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The Mysteries of Paris V2 by Eugene Sue

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Produced by Beth L. Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




[Illustration: THE SAUCEPAN THROWN IN DEFIANCE]




THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS



_IN THREE VOLUMES_


VOLUME TWO



By EUGENE SUE




[Illustration]

THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE EXECUTION.


The surprised lapidary rose and opened the door. Two men entered the
garret. One of them was tall and thin, with a face mean and pimpled,
surrounded by thick, grayish whiskers; he held in his hand a stout
loaded cane, and wore a shapeless hat and a large green greatcoat,
covered with mud, and buttoned close up to the neck; the black velvet
collar, much worn, exposed to view his long, bare, red throat, which
resembled a vulture's. This man was one Malicorne. The other was short
and thick-set, his countenance equally mean, and his hair red. He was
dressed with an attempt at finery, quite ridiculous. Bright studs
fastened the front of his shirt, whose cleanliness was more than
doubtful; a long gold chain, passed across his second-hand plaid stuff
waistcoat, was left to view by a velveteen jacket, of a yellowish-gray
color. This man's name was Bourdin.

"Oh, what a stink of misery and death is here!" said Malicorne,
stopping at the threshold.

"The fact is, it does not smell of musk. What habits!" repeated
Bourdin, turning up his nose in disgust and disdain. He then advanced
toward the artisan, who looked at him with mingled surprise and
indignation.

Through the half-open door was seen Hoppy's evil, watchful, and
cunning face, who, having followed the strangers, unknown to them, was
narrowly watching and listening attentively.

"What do you want?" challenged the lapidary, roughly, disgusted with
the rudeness of the two men.

"Jerome Morel," responded Bourdin.

"I am he."

"Working jeweler?"

"The same."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Once more, I am that person; you annoy me--what do you want? Explain,
or leave the room!"

"Oh, you are coming the _bounce_, are you? I say, Malicorne,"
said this man, turning toward his companion, "there is no catch here;
it is not like the haul at Viscount de Saint-Remy's."

"No, but when there is much, the door is shut against you, as we found
in the Rue de---. The bird had watched the net, and would not be
taken; while such vermin as these stick to their _cribs_ like a
snail to his shell."

"It is my opinion that they only require to be jugged to cram
themselves."

"Still the costs will be more than ever the creditor _wolf_ will
get here; however, that's his look-out."

"Hold!" said Morel with indignation; "if you were not drunk, as you
surely are, I should be very angry. Instantly leave my room!"

"How very sharp you are this morning, old lopsides!" cried Malicorne,
insultingly alluding to the deformity in the lapidary's person.

"Do you hear, Malicorne?--he has the impudence to call this place a
_room_--a hole where I would not put my dog."

"For heaven's sake!" cried Madeleine, so alarmed, that till then she
had not spoken a word, "call for assistance; perhaps they are thieves.
Take care of the diamonds!"

In truth, seeing these two strangers, of doubtful appearance, approach
nearer and nearer to the bench on which lay the jewels, Morel, fearing
some evil intention, ran forward, and with both hands covered the
precious stones.

Hoppy, always on the watch, and listening, hearing Madeleine's words,
and seeing the movement of the artisan, said to himself; "They say he
is a cutter of false stones; if so, he would not fear their being
stolen. Just as well to know that. _I take!_ Then again, Mother
Mathieu, who comes here so often, is a dealer in _real_; and
those she has in her casket are real diamonds. I will put the Owl up
to this!" added Red Arm's son.

"If you do not leave this room instantly, I will call the police,"
said Morel.

The children, frightened at this scene, began to cry, while the old
idiot started upright in her bed.

"If any one has a right to call the police, we're the men. Do you
hear, Mister Sideways?" said Bourdin.

"You'll see the police lend a hand to take you, if you don't go
quietly," added Malicorne; "we have not the magistrate with us, it is
true; but if you wish to enjoy his society, you shall have a taste of
one, just out of his bed, quite hot and heavy. Bourdin will go and
fetch him."

"To prison! Me?" cried the astounded Morel.

"Yes, to Clichy."

"To Clichy!" repeated the artisan, with a wild look.

"Is he hard of hearing?" asked Malicorne.

