The Wandering Jew — Complete
"Yes, yes," cried those in the house--honest people perhaps, but under
the influence of the general panic; "he must be taken up, for he has
been throwing poison into the wine-pots."
The words "He is a poisoner" soon spread through the group, which, at
first composed of three or four persons, increased every instant around
the door of the wine-shop. A dull, menacing clamor began to rise from
the crowd; the first accuser, seeing his fears thus shared and almost
justified, thought he was acting like a good and courageous citizen
in taking Goliath by the collar, and saying to him: "Come and explain
yourself at the guard-house, villain!"
The giant, already provoked at insults of which he did not perceive the
real meaning, was exasperated at this sudden attack; yielding to his
natural brutality, he knocked his adversary down upon the counter,
and began to hammer him with his fists. During this collision, several
bottles and two or three panes of glass were broken with much noise,
whilst the woman of the house, more and more frightened, cried out with
all her might; "Help! a poisoner! Help! murder!"
At the sound of the breaking windows and these cries of distress, the
passers-by, of whom the greater number believed in the stories about
the poisoners, rushed into the shop to aid in securing Goliath. But
the latter, thanks to his herculean strength, after struggling for
some moments with seven or eight persons, knocked down two of his most
furious assailants, disengaged himself from the others, drew near the
counter, and, taking a vigorous spring, rushed head-foremost, like
a bull about to butt, upon the crowd that blocked up the door; then,
forcing a passage, by the help of his enormous shoulders and athletic
arms, he made his way into the street, and ran with all speed in the
direction of the square of Notre-Dame, his garments torn, his head bare,
and his countenance pale and full of rage. Immediately, a number of
persons from amongst the crowd started in pursuit of Goliath, and a
hundred voices exclaimed: "Stop--stop the poisoner!"
Hearing these cries, and seeing a man draw near with a wild and troubled
look, a butcher, who happened to be passing with his large, empty tray
on his head, threw it against Goliath's shins, and taken by surprise, he
stumbled and fell. The butcher, thinking he had performed as heroic an
action as if he had encountered a mad dog, flung himself on Goliath,
and rolled over with him on the pavement, exclaiming: "Help! it is a
poisoner! Help! help!" This scene took place not far from the Cathedral,
but at some distance from the crowd which was pressing round the
hospital gate, as well as from the eating-house in which the masquerade
of the cholera then was. The day was now drawing to a close. On the
piercing call of the butcher, several groups, at the head of which were
Ciboule and the quarryman, flew towards the scene of the struggle,
while those who had pursued the pretended poisoner from the Rue de la
Calandre, reached the square on their side.
At sight of this threatening crowd advancing towards him, Goliath,
whilst he continued to defend himself against the butcher, who held him
with the tenacity of a bull-dog, felt that he was lost unless he could
rid himself of this adversary before the arrival of the rest; with a
furious blow of the fist, therefore, he broke the jaw of the butcher,
who just then was above him, and disengaging himself from his hold, he
rose, and staggered a few steps forward. Suddenly he stopped. He saw
that he was surrounded. Behind him rose the walls of the cathedral; to
the right and left, and in front of him, advanced a hostile multitude.
The groans uttered by the butcher, who had just been lifted from the
ground covered with blood, augmented the fury of the populace.
This was a terrible moment for Goliath: still standing alone in the
centre of a ring that grew smaller every second, he saw on all sides
angry enemies rushing towards him, and uttering cries of death. As the
wild boar turns round once or twice, before resolving to stand at bay
and face the devouring pack, Goliath, struck with terror, made one or
two abrupt and wavering movements. Then, as he abandoned the possibility
of flight, instinct told him that he had no mercy to expect from a crowd
given up to blind and savage fury--a fury the more pitiless as it was
believed to be legitimate. Goliath determined, therefore, at least to
sell his life dearly; he sought for a knife in his pocket, but, not
finding it, he threw out his left leg in an athletic posture, and
holding up his muscular arms, hard and stiff as bars of iron, waited
with intrepidity for the shock.
The first who approached Goliath was Ciboule. The hag, heated and out
of breath, instead of rushing upon him, paused, stooped down, and
taking off one of the large wooden shoes that she wore, hurled it at the
giant's head with so much force and with so true an aim that it struck
him right in the eye, which hung half out of its socket. Goliath pressed
his hands to his face, and uttered a cry of excruciating pain.
"I've made him squint!" said Ciboule, with a burst of laughter.
Goliath, maddened by the pain, instead of waiting for the attack, which
the mob still hesitated to begin, so greatly were they awed by his
appearance of herculean strength--the only adversary worthy to cope with
him being the quarryman, who had been borne to a distance by the surging
of the crowd--Goliath, in his rage, rushed headlong upon the nearest.
Such a struggle was too unequal to last long; but despair redoubled
the Colossus's strength, and the combat was for a moment terrible. The
unfortunate man did not fall at once. For some seconds, almost buried
amid a swarm of furious assailants, one saw now his mighty arm rise and
fall like a sledge hammer, beating upon skulls and faces, and now his
enormous head, livid and bloody, drawn back by some of the combatants
hanging to his tangled hair. Here and there sudden openings and violent
oscillations of the crowd bore witness to the incredible energy of
Goliath's defence. But when the quarryman succeeded in reaching him,
Goliath was overpowered and thrown down. A long, savage cheer in triumph
announced this fall; for, under such circumstances, to "go under" is "to
die." Instantly a thousand breathless and angry voices repeated the cry
of "Death to the poisoner!"
