unceasingly were the coffins filled, and day and night did those menwork, but by day more than by night, for, as soon as it was dusk, camea gloomy file of vehicles of all kinds--the usual hearses were notsufficient; but cars, carts, drays, hackney-coaches, and such like,swelled the funeral procession; different to the other conveyances,which entered the streets full and went away empty--these came empty butsoon returned full. During that period, the windows of many houses wereilluminated, and often the lights remained burning till the morning. Itwas "the season." These illuminations resembled the gleaming rays whichshine in the gay haunts of pleasure; but there were tapers insteadof wax candles, and the chanting of prayers for the dead replacedthe murmur of the ball-room. In the streets, instead of the facetioustransparencies which indicate the costumers, there swung at intervalshuge lanterns of a blood-red color, with these words in black letters:"Assistance for those attacked with the cholera." The true places forrevelry, during the night, were the churchyards; they ran riot--they,usually so desolate and silent, during the dark, quiet hours, when thecypress trees rustle in the breeze, so lonely, that no human step daredto disturb the solemn silence which reigned there at night, became ona sudden, animated, noisy, riotous, and resplendent with light. Bythe smoky flames of torches, which threw a red glare upon the darkfir-trees, and the white tombstones, many grave-diggers worked merrily,humming snatches of some favorite tune. Their laborious and hazardousindustry then commanded a very high price; they were in such requestthat it was necessary to humor them. They drank often and much; theysang long and loud; and this to keep up their strength and spirits good,absolute requisites in such an employment. If, by chance, any did notfinish the grave they had begun, some obliging comrade finished it forthem (fitting expression!), and placed them in it with friendly care.

  Other distant sounds responded to the joyous strains of the gravediggers; public-houses had sprung up in the neighborhood of thechurchyards, and the drivers of the dead, when they had "set down theircustomers," as they jocosely expressed themselves, enriched with theirunusual gratuities, feasted and made merry like lords; dawn often foundthem with a glass in their hands, and a jest on their lips; and, strangeto say, among these funeral satellites, who breathed the very atmosphereof the disease, the mortality was scarcely perceptible. In thedark, squalid quarters of the town, where, surrounded by infectiousexhalations, the indigent population was crowded together, and miserablebeings, exhausted by severe privation, were "bespoke" by the cholera, asit was energetically said at the time, not only individuals, but wholefamilies, were carried off in a few hours; and yet, sometimes, oh,merciful Providence! one or two little children were left in the coldand empty room, after the father and mother, brother and sister, hadbeen taken away in their shells.

  Frequently, houses which had swarmed with hard working laborers, wereobliged to be shut up for want of tenants; in one day, they had beencompletely cleared by this terrible visitation, from the cellars, wherelittle chimney-sweepers slept upon straw, to the garret, on whose coldbrick floor lay stretched some wan and half-naked being, without workand without bread. But, of all the wards of Paris, that which perhapspresented the most frightful spectacle during the progress of thecholera, was the City; and in the City, the square before the cathedralof Notre-Dame was almost every day the theatre of dreadful scenes: forthis locality was frequently thronged with those who conveyed the sickfrom the neighboring streets to the Great Hospital. The cholera hadnot one aspect, but a thousand. So that one week after Rodin hadbeen suddenly attacked, several events combining the horrible and thegrotesque occurred in the square of Notre Dame.

  Instead of the Rue d'Arcole, which now leads directly to the square, itwas then approached on one side, by a mean, narrow lane, like all theother streets of the City, and terminating in a dark, low archway. Uponentering the square the principal door of the huge Cathedral was to theleft of the spectator, and facing him were the Hospital buildings.A little beyond, was an opening which gave to view a portion of theparapet of the Quay Notre-Dame. A placard had been recently stuck onthe discolored and sunken wail of the archway; it contained these words,traced in large characters.(37)

  "VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE!

  "The Working-men carried to the hospitals are poisoned, because thenumber of patients is too great; every night, Boats filled with corpses,drop down the Seine.

  "Vengeance and Death to the murderers of the People!"