"Well, then, to the debtor's prison, if you like that better,"
explained Bourdin.

"You--you--are--can it be?--the lawyer! Oh, my God!"

The artisan, pale as death, fell back on his stool, unable to utter
another word.

"We are the officers who are to take you, if we can; do you understand
now, old fellow?"

"Morel, it is for the bill in the hands of Louise's master! We are all
lost!" said Madeleine, with a sorrowful voice.

"This is the warrant," said Malicorne, taking from his dirty pocket-book
a stamped writ.

After having mumbled over in the usual way a part of this document, in
a voice hardly intelligible, he pronounced distinctly the last words,
unfortunately too well understood by the artisan.--

"As final judgment, the court condemns Jerome Morel to pay to Pierre
Petit-Jean, merchant,[Footnote: The crafty notary incompetent to
proceed in his own name, had got from the unfortunate Morel a blank
acceptance, and had introduced a third party's name.] by all his
goods, and even with his body, the sum of thirteen hundred francs,
with lawful interest, dated from the day of the protest; and he is
besides condemned to pay all other and extra costs. Given and judged
at Paris, the 30th of September," etc., etc.

"And Louise, then? Louise!" cried Morel, almost distracted, without
appearing to have heard what had just been read. "Where is she? She
must have left the lawyer, since he sends me to prison. Louise! my
child! what has become of her?"

"Who is this Louise?" said Bourdin.

"Let him alone," said Malicorne. "Don't you see he's coming the
artful?" Then, approaching Morel, he added: "Come, to the
right-about-face, march; I want to breathe the air, I am poisoned here!"

"Morel, do not go!" said Madeleine, wildly. "Kill them, the thieves!
Oh, you are a coward! You will let them take you, and abandon us to
our fate."

"Act as though you were at home, madame," said Bourdin, sarcastically;
"but if your husband lifts his hand against me, I will give him
something to remember it by," continued he, twisting his loaded stick
round and round.

Occupied solely with thoughts of Louise, Morel heard nothing of what
was said. Suddenly, an expression of bitter joy lighting up his face,
he cried out, "Louise has quitted the lawyer's house. I shall go to
prison with a light heart!" But then, glancing round him, he
exclaimed, "But my wife, and her mother, and my poor children--who
will support them? They will not trust me with stones to cut in
prison; for it will be supposed that my own misconduct has sent me
there. Does this lawyer desire the death of all of us?"

"Once for all, let us be off!" said Bourdin; "I am sick of all this.
Come, dress yourself and march."

"My good gentleman, forgive what I have just said to you," cried
Madeleine, still in bed; "you will not have the cruelty to take away
Morel; what do you think will become of me, with my five children, and
my idiot mother? There she is, huddled up on her mattress. She is
foolish, my good gentlemen; she is quite out of her mind."

"The old woman that is shorn?"

"Sure enough she is shaved," said Malicorne; "I thought she had on a
white scull-cap."

"My dear children, throw yourselves at the feet of these two
gentlemen," said Madeleine, hoping, by a last effort, to soften the
bailiffs, "entreat them not to take away your poor father--our only
hope." But in spite of the order of their mother, the children,
frightened and crying, dared not leave their beds.

At the unusual noise, and the sight of the two bailiffs, whom she did
not know, the idiot began to utter deafening howls, crouching herself
against the wall. Morel appeared careless to all that was passing
around him; the blow was so frightful, so unexpected, the consequences
of this arrest appeared so terrible, that he could scarcely believe in
its reality. Already weakened by privations of every description, his
strength failed him; he remained pale and haggard, seated on his
stool, as though incapable of speech or motion, his head drooping on
his breast, and his arms hanging listlessly down.

"Confound it! when will all this end?" cried Malicorne; "think you
that we come here for fun? Off with you, or I shall make you!" So
saying, the bailiff put his hand on the artisan's shoulder, and shook
him roughly. The threat and action alarmed the children; the three
little boys left their mattress half naked, and came, in a flood of
tears, to throw themselves at the feet of the bailiffs, and, with
clasped hands, cried, in tones of touching earnestness, "Pray, pray do
not kill father."

