Alas! he had failed irremediably. The elevation in which he had

believed, the high fortune, had melted away like a mirage. And what a

fall! To be drowned in a surge of laughter!

He had believed himself strong--he who, during so many years, had

floated with observant mind on the wide sea of suffering; he who had

brought back out of the great shadow so touching a cry. He had been

flung against that huge rock the frivolity of the fortunate. He believed

himself an avenger; he was but a clown. He thought that he wielded the

thunderbolt; he did but tickle. In place of emotion, he met with

mockery. He sobbed; they burst into gaiety, and under that gaiety he had

sunk fatally submerged.

And what had they laughed at? At his laugh. So that trace of a hateful

act, of which he must keep the mark for ever--mutilation carved in

everlasting gaiety; the stigmata of laughter, image of the sham

contentment of nations under their oppressors; that mask of joy produced

by torture; that abyss of grimace which he carried on his features; the

scar which signified Jussu regis, the attestation of a crime committed

by the king towards him, and the symbol of crime committed by royalty

towards the people;--that it was which had triumphed over him; that it

was which had overwhelmed him; so that the accusation against the

executioner turned into sentence upon the victim. What a prodigious

denial of justice! Royalty, having had satisfaction of his father, had

had satisfaction of him! The evil that had been done had served as

pretext and as motive for the evil which remained to be done. Against

whom were the lords angered? Against the torturer? No; against the

890

The Man Who Laughs