Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 May 1894 — THE TROUT. [ARTICLE]

THE TROUT.

“ Scholastique! ” “ Monsieur Sourdat." “ Take the utmost pains in cooking the trout—short boil, parsley, thyme, laurel, oil and onions in full strength.” “Are you not afraid to use all the herbs of St. John, Monsieur?” “No —and above all no vinegar—just a sprinkling of lemon juice. Let the cover be laid at 10.30, and let the dinner be ready at 11 precisely—not at five minutes past 11. Do you hear?”

After having uttered these last injunctions to his cook Judge Sourdat crossed the chief street of Marville with alert steps and gained the Palais de Justice, which was situated back of the Sous Prefecture. Judge Sourdat was about 45 years of age; very active, notwithstanding a tendency to stoutness; square of shoulders; short in stature, with a squeaking voice and a round, close shaven head; eyes gray, clear and hard under bush j’ eyhrows; a mouth closely shut, with thin and irritable lips; browned cheeks, surrounded with whiskers badly trimmed; in fact, one of these mastiff faces of which one says: “He can’t be good every day.” And surely he was not very kind, and he boasted of it A despot, he used all of his little realm in the Palais. Hard as stone toward the guilty, rough with the witnesses, aggressive with the advocates, he was a veritable furnace who fanned himself constanly into a glow. He was feared like the fire, and he was loved very little. However, this man of iron had two vulnerable sides. Firstly, he responded to the pastoral name of Nemorinj which exposed him to ridicule, and secondly he was a gourmand. His gastronomy, which was profound, had become a mania.

Living in this little, narrow, sleepy city on the frontier of the Belgian Ardennes, where the pleasures of the table constituted the only diversion of the easy-goihg burgomasters, the culinary accomplishments of the Judge were cited for ten leagues around. It was said that he ate only fish caught at break of day, because the repose of the night and the absence of emotion rendered the flesh more delicate at that time.

It was he who imagined that to plunge shell fish into boiling milk before cooking them in their ordinary dressing, gave them a richness and a velvety flavor particularly exquisite. On the day that he taught that latest refinement to the priest of St. Victor, the latter could not help blushing, and raising his hands to Heaven he cried: “Too much! This is too much, Judge Sourdat! Surely it is permitted to taste with discretion the good things which divine wisdom has provided, but such gluttony as this borders upon mortal sin, and you will have to render account for it to the good God.”

To the scruples of the excellent priest the Judge responded with a misanthropic laugh. It was one of his malign joys to expose his neighbors to temptation, and this very morning the priest was to breakfast with him, the recorder being the only other guest. Judge Sourdat had received, the evening before, a twopound salmon trout, taken from the beautiful clear water of the rocky Semeis. It was his favorite fish, and had fully occupied the first hours of his morning. He had demonstrated to the cook the superiority of a quick boil to the slow cooking in Geneva or Holland sauoe of the books. The trout must be served cold, and in the seasoning in which it was cooked.

This was with him a principle as well as a dogma, as indispensable as an article of the penal code. He continued to repeat it to himself even after having clothed himself in his robe and taken his seat, though he was turning over the leaves of a document bearing upon an important case now pending. This was a criminal affair, the dramatic details of which contrasted sidgularly with the epicurean speculations which persisted in haunting the cranium of Judge Sourdat. The case was thus: During the previous week, at sunrise, there had been found in a thicket of the forest the body of a game-keeper, who had evidently been assassinated, and then concealed among the brambles of a ditch.' It was supposed that the crime had been committed by some strolling poacher, but up to the present time there had been elicited no precise evidence, and the witnesses examined had only made the mystery deeper. The murder had taken place near the frontier, where charcoal burners were at work. The suspicions of the judge had therefore been directed toward them. The. depositions thus far had revealed that on the night of the murder these people had been absent from their shanty, and- the furnace had remained in the care of a young daughter of the charcoal burner. Nevertheless, Judge Sourdat had given the order to re-examine one of the men, a stolid boy of twenty, who had once had a falling out with the murdered guard; and the judge had also cited the charcoal burner’s daughter to appear before him. Just here the affair commenced to be peculiar. The girl had not responded to the summons. She had evidently hidden, no one knew where. The judge had been obliged to send a conatable to look her up, and he was now awaiting the result of the search. Toward 10 o’clock the door of his

