Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Almost bereft by extreme intoxication of the power of speech, he continued to gaze on the shrinking child with eyes full of dreadful meaning, though his tongue was unable to declare the murderous designs he meditated. Never had the poor boy endured such horror at the sight of his master. Gargousse was chained as usual to the foot of the bed, and in the middle of the room stood a chair, from the back of which hung a strong cord. ‘S — s — sit down — there!’ cried the tyrant, as he pointed to the seat. Gringalet obeyed in silence, and Cut-in-Half, without another word, twisted the rope around him, and finally secured him in the chair so firmly that, even if poor Gringalet had dared to struggle, it would have been impossible for him to have extricated himself. ‘Great and good God!’ murmured the wretched child, ‘this time no one will come to deliver me from my danger!’ And the poor little fellow was right, for, indeed, it was utterly impossible, and for this reason, that no sooner had Le Doyen gone away with the idea of all being comfortably arranged between the boy and his master than Cut-in-Half hastened to double-lock and bolt the entrance to his premises, so that no person could gain admission without his knowledge.”

  “Oh, poor little Gringalet!” exclaimed all the prisoners, deeply excited by the recital, “it’s all up with him, that’s quite sure.”

  “I’d give my last franc-piece to get him out of the hands of that blackguard — that I would!” cried a multitude of voices, as though one unanimous sympathy actuated each breast.

  “I wonder what that beggar of a Cut-in-Half is going to do with the poor little chap!” added they, in almost breathless interest; “come, push on, and let’s hear.”

  Pique-Vinaigre continued:

  “When Gringalet was well secured in the chair, his master said to him” (and here the narrator imitated most naturally the thick speech and stammering tones of a drunken man): ‘Ah — you scoundrel! — you — you are the — cause of — my being thrashed by Le Doyen! — you shall — die — for it — you shall — you — young — devil!’ Then he took from his pocket a freshly sharpened razor, opened it, and seized Gringalet by the hair of his head. At the sight of the razor the child began to weep. ‘Pardon, master! Pardon! Do not kill me!’ ‘Cry away, you infernal brat! You shall not cry long!’ replied Cut-in-Half. ‘Golden fly, golden fly, come to my help!’ exclaimed poor Gringalet, almost mad, and remembering the dream that had had such an effect upon him, ‘for the spider is going to kill me!’ ‘What! — you call — call — me a spider — do you?’ said Cut-in-Half; ‘for this — and — other — many other things — you shall die — die, I tell you — but not by my hand — because that wouldn’t do — and besides — they’d “scrag” me — and so I’ll say and prove that it was the ape. I have managed it all — and so — never mind — for that’s all about it!’ he added, preserving his equilibrium with the greatest difficulty. Then calling the monkey, which, at the end of his chain, was grinning and looking at his master and the boy, ‘Here, Gargousse,’ he said, pointing to the razor, and then to Gringalet, whom he had seized by the hair of his head, ‘do so to him;’ and then drawing the back of the razor several times over Gringalet’s throat, he feigned to cut his throat. The devil of a monkey was such a close imitator — so wicked and so sly — that he understood what his master desired, and as if to prove to him that he did so, he took his chin in his left paw, put his head back, and, with his right paw, pretended to cut his throat. ‘That’s it, Gargousse — that’s it!’ said Cut-in-Half, stammering, with his eyes half closed, and staggering so much that he almost fell with Gringalet and the chair. ‘Yes, that’s it! I’ll unfas — unfasten you, and you’ll slice his weasand — won’t you, Gargousse?’ The ape shrieked as he ground his teeth, as much as to say yes, and put out his paw as if to take the razor that Cut-in-Half handed to him. ‘Golden fly, come to my rescue!’ murmured Gringalet, in a faint voice, and assured that his last hour was come. Alas! he called the golden fly without any hopes of its coming to his rescue; he did so as a drowning man exclaims, ‘Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!’ Yet at this very moment Gringalet saw enter into the room one of those small gold and green flies, which look like a spangle of gold flying and flitting around and about; and at the very moment when Cut-in-Half was going to give the razor to Gargousse, the gold fly went plump into the eye of this horrible ruffian. A fly in the eye is no great thing, but at the moment it hurts like the prick of a pin, and thus Cut-in-Half, who could scarcely support himself, raised his hand to his eye so suddenly that he staggered and fell at full length, rolling on the ground like a log to the foot of the bed, to which Gargousse was fastened. ‘Golden fly, many thanks! You have saved me!’ cried Gringalet, who, seated and fastened to the chair, had observed all.”