Then began one of those scenes of massacre and torture, worthy of
cannibals, horrible to relate, and the more incredible, that they happen
almost always in the presence, and often with the aid, of honest and
humane people, who, blinded by false notions and stupid prejudices,
allow themselves to be led into all sorts of barbarity, under the idea
of performing an act of inexorable justice. As it frequently happens,
the sight of the blood which flowed in torrents from Goliath's wounds
inflamed to madness the rage of his assailants. A hundred fists struck
at the unhappy man; he was stamped under foot, his face and chest were
beaten in. Ever and anon, in the midst of furious cries of "Death to the
poisoner!" heavy blows were audible, followed by stifled groans. It was
a frightful butchery. Each individual, yielding to a sanguinary frenzy,
came in turn to strike his blow; or to tear off his morsel of flesh.
Women--yes, women--mothers!--came to spend their rage on this mutilated
form.
There was one moment of frightful terror. With his face all bruised and
covered with mud, his garments in rags, his chest bare, red, gaping with
wounds--Goliath, availing himself of a moment's weariness on the part of
his assassins, who believed him already, finished, succeeded, by one of
those convulsive starts frequent in the last agony, in raising himself
to his feet for a few seconds; then, blind with wounds and loss of
blood, striking about his arms in the air as if to parry blows that were
no longer struck, he muttered these words, which came from his mouth,
accompanied by a crimson torrent: "Mercy! I am no poisoner. Mercy!" This
sort of resurrection produced so great an effect on the crowd, that for
an instant they fell hack affrighted. The clamor ceased, and a small
space was left around the victim. Some hearts began even to feel pity;
when the quarryman, seeing Goliath blinded with blood, groping before
him with his hands, exclaimed in ferocious allusion to a well-known
game: "Now for blind-man's-bluff."
Then, with a violent kick, he again threw down the victim, whose head
struck twice heavily on the pavement.
Just as the giant fell a voice from amongst the crowd exclaimed: "It is
Goliath! stop! he is innocent."
It was Father d'Aigrigny, who, yielding to a generous impulse, was
making violent efforts to reach the foremost rank of the actors in this
scene, and who cried out, as he came nearer, pale, indignant, menacing:
"You are cowards and murderers! This man is innocent. I know him. You
shall answer for his life."
These vehement words were received with loud murmurs.
"You know that poisoner," cried the quarryman, seizing the Jesuit by the
collar; "then perhaps you are a poisoner too.
"Wretch," exclaimed Father d'Aigrigny, endeavoring to shake himself
loose from the grasp, "do you dare to lay hand upon me?"
"Yes, I dare do anything," answered the quarryman.
"He knows him: he's a poisoner like the other," cried the crowd,
pressing round the two adversaries; whilst Goliath, who had fractured
his skull in the fall, uttered a long death-rattle.
At a sudden movement of Father d'Aigrigny, who disengaged himself from
the quarryman, a large glass phial of peculiar form, very thick, and
filled with a greenish liquor, fell from his pocket, and rolled close
to the dying Goliath. At sight of this phial, many voices exclaimed
together: "It is poison! Only see! He had poison upon him."
The clamor redoubled at this accusation, and they pressed so close to
Abbe d'Aigrigny, that he exclaimed: "Do not touch me! do not approach
me!"
"If he is a poisoner," said a voice, "no more mercy for him than for the
other."
"I a poisoner?" said the abbe, struck with horror.
Ciboule had darted upon the phial; the quarryman seized it from her,
uncorked it and presenting it to Father d'Aigrigny, said to him: "Now
tell us what is that?"
"It is not poison," cried Father d'Aigrigny.
"Then drink it!" returned the quarryman.
"Yes, yes! let him drink it!" cried the mob.
"Never," answered Father d'Aigrigny, in extreme alarm. And he drew back
as he spoke, pushing away the phial with his hand.
"Do you see? It is poison. He dares not drink it," they exclaimed.
Hemmed in on every side, Father d'Aigrigny stumbled against the body of
Goliath.
"My friends," cried the Jesuit, who, without being a poisoner, found
himself exposed to a terrible alternative, for his phial contained
aromatic salts of extraordinary strength, designed for a preservative
against the cholera, and as dangerous to swallow as any poison, "my good
friends, you are in error. I conjure you, in the name of heaven--"
"If that is not poison, drink it!" interrupted the quarryman, as he
again offered the bottle to the Jesuit.
"If he does not drink it, death to the poisoner of the poor!"
"Yes!--death to him! death to him!"
"Unhappy men!" cried Father d'Aigrigny, whilst his hair stood on end
with terror; "do you mean to murder me?"
"What about all those, that you and your mate have killed, you wretch?"
"But it is not true--and--"
"Drink, then!" repeated the inflexible quarryman; "I ask you for the
last time."
"To drink that would be death," cried Father d'Aigrigny.
"Oh! only hear the wretch!" cried the mob, pressing closer to him; "he
has confessed--he has confessed!"
"He has betrayed himself!"(40)
"He said, 'to drink that would be death!'"