by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE STUNG LION.
This was the scene, the sound of which had so terrified Rose andBlanche. At first alone in his chamber, in a state of exasperationdifficult to describe, Marshal Simon had begun to walk hastily up anddown, his handsome, manly face inflamed with rage, his eyes sparklingwith indignation, while on his broad forehead, crowned with short-cuthair that was now turning gray, large veins, of which you might countthe pulsations, were swollen almost to bursting; and sometimes histhick, black moustache was curled with a convulsive motion, not unlikethat which is seen in the visage of a raging lion. And even as thewounded lion, in its fury, harassed and tortured by a thousand invisibledarts, walks up and down its den with savage wrath, so Marshal Simonpaced the floor of his room, as if bounding from side to side;sometimes he stooped, as though bending beneath the weight of his anger;sometimes, on the contrary, he paused abruptly, drew himself up to hisfull height, crossed his arms upon his vigorous chest, and with raisedbrow, threatening and terrible look, seemed to defy some invisibleenemy, and murmur confused exclamations. Then he stood like a man of warand battle in all his intrepid fire.
And now he stamped angrily with his foot, approached the chimney-piece,and pulled the bell so violently that the bell-rope remained in hishand. A servant hastened to attend to this precipitate summons. "Did younot tell Dagobert that I wished to speak to him?" cried the marshal.
"I executed your grace's orders, but M. Dagobert was accompanying hisson to the door, and--"
"Very well!" interrupted Marshal Simon, with an abrupt and imperiousgesture.
The servant went out, and his master continued to walk up and down withimpatient steps, crumpling, in his rage, a letter that he held in hisleft hand. This letter had been innocently delivered by Spoil-sport,who, seeing him come in, had run joyously to meet him. At length thedoor opened, and Dagobert appeared. "I have been waiting for you a longtime, sirrah!" cried the marshal, in an irritated tone.
Dagobert, more pained than surprised at this burst of anger, which herightly attributed to the constant state of excitement in which themarshal had now been for some time past, answered mildly: "I beg yourpardon, general, but I was letting out my son--"
"Read that, sir!" said the marshal abruptly, giving him the letter.
While Dagobert was reading it, the marshal resumed, with growing anger,as he kicked over a chair that stood in his way: "Thus, even in myown house, there are wretches bribed to harass me with incredibleperseverance. Well! have you read it, sir?"
"It is a fresh insult to add to the others," said Dagobert, coolly, ashe threw the letter into the fire.
"The letter is infamous--but it speaks the truth," replied the marshal.Dagobert looked at him in amazement.
"And can you tell who brought me this infamous letter" continued themarshal. "One would think the devil had a hand in it--for it was yourdog!"
"Spoil-sport?" said Dagobert, in the utmost surprise.
"Yes," answered the marshal, bitterly; "it is no doubt a joke of yourinvention."
"I have no heart for joking, general," answered Dagobert, more and moresaddened by the irritable state of the marshal; "I cannot explain how ithappened. Spoil-sport is a good carrier, and no doubt found the letterin the house--"
"And who can have left it there? Am I surrounded by traitors? Do youkeep no watch? You, in whom I have every confidence?"
"Listen to me, general--"
But the marshal proceeded, without waiting to hear him. "What! I havemade war for five-and-twenty years, I have battled with armies, I havestruggled victoriously through the evil times of exile and proscription,I have withstood blows from maces of iron--and now I am to be killedwith pins! Pursued into my own house, harassed with impunity, worn out,tortured every minute, to gratify some unknown, miserable hate!--When Isay unknown, I am wrong--it is d'Aigrigny, the renegade, who is at thebottom of all this, I am sure. I have in the world but one enemy, andhe is the man. I must finish with him, for I am weary of this--it is toomuch."
"But, general, remember he is a priest--"
"What do I care for that? Have I not seen him handle the sword? I willyet make a soldier's blood rise to the forehead of the traitor!"
"But, general--"
"I tell you, that I must be avenged on some one," cried the marshal,with an accent of the most violent exasperation; "I tell you, that Imast find a living representative of these cowardly plots, that I may atonce make an end of him!--They press upon me from all sides; they makemy life a hell--you know it--and you do nothing to save me from thesetortures, which are killing me as by a slow fire. Can I have no one inwhom to trust?"
"General, I can't let you say that," replied Dagobert, in a calm, butfirm voice.
"And why not?"
"General, I can't let you say that you have no one to trust to. Youmight end perhaps in believing it, and then it would be even worse foryourself, than for those who well know their devotion for you, and wouldgo through fire and water to serve you. I am one of them--and you knowit."