  “Ma foi! It really was true, then, and the golden fly prevented his having his throat cut,” exclaimed the prisoners, overjoyed.

  “The golden fly for ever!” cried the Blue Cap.

  “Listen now,” continued the story-teller, “for this is the most beautiful and terrible of the history I had promised you. Cut-in-Half had fallen like a lump of lead, and was so drunk that he could move no more than a log, — he was dead drunk and perfectly senseless; but in his fall he very nearly crushed Gargousse, and almost broke his hind paw. You know how savage and revengeful this infernal brute was, and he still held in his paw the razor which his master had given him to cut Gringalet’s throat. What do you suppose the animal did when he saw his master on his back and within his reach? Why, he jumped upon him, squatted on his breast, and whilst with one paw he pushed up his chin to expose his neck, with the other he cut his throat as clean as a whistle, just as Cut-in-Half had taught him to do with poor Gringalet a few minutes before.”

  “Bravo, bravo! Well done!”

  “Gargousse for ever!”

  “The little golden fly for ever!”

  “Gringalet for ever! Gargousse for ever!”

  “Well, my friends, I assure you, as you shout now, so did the whole population of La Petite Pologne shout an hour afterwards,” said Pique-Vinaigre, delighted at the success of his story and the enthusiasm of his hearers.

  “In what way?”

  “I told you that, in order to complete his wicked purpose at his ease, the vagabond Cut-in-Half had closed the door inside. Towards the evening, the boys came in one after the other with their animals. The first rapped, but no answer; then, when they had all arrived, they knocked at the door, but no reply; so one went to find Le Doyen to tell him how they had knocked in vain, and that their master did not open to them. ‘The fellow must be as drunk as an Englishman,’ said he; ‘I sent him some wine just now. We must break open the door, for the children cannot pass the night out-of-doors.’ So they burst in the door, and then they went up the stairs, and what should they see but Gargousse chained and crouching on his master’s body, playing with the razor! Poor Gringalet was fortunately out of Gargousse’s reach and still on the chair, not daring to look on Cut-in-Half’s body, but gazing at, — guess what, the little golden fly, which, after having flitted round and round the child as if to congratulate him, had, at last, come and settled on his poor little hand.

  “Gringalet related all to Le Doyen and the crowd that came in, and, as it really appeared like the interposition of Providence, Le Doyen cried, ‘A triumph for Gringalet! A triumph to Gargousse who killed the infamous Cut-in-Half! He cut others, it was his turn to be cut himself.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ cried the assembled mob, for the beast-shower was universally detested, ‘a triumph to Gargousse! A triumph for Gringalet!’ It was night, and they lighted straw torches, fastened Gargousse to a bench, which four chaps carried on their shoulders; and the blackguard of an ape seemed as if he felt his consequence, and gave himself the airs of a conquering hero, by showing his teeth to the multitude. After the ape came Le Doyen, carrying Gringalet in his arms; then all the little fellows, each carrying his beast, followed him, one with his fox, another his marmotte, another his guinea-pig; and those who played on the hurdy-gurdy played now; then there were the charcoa
l-sellers who had their bells, and there was such an uproar, such joy, such a fête as can be scarcely imagined. Behind the musicians and animal-showers came all the dwellers in La Petite Pologne, men, women, and children, all holding straw torches, and halloaing like mad, ‘Vive Gringalet! Vive Gargousse!’ The procession advanced in this way around the place in which Cut-in-Half dwelt. It was a very singular sight to see the old buildings lighted up by the red light of the straw torches, which flared and flared. As to Gringalet, the first thing he did when he was at liberty was to put the little golden fly in a paper bag, and he exclaimed during his triumph, ‘Little flies, I did very right in preventing the spiders from eating you, for—’”

  Pique-Vinaigre was interrupted by a voice from without, exclaiming:

  “Père Roussel, come to your soup; it only wants ten minutes to four!”

