L'homme qui rit. English

  CHAPTER I.

  WHAT THE MISANTHROPE SAID.

  After Ursus had seen Gwynplaine thrust within the gates of SouthwarkJail, he remained, haggard, in the corner from which he was watching.For a long time his ears were haunted by the grinding of the bolts andbars, which was like a howl of joy that one wretch more should beenclosed within them.

  He waited. What for? He watched. What for? Such inexorable doors, onceshut, do not re-open so soon. They are tongue-tied by their stagnationin darkness, and move with difficulty, especially when they have to giveup a prisoner. Entrance is permitted. Exit is quite a different matter.Ursus knew this. But waiting is a thing which we have not the power togive up at our own will. We wait in our own despite. What we dodisengages an acquired force, which maintains its action when its objecthas ceased, which keeps possession of us and holds us, and obliges usfor some time longer to continue that which has already lost its motive.Hence the useless watch, the inert position that we have all held attimes, the loss of time which every thoughtful man gives mechanically tothat which has disappeared. None escapes this law. We become stubborn ina sort of vague fury. We know not why we are in the place, but we remainthere. That which we have begun actively we continue passively, with anexhausting tenacity from which we emerge overwhelmed. Ursus, thoughdiffering from other men, was, as any other might have been, nailed tohis post by that species of conscious reverie into which we are plungedby events all important to us, and in which we are impotent. Hescrutinized by turns those two black walls, now the high one, then thelow; sometimes the door near which the ladder to the gibbet stood, thenthat surmounted by a death's head. It was as if he were caught in avice, composed of a prison and a cemetery. This shunned and unpopularstreet was so deserted that he was unobserved.

  At length he left the arch under which he had taken shelter, a kind ofchance sentry-box, in which he had acted the watchman, and departed withslow steps. The day was declining, for his guard had been long. Fromtime to time he turned his head and looked at the fearful wicket throughwhich Gwynplaine had disappeared. His eyes were glassy and dull. Hereached the end of the alley, entered another, then another, retracingalmost unconsciously the road which he had taken some hours before. Atintervals he turned, as if he could still see the door of the prison,though he was no longer in the street in which the jail was situated.Step by step he was approaching Tarrinzeau Field. The lanes in theneighbourhood of the fair-ground were deserted pathways between enclosedgardens. He walked along, his head bent down, by the hedges and ditches.All at once he halted, and drawing himself up, exclaimed, "So much thebetter!"

  At the same time he struck his fist twice on his head and twice on histhigh, thus proving himself to be a sensible fellow, who saw things intheir right light; and then he began to growl inwardly, yet now and thenraising his voice.

  "It is all right! Oh, the scoundrel! the thief! the vagabond! theworthless fellow! the seditious scamp! It is his speeches about thegovernment that have sent him there. He is a rebel. I was harbouring arebel. I am free of him, and lucky for me; he was compromising us.Thrust into prison! Oh, so much the better! What excellent laws!Ungrateful boy! I who brought him up! To give oneself so much troublefor this! Why should he want to speak and to reason? He mixed himself upin politics. The ass! As he handled pennies he babbled about the taxes,about the poor, about the people, about what was no business of his. Hepermitted himself to make reflections on pennies. He commented wickedlyand maliciously on the copper money of the kingdom. He insulted thefarthings of her Majesty. A farthing! Why, 'tis the same as the queen. Asacred effigy! Devil take it! a sacred effigy! Have we a queen--yes orno? Then respect her verdigris! Everything depends on the government;one ought to know that. I have experience, I have. I know something.They may say to me, 'But you give up politics, then?' Politics, myfriends! I care as much for them as for the rough hide of an ass. Ireceived, one day, a blow from a baronet's cane. I said to myself, Thatis enough: I understand politics. The people have but a farthing, theygive it; the queen takes it, the people thank her. Nothing can be morenatural. It is for the peers to arrange the rest; their lordships, thelords spiritual and temporal. Oh! so Gwynplaine is locked up! So he isin prison. That is just as it should be. It is equitable, excellent,well-merited, and legitimate. It is his own fault. To criticize isforbidden. Are you a lord, you idiot? The constable has seized him, thejustice of the quorum has carried him off, the sheriff has him incustody. At this moment he is probably being examined by a serjeant ofthe coif. They pluck out your crimes, those clever fellows! Imprisoned,my wag! So much the worse for him, so much the better for me! Faith, Iam satisfied. I own frankly that fortune favours me. Of what folly was Iguilty when I picked up that little boy and girl! We were so quietbefore, Homo and I! What had they to do in my caravan, the littleblackguards? Didn't I brood over them when they were young! Didn't Idraw them along with my harness! Pretty foundlings, indeed; he as uglyas sin, and she blind of both eyes! Where was the use of deprivingmyself of everything for their sakes? The beggars grow up, forsooth, andmake love to each other. The flirtations of the deformed! It was to thatwe had come. The toad and the mole; quite an idyl! That was what went onin my household. All which was sure to end by going before the justice.The toad talked politics! But now I am free of him. When the wapentakecame I was at first a fool; one always doubts one's own good luck. Ibelieved that I did not see what I did see; that it was impossible, thatit was a nightmare, that a day-dream was playing me a trick. But no!Nothing could be truer. It is all clear. Gwynplaine is really inprison. It is a stroke of Providence. Praise be to it! He was themonster who, with the row he made, drew attention to my establishmentand denounced my poor wolf. Be off, Gwynplaine; and, see, I am rid ofboth! Two birds killed with one stone. Because Dea will die, now thatshe can no longer see Gwynplaine. For she sees him, the idiot! She willhave no object in life. She will say, 'What am I to do in the world?'Good-bye! To the devil with both of them. I always hated the creatures!Die, Dea! Oh, I am quite comfortable!"