These simple words, pronounced by Dagobert with a tone of deepconviction, recalled the marshal to himself; for although his honorableand generous character might from time to time be embittered byirritation and grief, he soon recovered his natural equanimity. So,addressing Dagobert in a less abrupt tone, he said to him, though stillmuch agitated: "You are right. I could never doubt your fidelity. Butanger deprives me of my senses. This infamous letter is enough to driveone mad. I am unjust, ungrateful--yes, ungrateful--and to you!"
"Do not think of me, general. With a kind word at the end, you mightblow me up all the year round. But what has happened?"
The general's countenance again darkened, as he answered rapidly: "I amlooked down upon, and despised!"
"You?"
"Yes I. After all," resumed the marshal bitterly, "why should I concealfrom you this new wound? If I doubted you a moment, I owe you somecompensation, and you shall know all. For some time past, I perceivedthat, when I meet any of my old companions in arms, they try to avoidme--"
"What! was it to this that the anonymous letter alluded?"
"Yes; and it spoke the truth," replied the marshal, with a sigh of griefand indignation.
"But it is impossible, general--you are so loved and respected--"
"Those are mere words; I speak of positive facts. When I appear, theconversation is often interrupted. Instead of treating me as an oldcomrade, they affect towards me a rigorously cold politeness. There area thousand little shades, a thousand trifles, which wound the heart, butwhich it is impossible to notice--"
"What you are now saying, general, quite confounds me," repliedDagobert. "You assure me of it, and I am forced to believe you."
"Oh, it is intolerable! I was resolved to ease my heart of it; so, thismorning, I went to General d'Havrincourt, who was colonel with me in theImperial Guard; he is honor and honesty itself. I went to him withopen heart. 'I perceive,' said I, 'the coldness that is shown me. Somecalumny must be circulating to my disadvantage. Tell me all about it.Knowing the attack, I shall be able to defend myself--'
"Well, general?"
"D'Havrincourt remained impassible ceremoniously polite. To all myquestions he answered coldly: 'I am not aware, my lord duke, that anycalumny has been circulated with regard to you.'--'Do not call me"my lord duke," my dear D'Havrincourt; we are old fellow-soldiers andfriends, my honor is somewhat touchy, I confess, and I find that you andour comrades do not receive me so cordially, as in times past. Youdo not deny it; I see, I know, I feel it.' To all this D'Havrincourtanswered, with the same coldness: 'I have never seen any one wanting inrespect towards you.'--'I am not talking of respect,' exclaimed I, asI clasped his hand affectionately, though I observed that he but feeblyreturned the pressure; 'I speak of cordiality, confidence, which I onceenjoyed, while now I am treated like a stranger. Why is it? What hasoccasioned this change?'--Still cold and reserved, he answered: 'Thesedistinctions are so nice, marshal, that it is impossible for me to giveyou any opinion on
the subject.'--My heart swelled with grief and anger.What was I to do? To quarrel with D'Havrincourt would have been absurd.A sense of dignity forced me to break off the interview, but it hasonly confirmed my fears. Thus," added the marshal, getting more and moreanimated, "thus am I fallen from the esteem to which I am entitled, thusam I despised, without even knowing the cause! Is it not odious? Ifthey would only utter a charge against me--I should at least be able todefend myself, and to find an answer. But no, no! not even a word--onlythe cold politeness that is worse than any insult. Oh! it is too much,too much! for all this comes but in addition to other cares. What alife is mine since the death of my father! If I did but find rest andhappiness at home--but no! I come in, but to read shameful letters; andstill worse," added the marshal, in a heartrending tone, and after amoment's hesitation, "to find my children grow more and more indifferenttowards me--"Yes," continued he, perceiving the amazement of Dagobert,"and yet they know how much I love them!"
"Your daughters indifferent!" exclaimed Dagobert, in astonishment. "Youmake them such a reproach?"
"Oh! I do not blame them. They have hardly had time to know me."
"Not had time to know you?" returned the soldier, in a tone ofremonstrance, and warming up in his turn. "Ah! of what did their mothertalk to them, except you? and I too! what could I teach your childrenexcept to know and love you?"
"You take their part--that is natural--they love you better than they dome," said the marshal, with growing bitterness. Dagobert felt himself sopainfully affected, that he looked at the marshal without answering.
"Yes!" continued the other; "yes! it may be base and ungrateful--but nomatter!--Twenty times I have felt jealous of the affectionate confidencewhich my children display towards you, while with me they seem always tobe in fear. If their melancholy faces ever grow animated for a moment,it is in talking to you, in seeing you; while for me they have nothingbut cold respect--and that kills me. Sure of the affection of mychildren, I would have braved and surmounted every difficulty--" Then,seeing that Dagobert rushed towards the door which led to the chamber ofRose and Blanche, the marshal asked: "Where are you going?"
"For your daughters, general."
"What for?"