  Two men, enveloped in cloaks, and half-hidden in the deep shadow of thevault, were listening with anxious curiosity to the threatening murmur,which rose with increasing force from among a tumultuous assembly,grouped around the Hospital. Soon, cries of "Death to thedoctors!--Vengeance!" reached the ears of the persons who were in ambushunder the arch.

  "The posters are working," said one; "the train is on fire. When oncethe populace is roused, we can set them on whom we please."

  "I say," replied the other man, "look over there. That Hercules, whoseathletic form towers above the mob, was cue of the most frantic leaderswhen M. Hardy's factory was destroyed."

  "To be sure he was; I know him again. Wherever mischief is to be done,you are sure to find those vagabonds.

  "Now, take my advice, do not let us remain under this archway," saidthe other man; "the wind is as cold as ice, and though I am cased inflannel--"

  "You are right, the cholera is confoundedly impolite. Besides,everything is going on well here; I am likewise assured that the wholeof the Faubourg Saint-Antoine is ready to rise in the republican cause;that will serve our ends, and our holy religion will triumph overrevolutionary impiety. Let us rejoin Father d'Aigrigny."

  "Where shall we find him?"

  "Near here, come--come."

  The two hastily disappeared.

  The sun, beginning to decline, shed its golden rays upon the blackenedsculptures of the porch of Notre-Dame, and upon its two massy towers,rising in imposing majesty against a perfectly blue sky, for duringthe fast few days, a north-east wind, dry and cold, had driven awaythe lightest cloud. A considerable number of people, as we have alreadystated, obstructed the approach to the Hospital; they crowded round theiron railings that protect the front of the building, behind which wasstationed a detachment of infantry, the cries of "Death to the doctors!"becoming every moment more threatening. The people
who thus vociferated.belonged to an idle, vagabond, and depraved populace--the dregs of theParis mob; and (terrible spectacle!) the unfortunate beings who wereforcibly carried through the midst of these hideous groups entered theHospital, whilst the air resounded with hoarse clamors, and cries of"Death." Every moment, fresh victims were brought along in litters,and on stretchers; the litters were frequently furnished with coarsecurtains, and thus the sick occupants were concealed from the publicgaze; but the stretchers, having no covering, the convulsive movementsof the dying patients often thrust aside the sheet, and exposed toview their faces, livid as corpses. Far from inspiring with terror thewretches assembled round the Hospital, such spectacles became to themthe signal for savage jests, and atrocious predictions upon the fate ofthese poor creatures, when once in the power of the doctors.

  The big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, wereamong the mob. After the destruction of Hardy's factory, the quarrymanwas formally expelled from the union of the Wolves, who would havenothing more to do with this wretch; since then, he had plunged intothe grossest debauchery, and speculating on his herculean strength, hadhired himself as the officious champion of Ciboule and her compeers.With the exception therefore of some chance passengers, the square ofNotre-Dame was filled with a ragged crowd, composed of the refuse ofthe Parisian populace--wretches who call for pity as well as blame;for misery, ignorance, and destitution, beget but too fatally vice andcrime. These savages of civilization felt neither pity, improvement, norterror, at the shocking sights with which they were surrounded; carelessof a life which was a daily struggle against hunger, or the allurementsof guilt, they braved the pestilence with infernal audacity, or sankunder it with blasphemy on their lips.

  The tall form of the quarryman was conspicuous amongst the rest; withinflamed eyes and swollen features, he yelled at the top of his voice:"Death to the body-snatchers! they poison the people."

  "That is easier than to feed them," added Ciboule. Then, addressingherself to an old man, who was being carried with great difficultythrough the dense crowd, upon a chair, by two men, the hag continued:"Hey? don't go in there, old croaker; die here in the open air insteadof dying in that den, where you'll be doctored like an old rat."

  "Yes," added the quarryman; "and then they'll throw you into the waterto feast the fishes, which you won't swallow any more."

  At these atrocious cries, the old man looked wildly around, and utteredfaint groans. Ciboule wished to stop the persons who were carrying him,and they had much difficulty in getting rid of the hag. The numberof cholera-patients arriving increased every moment, and soon neitherlitters nor stretchers could be obtained, so that they were borne alongin the arms of the attendants. Several awful episodes bore witnessto the startling rapidity of the infection. Two men were carrying astretcher covered with a blood-stained sheet; one of them suddenly felthimself attacked with the complaint; he stopped short, his powerlessarms let go the stretcher; he turned pale, staggered, fell upon thepatient, becoming as livid as him; the other man, struck with terror,fled precipitately, leaving his companion and the dying man in themidst of the crowd. Some drew back in horror, others burst into a savagelaugh.