  “Ma foi! The story is nearly finished, and I must go. Many thanks, my lad, you have amused me very much, and that you may tell everybody,” said the superintendent to Pique-Vinaigre, going to the door; then pausing, “Mind and be quiet,” he said, turning towards the prisoners.

  “We shall hear the end of the story,” said the Skeleton, breathless with suppressed rage; then, adding in a whisper to Gros-Boiteux, “Follow him to the door, and, when you see him leave the yard, cry Gargousse, and the informer is a dead man.”

  “All right,” said Le Gros-Boiteux, who accompanied the guardian, and remained at the door watching his steps as he went away.

  “I tell you, then,” resumed Pique-Vinaigre, “that Gringalet, during the whole time of his triumph, said, ‘Little flies, I have—’”

  “Gargousse!” cried Gros-Boiteux, as the turnkey quitted the yard.

  “I’m here, Gringalet, and I will be your spider!” cried the Skeleton, instantly, and darting so suddenly on Germain that he could not make a struggle or utter a cry. His voice expired under the tremendous gripe of the Skeleton’s iron fingers.

  “If you are the spider, I’m the golden fly, Skeleton of evil,” cried a voice, at the moment when Germain, surprised at the violent and sudden attack of his implacable enemy, had fallen back on the bench entirely at the mercy of the ruffian, who, with his knee on his breast, held him by the neck. “Yes, I will be the fly, and a fly of the right sort!” repeated the man in the blue cap, of whom we have already spoken, and then, with a fierce spring, he dashed upon the Skeleton, and assailed him on the skull and between his eyes with a shower of blows from his fist, so tremendous that it sounded like the noise of a smith’s hammer ringing on an anvil.

  “The Skeleton Staggered at First”

  Original Etching by Marcel

  The man in the blue cap, who was no other than the Chourineur, added, as he redoubled the quickness of his hammering on the Skeleton’s head:

  “It is the shower of blows which M. Rodolph drummed on my sconce, and I have recollected them.”

  At this unexpected assault the prisoners were all struck with surprise, and did not take part either for or against the Chourineur. Several of them, still under the influence of the salutary impression made on them by Pique-Vinaigre’s story, were even glad of an event which saved Germain. The Skeleton staggered at first, and, reeling like an ox under the butcher’s poleaxe, mechanically extended his hands to try and ward off his adversary’s blows, and Germain, thus freed from the deadly clutch of the Skeleton, half raised himself.

  “What does this mean? Who is this scoundrel?” exclaimed Le Gros-Boiteux, and, rushing at the Chourineur, he endeavoured to seize his arms from behind, whilst the latter was making violent efforts to keep the Skeleton down on the bench. Germain’s defender replied to Le Gros-Boiteux’s attack by a kind of kick, so violent that it sent the cripple rolling on the ground to the farther end of the circle formed by the prisoners.

  Germain, whose face was livid and purple, half suffocated, and on his knees by the bench, seemed unconscious of all that was passing around him. The strangulation had been so violent that he could scarcely breathe.

  After his first surprise was over, the Skeleton, by a desperate effort, contrived to keep the Chourineur off and regain his feet. Breathless, drunk with rage and hatred, he was fearful to look upon. His cadaverous face streamed with blood, his upper lip curled like that of a furious wolf, exposed his teeth clenched against each other. At last he exclaimed, in a voice palpitating with anger and exertion, for his struggle had been very violent:

  “Stab him, — the ruffian! — you cowards, who let me be traitorously attacked, or the informer will escape!”

  During this momentary truce, the Chourineur, raising Germain half fainting, had managed very cleverly to put him in an angle of the wall, and, availing himself of this advantageous position of defence, he was able, without fear of surprise from behind, to resist any attack of the prisoners, on whom the skill and herculean powers he had displayed had imposed considerable respect.