cabinet opened, framing the cocked hat and yellow shoulder belt of the constable. “Eh! well?” grunted the Judge. “Eh! well, Judge. I cannot find the girl. She has disappeared. The charcoal burners pretend utter ignorance.” “Pure acting!" irritably cried Judge Sourdat. “These people are mocking you. You are but a stupid fellow at best. Go.” The Judge consulted his watch. The business was at a standstill; the case could not be called, and he wished to give a glance of oversight to the matter of the dining room before the arrival of his guests. He disrobed himself and hurried home. The pleasant dining room, brightened by the June sunshine, presented a most attractive aspect with its white woodwork; its gray curtains; its high stove of blue faience with its marble top; and its round table covered with a dazzling white linen cloth, upon which were placed three covers, artistically trimmed. The little rolls of white bread rested tenderly upon the bright red napkins. Flanked on the right with a lettuce salad, ornamented with nasturtiums; on the left by a cluster of shell-fish from the Meuse, the trout was extended in a platter engirdled with parsley. Its blue back cut transversely, revealed its rich salmon color, and It held a full-blown rose in its mouth. By its side, a bowl of court-bouillon was just taking a chill, and exaling abroad a fine odor of thyme which rejoiced the nostrils. This spectacle somewhat softened the ill-humor of the Judge, and he was calming, little by little, when the hall door opened violently, and he heard in the vestibule a girl’s voice which cried, “I tell you I wish to speak to the Judge. He expects me.”

At the same time a half-naked arm made the recorder Touchbceuf spin through the open door. He had just arrived, being one of the invited guests. A strange visitor was ushered by him into the dining hall. It was a young girl, almost a child, thin and brown, with uncovered head and with her hair streaming on the wind. Her stockingless feet were thrust into men’s boots; a gray blouse and a skirt of blue cotton formed her sole attire. Her rapid walking had flushed her cheeks; her gentle brown eyes were sparkling under the uncombed tangles of her chestnut hair; her nostrils were dilating and her parted lips trembled. “What does all this racket mean?” growled the Judge, scowling. “It is that little charcoal burner,” responded the recorder Touchbceuf. “She arrived at the Pwlais just after you left, and she has followed me as far as here, in a state of wild excitement, in order that you may take her deposition.” “Eh!” groaned the Judge. “You are in a great hurry, my girl, after keeping me waiting three days. Why did you not come sooner?” “I had my reasons,” she said, casting hungry eyes upon the table. “We can better appreciate your reasons later,” replied the Judge, furious at the interruption. “Meanwhile we can listen to your report.” He drew out his watch. It was a quarter to eleven. “Yes, we have time, Touchbceuf. You will find at your side all that is necessary for writing. We will question her.” The notary seated himself at the writing table with his paper and inkstand, and his pen behind his ear, waiting. The judge, sitting squarely in a square-seated armchair, fixed his clear, hard eyes upon the girl, who remained standing near the stove. “Your name ? ” he demanded. “Meline Sacael.” “Your age, and your residence ? " “Sixteen years. I live with my father, who burns charcoal at the clearing of Onze-Fontaines.” “You swear to tell all the truth ? ” “I came only for that.” “Raise your right hand. You were near your home on the night when the guard Seurrotwas murdered. Relate all that you know.” •‘This is what I know. Our folks had set out to go with the charcoal to Stonay. I watched near the furnace. Toward 8 o’clock, at a moment when the moon was hidden, Manchin, who is a woodcutter of Ire, passed before our lodge. “See me! Am I not watching at an early hour ? ” I cried. “How goes all at your home? All well ? ”

“ ‘No,’ he answered. ‘The mother has a fever and the children are almost dying with hunger. There is not a mouthful of bread in the house and I am trying to kill a rabbit to sell in Marville.’ That is on the other side of Onze-Fontaine. I lost sight of him then, but at daybreak I heard the report of a gun and I was just clearing the ashes to shield the charcoal. Then, immediately after, two men came running toward our lodge. They were disputing. ‘Scoundrel! ’ cried the guard. ‘I arrest you.’ “ ‘Seurrot,’ cried the other, ‘I pray you let me have the rabbit, for they are dying of hunger at my home.”