  "The horses have taken fright," said the quarryman, "and have left theturn-out in the lurch."

  "Help!" cried the dying man, with a despairing accent; "for pity's saketake me in."

  "There's no more room in the pit," said one, in a jeering tone.

  "And you've no legs left to reach the gallery," added another.

  The sick man made an effort to rise; but his strength failed him; hefell back exhausted on the mattress. A sudden movement took place amongthe crowd, the stretcher was overturned, the old man and his companionwere trodden underfoot, and their groans were drowned in the cries of"Death to the body-snatchers!" The yells were renewed with fresh fury,but the ferocious band, who respected nothing in their savage fury,were soon after obliged to open their ranks to several workmen, whovigorously cleared the way for two of their friends carrying in theirarms a poor artisan. He was still young, but his heavy and alreadylivid head hung down upon the shoulder of one of them. A little childfollowed, sobbing, and holding by one of the workmen's coats. Themeasured and sonorous sound of several drums was now heard at a distancein the winding streets of the city: they were beating the call toarms, for sedition was rife in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The drummersemerged from under the archway, and were traversing the square, when oneof them, a gray-haired veteran, suddenly slackened the rolling of hisdrum, and stood still: his companions turned round in surprise--he hadturned green; his legs gave way, he stammered some unintelligible words,and had fallen upon the pavement before those in the front rank had timeto pause. The overwhelming rapidity of this attack startled for a momentthe most hardened among the surrounding spectators; for, wondering atthe interruption, a part of the crowd had rushed towards the soldiers.

  At sight of the dying man, supported in the arms of two of his comrades,one of the individuals, who, concealed under the arch, had watched thebeginning of the popular excitement, said to the drummers: "Your comradedrank, perhaps, at some fountain on the road?"

  "Yes, sir," replied one; "he was very thirsty; he drank two mouthfuls ofwater on the Place du Chatelet."

  "Then he is poisoned," said the man.

  "Poisoned?" cried several voices.

  "It is not surprising," replied the man, in a mysterious tone; "poisonis thrown into the public fountains; and this very morning a man wasmassacred in the Rue Beaubourg who was discovered emptying a paper ofarsenic into a pot of wine at a public-house."(38)

  Having said these words, the man disappeared in the crowd. This report,no less absurd than the tales about the poisoning of the Hospitalpatients, was received with a general burst of indignation. Five orsix ragged beings, regular ruffians, seized the body of the expiringdrummer, hoisted it upon their shoulders, in spite of all the effortsof his comrades to prevent them, and paraded the square exhibiting thedismal trophy. Ciboule and the quarryman went before, crying: "Wake wayfor the corpse! This is how they poison the people!"

  A fresh incident now attracted the attention of the crowd. A travellingcarriage, which had not been able to pass along the Quai-Napoleon, thepavement of which was up, had ventured among the intricate streets ofthe city, and now arrived in the square of Notre-Dame on its way to theother side of the Seine. Like many others, its owners were flying fromParis, to escape the pestilence which decimated it. A man-servant and alady's maid were in the rumble, and they exchanged a glance of alarm asthey passed the Hospital, whilst a young man seated in the front partof the carriage let down the glass, and called to the postilions to goslowly, for fear of accident, as the crowd was very dense at that partof the square. This young man was Lord Morinval, and on the back seatwere Lord Montbron and his niece, Lady Morinval. The pale and anxiouscountenance of the young lady showed the alarm which she felt; andMontbron, notwithstanding his firmness of mind, appeared to bevery uneasy; he, as well as his niece, frequently had recourse to asmelling-bottle filled with camphor.