At sight of these unhappy children, shivering with cold and fear,
Bourdin, in spite of his natural callousness, and the constant sight
of scenes like the present, felt something akin to compassion; his
companion, unpitying, brutally disengaged his leg from the grasp of
the kneeling supplicants.

"Hands off, you young ragamuffins! A pretty business ours would be
truly, if we had always to do with such beggars!"

A fearful addition was made to the horrors of this scene. The elder of
the little girls, who had remained in the straw with her sick sister,
cried out, "Oh, mother, mother! I do not know what is the matter with
Adele! She is quite cold, and she stares so at me and she don't
breathe!"

The poor consumptive child had just quietly expired, without a murmur,
her looks resting on her sister, whom she tenderly loved.

No language can describe the heart-rending cry of anguish uttered by
the diamond-cutter's wife at this frightful announcement, for she
understood it all. It was one of those stifling, convulsive screams,
torn from the depth of a mother's heart.

"My sister seems as though she were dead!" continued the child. "Oh,
how she frightens me! She still looks at me, but how cold her face
is!" Saying this, the poor child suddenly rose from the side of her
dead sister, and, running terrified, threw herself into the arms of
her mother; while the distracted parent, forgetful that her paralyzed
limbs were incapable of sustaining her, made a violent effort to rise,
and ran toward the corpse; but her strength failed her, and she fell
on the floor, uttering a last cry of despair. That cry found an echo
in Morel's heart, and roused him from his stupor; with one step he
reached the bed's side, snatching from it his child, four years old.
She was dead! Cold and want had hastened her end, although her
complaint, brought on by the want of common necessaries, was beyond
cure. Her poor little limbs were already cold and stiff. Morel, his
gray hair almost standing on end with despair and fright, remained
motionless, holding his dead child in his arms, whom he contemplated
with fixed, tearless eyes, bloodshot with agony.

"Morel! Morel! give my Adele to me!" shrieked the unhappy mother,
holding out her arms toward her husband; "it is not true that she is
dead: you shall see--I will warm her in my arms!"

The idiot's curiosity was excited by the haste with which the two
bailiffs approached the lapidary, who would not part with the body of
his infant. The old woman ceased to howl, rose from her bed, slowly
approached Morel, and passing her hideous and stupid face over his
shoulder, gazed vacantly on the corpse of her grandchild. The features
of the idiot retained their usual expression of ferocity. After a
little time, she uttered a sort of hoarse, hollow groan, like a hungry
beast, and returning to her bed, she threw herself upon it, crying
out, "I am hungry! I am hungry!"

"You see, gentlemen, this poor little girl, just four years old--
Adele; yes, she was named Adele. Only last night, she fondly returned
my caresses--and now--look at her! You will, perhaps, say that I have
one less to feed, and that I ought not to murmur," said the artisan,
with a haggard look.

The poor man's reason began to totter under so many repeated shocks.

"Morel, I want my child; I will have her!" said Madeleine.

"True, true," replied the lapidary, "each in turn, that is but fair!"
He went and laid the child in the arms of his wife. Then, hiding his
face between his hands, he groaned bitterly. Madeleine, almost as
frenzied as her husband, laid the child in the straw of her couch, and
watched it with a sort of savage jealousy; while the other children
were kneeling round in tears.

The bailiffs, for a moment softened by the death of the child, soon
returned to their accustomed brutality of conduct. "Oh, look here, my
friend," said Malicorne to the lapidary, "your child is dead; it is
unfortunate, but we are all mortal; we cannot help it, nor can you, so
there's an end of it. We have an extra job to do to-day--a
_swell_ to grab."

Morel did not hear the man. Completely lost in mournful contemplation,
the artisan said to himself, in a hollow and broken voice: "It will be
necessary to bury my poor little girl--to watch her here till they
come to carry her away. But how?--we have nothing! And the coffin!--
who will give us credit? Oh, a little coffin for a child of four years
old ought not to cost much! And then we shall want no bearers! One can
take it under his arm. Ha! ha! ha!" added he, with a frightful burst
of laughter, "how lucky I am! She might perhaps have lived to be
eighteen, Louise's age, and no one would have given me credit for a
large coffin!"