"To bring them face to face with you--to tell them: 'My children, yourfather thinks that you do not love him.'--I will only say that--and thenyou will see."
"Dagobert! I forbid you to do it," cried the marshal, hastily.
"I don't care for that--you have no right to be unjust to the poorchildren," said the soldier, as he again advanced towards the door.
"Dagobert, I command you to remain here," cried the marshal.
"Listen to me, general. I am your soldier, your inferior, your servant,if you will," said the old grenadier, roughly; "but neither rank norstation shall keep me silent, when I have to defend your daughters.All must be explained--I know but one way--and that is to bring honestpeople face to face."
If the marshal had not seized him by the arm, Dagobert would haveentered the apartment of the young girls.
"Remain!" said the marshal, so imperiously that the soldier, accustomedto obedience, hung his head, and stood still.
"What would you do?" resumed the marshal. "Tell my children, that Ithink they do not love me? induce them to affect a tenderness they donot feel--when it is not their fault, but mine?"
"Oh, general!" said Dagobert, in a tone of despair, "I no longer feelanger, in hearing you speak thus of your children. It is such grief,that it breaks my heart!"
Touched by the expression of the soldier's countenance, the marshalcontinued, less abruptly: "Come, I may be wrong; and yet I ask you,without bitterness or jealousy, are not my children more confiding, morefamiliar, with you than with me?"
"God bless me, general!" cried Dagobert; "if you come to that, they aremore familiar with Spoil-sport than with either of us. You are theirfather; and, however kind a father may be, he must always command somerespect. Familiar with me! I should think so. A fine story! What thedevil should they respect in me, who, except that I am six feethigh, and wear a moustache, might pass for the old woman that nursedthem?--and then I must say, that, even before the death of your worthyfather, you were sad and full of thought; the children have remarkedthat; and what you take for coldness on their part, is, I am sure,anxiety for you. Come, general; you are not just. You complain, becausethey love you too much."
"I complain, because I suffer," said the marshal, in an agony ofexcitement. "I alone know my sufferings."
"They must indeed be grievous, general," said Dagobert, carried furtherthan he would otherwise have gone by his attachment for the orphans,"since those who love you feel them so cruelly."
"What, sir! more reproaches?"
"Yes, general, reproaches," cried Dagobert. "Your children have theright to complain of you, since you accuse them so unjustly."
"Sir," said the marshal, scarcely able to contain himself, "this isenough--this is too much!"
"Oh, yes! it is enough," replied Dagobert, with rising emotion. "Whydefend unfortunate children, who can only love and submit? Why defendthem against your unhappy blindness?"
The marshal started with anger and impatience, but then replied, with aforced calmness: "I needs must remember all that I owe you--and I willnot forget it, say what you will."
"But, general," cried Dagobert, "why will you not let me fetch yourchildren?"
"Do you not see that this scene is killing me?" cried the exasperatedmarshal. "Do you not understand, that I will not have my childrenwitness what I suffer? A father's grief has its dignity, sir; and youought to feel for and respect it."
"Respect it? no--not when it is founded on injustice!"
"Enough, sir--enough!"
"And not content with tormenting yourself," cried Dagobert, unable anylonger to control his feelings, "do you know what you will do? You willmake your children die of sorrow. Was it for this, that I brought themto you from the depths of Siberia?"
"More reproaches!"
"Yes; for the worst ingratitude towards me, is to make your childrenunhappy."
"Leave the room, sir!" cried the marshal, quite beside himself, and soterrible with rage and grief, that Dagobert, regretting that he had goneso far, resumed: "I was wrong, general. I have perhaps been wanting inrespect to you--forgive me--but--"
"I forgive you--only leave me!" said the marshal, hardly restraininghimself.
"One word, general--"
"I entreat you to leave me--I ask it as a service--is that enough?"said the marshal, with renewed efforts to control the violence of hisemotions.
A deadly paleness succeeded to the high color which during this painfulscene had inflamed the cheeks of the marshal. Alarmed at this symptom,Dagobert redoubled his entreaties. "I implore you, general," said he, inan agitated mice, "to permit me for one moment--"
"Since you will have it so, sir, I must be the one to leave," said themarshal, making a step towards the door.
These words were said in such a manner, that Dagobert could no longerresist. He hung his head in despair, looked for a moment in silentsupplication at the marshal, and then, as the latter seemed yielding toa new movement of rage, the soldier slowly quitted the room.
A few minutes had scarcely elapsed since the departure of Dagobert, whenthe marshal, who, after a long and gloomy silence, had repeatedly drawnnear the door of his daughters' apartment with a mixture of hesitationand anguish, suddenly made a violent effort, wiped the cold sweat fromhis brow, and entered the chamber in which Rose and Blanche had takenrefuge.