  During the last few minutes, the carriage had advanced very slowly,the postilions managing their horses with great caution, when a suddenhubbub, at first distant and undefined, but soon more distinct, aroseamong the throng, as it drew near, the ringing sound of chains andmetal, peculiar to the artillery-wagons, was plainly audible, andpresently one of these vehicles came towards the travelling-carriage,from the direction of the Quai Notre-Dame. It seemed strange, thatthough the crowd was so compact, yet at the rapid approach of thiswagon, the close ranks of human beings opened as if by enchantment, butthe following words which were passed from mouth to mouth soon accountedfor the prodigy: "A wagon full of dead! the wagon of the dead!" Aswe have already stated, the usual funeral conveyances were no longersufficient for the removal of the corpses; a number of artillery wagonshad been put into requisition, and the coffins were hastily piled inthese novel hearses.

  Many of the spectators regarded this gloomy vehicle with d
ismay, but thequarryman and his band redoubled their horrible jokes.

  "Make way for the omnibus of the departed!" cried Ciboule.

  "No danger of having one's toes crushed in that omnibus," said thequarryman.

  "Doubtless they're easy to please, the stiff-uns in there."

  "They never want to be set down, at all events."

  "I say, there's only one reg'lar on duty as postilion!"

  "That's true, the leaders are driven by a man in a smock-frock."

  "Oh! I daresay the other soldier was tired, lazy fellow! and got intothe omnibus with the others--they'll all get out at the same big hole."

  "Head foremost, you know."

  "Yes, they pitch them head first into a bed of lime."

  "Why, one might follow the dead-cart blind-fold, and no mistake. It'sworse than Montfaucon knacker-yards!"

  "Ha! ha! ha!--it's rather gamey!" said the quarryman, alluding to theinfectious and cadaverous odor which this funeral conveyance left behindit.

  "Here's sport!" exclaimed Ciboule: "the omnibus of the dead will runagainst the fine coach. Hurrah! the rich folks will smell death."

  Indeed, the wagon was now directly in front of the carriage, and at avery little distance from it. A man in a smock-frock and wooden shoesdrove the two leaders, and an artilleryman the other horses. The coffinswere so piled up within this wagon, that its semicircular top didnot shut down closely, so that, as it jolted heavily over the unevenpavement, the biers could be seen chafing against each other. The fieryeyes and inflamed countenance of the man in the smock-frock showed thathe was half intoxicated; urging on the horses with his voice, his heels,and his whip, he paid no attention to the remonstrances of the soldier,who had great difficulty in restraining his own animals, and was obligedto follow the irregular movements of the carman. Advancing in thisdisorderly manner, the wagon deviated from its course just as it shouldhave passed the travelling-carriage, and ran against it. The shockforced open the top, one of the coffins was thrown out, and, afterdamaging the panels of the carriage, fell upon the pavement with a dulland heavy sound. The deal planks had been hastily nailed together, andwere shivered in the fall, and from the wreck of the coffin rolled alivid corpse, half enveloped in a shroud.

  At this horrible spectacle, Lady Morinval, who had mechanically leanedforward, gave a loud scream, and fainted. The crowd fell back in dismay;the postilions, no less alarmed, took advantage of the space left opento them by the retreat of the multitude; they whipped their horses, andthe carriage dashed on towards the quay. As it disappeared behindthe furthermost buildings of the Hospital, the shrill joyous notesof distant trumpets were heard, and repeated shouts proclaimed: "TheCholera Masquerade!" The words announced one of those episodes combiningbuffoonery with terror, which marked the period when the pestilence wason the increase, though now they can with difficulty be credited. Ifthe evidence of eyewitnesses did not agree in every particular with theaccounts given in the public papers of this masquerade, they might beregarded as the ravings of some diseased brain, and not as the notice ofa fact which really occurred.

  "The Masquerade of the Cholera" appeared, we say, in the square of NotreDame, just as Morinval's carriage gained the quay, after disengagingitself from the death-wagon.

  (37) It is well-known that at the time of the cholera, such placardswere numerous in Paris, and were alternately attributed to oppositeparties. Among others, to the priests, many of the bishops havingpublished mandatory letters, or stated openly in the churches of theirdiocese, that the Almighty had sent the cholera as a punishment toFrance for having driven away its lawful sovereign, and assimilated theCatholic to other forms of worship.

  (38) It is notorious, that at this unhappy period several persons weremassacred, under a false accusation of poisoning the fountains, etc.