"Egad! this chap seems as though he would lose his senses!" said
Bourdin to Malicorne. "Look at him; he quite frightens me! and how the
old idiot howls with hunger! What a queer lot!"

"We must, however, make a finish; although the arrest of this beggar
is only for seventy-six francs, seventy-five centimes, it is only
right that we should swell the costs to two hundred and forty or fifty
francs. It is the _wolf_ who pays."

"You mean who has to _fork out_--for this poor devil here will
have to pay the fiddler, since it is he that must dance."

"By the time he has paid his creditor two thousand five hundred
francs, for principal, interest, costs, and all, he will be warm."

"It will not be then as now, for it freezes," said the bailiff,
blowing his fingers. "Come, old fellow, pack up and let us be off; you
can blubber as you go along. Who the devil can help the youngun's
kicking the bucket!"

"Besides, when people are so poor, they have no right to have
children."

"A good idea!" said Malicorne. Then slapping Morel on the shoulder, he
continued: "Come, come, old boy, we can wait no longer; since you
cannot pay, off to prison with you!"

"Prison!" said a pure, youthful voice; "Morel to prison!" A young,
bright, rosy brunette suddenly entered the garret.

"Oh, Miss Dimpleton!" said one of the children, crying; "you are so
good; save papa! they want to take him to prison, and little sister is
dead."

"Adele dead!" exclaimed the girl, whose large, brilliant black eyes
were veiled in tears. "Your father to prison? This cannot be."
Stupefied by surprise, she looked alternately at the lapidary, his
wife, and the bailiffs.

"My pretty girl," said Bourdin approaching Miss Dimpleton, "you're
cool, you must try to make this poor man listen to reason; his little
girl is dead, but nevertheless he must come with us to Clichy--to the
debtors' prison. We are sheriffs' officers."

"It is, then, all true," said the girl.

"Quite true. The mother has the little one in her bed--they cannot
take it from her; and while she is hugging it there, the father ought
to take the opportunity of slipping out."

"My God! my God! what misery," said Miss Dimpleton. "What is to be
done?"

"Pay, or go to prison! there is no other way, unless you have notes
for two or three thousand francs to lend them," said Malicorne, in a
careless tone; "if you have them, _shell out_, and we will
_cut_, devilish glad to get away."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" said Miss Dimpleton, with indignation; "daring
to jest with such dreadful misfortunes."

"Well then, joking aside," replied the other bailiff, "if you would do
some good, endeavor to prevent the woman from seeing us take away her
husband. You will thus save each of them a very disagreeable quarter
of an hour."

The advice was good, though coarsely given, and Miss Dimpleton,
following it, approached Madeleine, who, distracted with grief, did
not appear to notice the young girl, as she knelt down beside the bed
with the children.

Meanwhile, Morel had only recovered from his temporary delirium to
sink under the most painful reflections. Having become calm, he could
view far too clearly the horror of his situation. The notary must be
pitiless, since he had gone to such extremity; the bailiffs did but do
their duty. The artisan was therefore resigned.

"Come, come, let's be marching some time to-day," said Bourdin to him.

"I cannot leave these diamonds here, my wife is half mad," said Morel,
pointing to the stones scattered upon the bench; "the person for whom
I work will come for them this morning, or in the course of the day.
Their amount is considerable."

"Good!" said Hoppy, who still remained near the half-open door: "good,
good! Screech-Owl shall know that."

"Grant me only till to-morrow," urged Morel, "that I may restore the
diamonds."

"Impossible! We must go immediately."

"But I cannot, by leaving the diamonds here, run the risk of their
being lost."

"Take them with you, a coach waits at the door, which you will have to
pay for, with the other expenses. We can call on the owner of the
stones; if he is not at home you can place them in the registry at
Clichy; they will be as safe there as in the bank. Come, make haste;
we will slip away before your wife or children are aware of it."

"Grant me only till to-morrow, that I may bury my child!" entreated
Morel, with a supplicating voice, half stifled with the sobs he
endeavored to restrain.

"No! we have already lost more than an hour waiting here."

"This burying still worries you, then?" added Malicorne.

"Oh! yes, it makes me sad," said Morel, with bitterness; "you so much
fear to grieve people. Well, then, a last farewell!"