  Pique-Vinaigre, greatly alarmed, had disappeared without his absence being remarked.

  Seeing hesitation amongst the majority of prisoners, the Skeleton exclaimed:

  “Aid me now, let us do for both, the big ‘un as well as the little ‘un!”

  “Look out for squalls, then,” replied the Chourineur, preparing for a struggle, with his two hands squared, and standing well-balanced on his loins; “and mind your eye, Skeleton! If you mean to play the Cut-in-Half, I’ll serve you as Gargousse did, and slit your weasand.”

  “Fall on him!” said Le Gros-Boiteux, getting up.

  “Why does this vagabond defend spies? Death to the informer, and to him, too! If he defends Germain he is a traitor!”

  “Yes, yes, death to the spy! Death!”

  “Yes, and death to the traitor who defends him!”

  Such were the cries uttered by the fiercest of the détenus. Another party, more merciful, exclaimed:

  “No, let’s hear him first!”

  “Yes, let him explain; we mustn’t kill a man without a hearing!”

  “And without means of defence, too! Must we be Cut-in-Halfs?”

  “So much the better!” replied the Skeleton’s partisans.

  “Nothing’s too bad for a spy!”

  “Let’s fall on him! Let us support the Skeleton!”

  “Yes, let’s at the Blue Cap!”

  “No, let’s support the Blue Cap, and let’s at the Skeleton!” retorted the Chourineur’s party.

  “No, down with the Blue Cap!”

  “Down with the Skeleton!”

  “Well done, my boys!” cried the Chourineur, addressing the prisoners who sided with him. “You’re good fellows, and would not massacre a half dead man; none but cowards would do that. The Skeleton does not care what evil he does; he is sentenced beforehand, and that is why he urges you on; but if you help to kill Germain, you will be severely punished for it. Besides, I have something to propose. The Skeleton is desirous of doing for this young man; well, let him come and take him if he thinks he has the pluck to do it; let us two settle it; leave us to ourselves, and see what turns up. But he’s afraid; he’s like Cut-in-Half, only strong with the weak.”

  The vigour, energy, and rough manner of the Chourineur had powerful effect on the prisoners, and a considerable number of them had ranged themselves on his side, and surrounded Germain, whilst the Skeleton’s party drew around that ruffian. A bloody fray would have ensued, when there was heard in the yard the sonorous and measured tread of a piquet of infantry, always on guard in the prison. Pique-Vinaigre, profiting by the general stir and noise, had gained the yard, and, having knocked at the wicket of the entrance, had told the turnkeys what was passing in the day-room. The arrival of the soldiers put an end to this scene. Germain, the Skeleton, and the Chourineur were taken before the governor of La Force; the first to make his complaint, the two others to answer for creating a disturbance inside the gaol.

  The fright and suffering of Germain had been so great, his weakness so extreme, that he was obliged to lean on two of the turnkeys, in order to reach a
chamber next to the governor’s room. There he was very ill. His neck, excoriated as it was, bore the livid and bleeding imprint of the Skeleton’s iron grasp; a few minutes more, and Rigolette’s betrothed would have been strangled. The turnkey, who had taken an interest in Germain, gave him first assistance. When he had recovered, his first thought was of his deliverer.

  “Thanks for your kind cares, sir,” he said to the turnkey. “But for that brave man, I must have been killed. Where is he?”

  “In the governor’s room, telling him how the disturbance arose. It appears that but for him—”

  “I must have been killed. Oh, tell me his name! Who is he?”

  “His name I do not know, but they call him the Chourineur; he is an old offender.”

  “And is his crime now very serious?”

  “Very; burglary in the night in an inhabited house,” replied the turnkey. “He will probably have a similar dose to Pique-Vinaigre, fifteen or twenty years of hard labour.”

  Germain shuddered; he would have preferred being bound by gratitude to a man less criminal.

  “How dreadful!” he said. “And yet this man without knowing me defended me; such courage, such generosity!”