“ ‘Go to the deuce!’ cried the guard. Then they fell upon each other. I could hear their hard blows plainly. Suddenly the guard cried, ‘Ah!’ and then he fell heavily, “I had hidden behind our lodge, terribly frightened, and Manchin ran away into the great forest, and from that time to this he has not been seen. He is in Belgium, for sure. That is all!” “Hum?” growled the Judge. “Why did you not come to tell this as soon as you received the summons?” “It was none of my business—and I did not wish to speak against Manchin.” “I see! but you seem to have changed your mind this morning. How is that?” “It is because I have heard that they accuse .Guestin.” “And who is this Guestin?” The girl reddened and answered: “He is our neighbor charcoal burner, and he would not harm a fly. Do you not see,” she continued, “that the thought of fastening on him the guilt of another aroused me, I put these great boots on, and 1 have run all the way through the weeds to tell you this. Oh, how I have-run! I did not feel tired. I would have run till tomorrow if it had been necessary, because it is as true as the blue heavens that our Guestin is entirely innocent, gentlemen.’* She spoke with an animation which

’ made her truly beautiful in spite oi her rags. Her rough eloquence had the ring of sincerity, and the terrible Judge felt himself moved by the energy with which the child defended Guestin. “Hallo!" cried he, seeing her suddenly grow pale and stagger. “What’s the matter?” “My head swims. I cannot see.” She changed color and her temples grew moist. The Judge, alarmed, poured out a glass of wine and cried: “Drink this quickly!" He was wholly absorbed and very much moved before this girl who was threatened with illness. He dared not call Scholastique, for fear of disturbing his cooking. He looked hopelessly toward the clerk, who was gnawing his penholder. “It is a swoon,” observed the latter. “Perhaps she needs something to eat." “Are you hungry?” demanded the Judge. She made a sign of assent. “Excuse me,” she said in a feeble voice, “but I have had nothing to eat since yesterday. It is that which makes me dizzy.” Judge Sourdat trembled for the first time m years, while his heart softened as in childhood. He thought of this young girl who had run three leagues in order to save her companion from the clutches of the law —three leagues in a hot sun and fasting! The thought of the last moved his sensibilities more strongly than could anything else. In his confusion he cast a despairing look at the table. The salad and the shellfish seemed too good for any but such as he and his companions. “The duece?” he cried at last heroically. Violently he drew toward him the platter on which lay the trout. After separating a large piece which he put on the plate before her, he made the charecoal-burner sit down. “Eat!” said he imperiously.

He had no need to repeat his command. She ate rapidly, voraciously. In another minute the plate was empty, and Judge Sourdat heroically filled it anew. The scribe Touchbceuf rubbed his eyes. He no longer recognized the Judge. He admired, though not without a sentiment of regret, the robust appetite of the charcoal burner, who devoured the exquisite fish without any more ceremony than if it had been a smoked herring, and he murmured, “What a pity! Such a beautiful dish!”

At that moment the door opened; the third guest, the good priest of St. Vincent, in a new cassock, with his three-cornered hat under his arm, entered the dining-room, and stopped questioningly before the strange spectacle of that little savage seated at the Judge’s table. “Too late, Monsieur le Cure!” growled the Judge. “There is no more trout.” At the same time he related the history of the little charcoal burner. The cure heaved a sigh. He comprehended the grandeur of the sacrifice, but half-mournful, half-smiling, he tapped upon the shoulder of the Judge. “Judge Nemorin Sourdat!” cried he, “you are better than you thought. In truth I tell you that all punishment for your sin of gluttony will be forever remitted because of that trout which we have not eaten.” —[From the French, in Romance.