"There, again! confound you, make haste!" said Malicorne, with brutal
impatience.

"How long have you had the order to arrest me?"

"The judgment was signed four months since; but it was only yesterday
that our officer received instructions from the lawyer to put it in
execution."

"Yesterday only. Why was it delayed so long?"

"How can I tell? Come, pack up."

"Yesterday! and Louise not yet here! Where can she be? what has become
of her?" said the lapidary, taking from the bench a card-box filled
with cotton, in which he arranged the jewels. "But never mind that; in
prison I shall have plenty of time for thinking."

"Come, pack up the duds to take with you, and make haste and dress
yourself."

"I have no clothes to pack up: I have only these diamonds to take
away, and place in the prison registry."

"Well, then, dress yourself."

"I have no other clothes than these."

"Going out in these rags?" said Bourdin.

"You will be ashamed of me, doubtless," said the lapidary, bitterly.

"No, it is of no consequence, since we go in your coach," answered
Malicorne.

"Father, father! mother is calling you," said one of the children.

"You hear?" muttered Morel, rapidly, appealing to one of the bailiffs;
"do not be inhuman; grant me a last favor. I have not the courage to
say farewell to my wife and children; it would break my heart. If they
see you take me away they will run after me, and I would avoid that. I
therefore beg of you to say aloud that you will return in three or
four days, and pretend to go away; you can wait for me on the landing
below; I will come to you in less than five minutes. That will spare
me the pain of saying farewell. I will no longer resist, I promise
you. I shall go stark mad; I was nearly so just now."

"Not so green!--you want to give us the slip!" said Malicorne, "want
to bolt, old son!"

"Oh, God! God!" cried Morel, with mournful indignation.

"I don't think he intends to chouse us," said Bourdin, in a low tone
to his companion; "let us do as he wishes, or we'll never get away. I
will wait outside the door, there is no other outlet from the garret--
he cannot escape us."

"Very well; but he needn't be so particular about leaving the mucky
crib!" Then, addressing Morel in a low voice, he said: "Now then, look
sharp, and we will wait for you below. Make haste, and offer some
pretense for our going."

"I thank you," said Morel.

"Very well, it shall be so," said Bourdin, in a loud voice, and
looking significantly at the artisan; "in such case, as you promise to
pay in a short time, we will leave you for the present, and call again
in four or five days; but then you must be punctual."

"Yes, gentlemen, I trust I shall then be able to pay you."

The bailiffs left the room; while Hoppy, for fear of being seen, had
disappeared down the staircase at the same time the bailiffs quitted
the garret.

"Madame Morel, do you hear?" said Miss Dimpleton, trying to withdraw
the attention of the mother from her melancholy abstraction; "they
will not take away your husband--the two men are gone."

"Mother, don't you hear? they will not take father away," said the
eldest of the boys.

"Morel, listen to me," murmured Madeleine, in a state of delirium.
"Take one of the large diamonds and sell it--no one will know it, and
we shall be saved. Our Adele will no longer feel cold; she will not be
dead."

Taking advantage of a moment when none belonging to him were observing
his actions, the lapidary cautiously left the room. The bailiff was
waiting for him upon a sort of little landing, covered also by the
roof. Upon this landing, opened the door of a loft, which had formerly
been part of the garret occupied by the Morels, and in which Pipelet
kept his stock of leather; and the worthy porter called this place his
_box at the play_, because, by means of a hole made in the wall
between two laths, he was sometimes a witness to the sad scenes that
passed in the Morels' room. The bailiff noticed the door of the loft;
in a moment he thought that most likely his prisoner had reckoned upon
that outlet for escape, or to hide himself.

"Come, march, old fellow!" said he, beginning to descend the stair,
and making a sign to the lapidary to follow.

"One minute more, I beseech!" said Morel; and he fell on his knees
upon the floor. Through a chink in the door, he threw a last look upon
his family, and clasping his hands, he uttered, in a low, heart-rending
voice, while tears flowed down his haggard cheeks: "Farewell,
my dear children--my poor wife! may heaven preserve you all!
Farewell!"

"Make haste and cut that sermon," said Bourdin, brutally, "Malicorne
is quite right; you needn't make so much fuss about leaving the
stinking kennel. What a hole! what a hole!"

Morel rose to follow the bailiff, when the words "Father! father!"
sounded on the staircase.

"Louise!" exclaimed the lapidary, raising his hands toward heaven; "I
can then clasp you to my breast before I go!"

"I thank thee, God, I am in time!" said the voice, approaching nearer
and nearer, and light steps were heard rapidly ascending the stairs.

"Be calm, my dear," said a third voice, sharp, asthmatic, and out of
breath, coming from a lower part of the house;

"I will lay in wait, if I must, in the alley, with my broom and my old
darling, and they sha'n't leave here till you have spoken to them, the
contemptible beggars!"

The reader has doubtless recognized Mrs. Pipelet, who, less nimble
than Louise, followed her slowly. An instant after, the lapidary's
daughter was in her father's arms.

"It is indeed you, Louise, my darling Louise!" said Morel, crying;
"but how pale you are! For mercy's sake what ails you?"

"Nothing, nothing, father," stammered Louise. "I have run so fast.
Here is the money!"

"How is this?"

"You are free!"

"So you know?"

"Yes, yes! Here, sir, take the money," said the young girl, giving a
rouleau of gold to Malicorne.

"But this money, Louise--this money?"

"You shall know all presently; don't be uneasy. Come and comfort dear
mother."

"No, not now!" exclaimed Morel, placing himself before the door,
remembering that Louise was still in ignorance of the death of the
little girl; "wait, I must speak to you. Now, about this money?"

"Stay!" said Malicorne, as he finished counting the gold, and while
putting it in his pocket; "sixty-four, sixty-five--that will just make
thirteen hundred francs. Have you no more than that, my little dear?"

"Why, you only owe thirteen hundred francs?" said Louise, addressing
her father, with a stupefied air.

"Yes," said the lapidary.

"Stop!" rejoined the catchpole; "the bill is for thirteen hundred
francs. Well, the bill is paid; but the expenses? Without the
execution, they are already eleven hundred and forty francs."
[Footnote: We append some curious facts about imprisonment for debt,
taken from "_Le Pauvre Jacques_," a paper published by the
Society of Christian Morality Prison Committee:--

Alex Ross: Winner of the Guardian first book award
Stuart Evers: They made a real difference to Britain's literary culture, and it would be a terrible shame if they got forgotten in the age of Amazon

Congratulations to Alex Ross, winner of the Guardian first book award
One of only seven copies of The Tales of Beedle the Bard handwritten by JK Rowling is unveiled at the New York Public Library as the mass market edition goes on sale around the world

The arcane first book that's also a bestseller

Congratulations to Alex Ross, the deserving winner of the 2008 Guardian first book award. There's been a massed chorus of appreciation for this work already, so I shan't add much, except to say that what I particular enjoy about it is the connections it makes between musics and musicians. I'm the sort of person who goes to a lot of concerts, plays the violin, has some kind of grasp of how the history of music works – but frankly, it's all a bit fragmented and vague, since I have never studied the history of music properly and I can't really do the textbook musicological stuff. As I was reading Ross's book, it dawned on me that most of my knowledge of 20th-century music was based on reading the occasional Grove essay – and mostly, reading programme notes. What Ross's book does brilliantly is knit all these odd and isolated bits of knowledge together, so that everything starts to synthesise rather wonderfully, and you get to know what Sibelius thought of Stravinsky, say (not much – "stillborn affectations" was the phrase employed); or that Alban Berg was lionised by George Gershwin; or that David Bowie referenced Philip Glass and vice versa. That, and then the material is set against its historical and political background, such that this is a book for history-lovers as much as music-lovers.

By the way, there's a pungent criticism of the new-music scene by Hans Eisler in 1928, as quoted by Ross. How much have things changed, I wonder?

"The big music festivals have become downright stock exchanges, where the value of the works is assessed and contracts for the coming season are settled. Yet all this noise is carried out in the vacuum of a bell glass, so to speak, so that not a sound can be heard outside. An empty officiousness celebrates orgies of inbreeding, while there is a complete lack of interest or participation of a public of any kind."

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