L'or (9 page)

The beginning of 1855, like the end of the previous year, marks a new triumph for John Augustus Sutter.

On the 15th of March, Judge Thompson, the highest magistrate in California, announces his verdict in the Sutter case.

He acknowledges Sutter's claims as being just and well-founded, recognizes the grants made by the Mexican governors as legal and inviolable and declares that all those immense territories on which so many towns and villages have been built are the personal, intangible and indisputable property of John Augustus Sutter.

This verdict, together with the reasons adduced, amounts to a small volume of over two hundred pages.

Jean Marchais is the first to bring news of this verdict to the Hermitage. He finds Sutter engrossed in a booklet on the breeding of silk-worms.

Immediately, Sutter pounces on his frock-coat and brushes it with long, vigorous strokes. In effect, this judgement is directed against the United States; it is therefore necessary to obtain ratification from the highest Federal Court, swiftly and without delay. He has not a moment to lose. Out of a sort of childish vanity, Sutter is eager to reach Washington before the official courier arrives with the verdict. He will present himself to the Court in person.

'What a fine man this Judge Thompson is,' he says, as he dons his handsome embroidered shirt. 'O God, I have never doubted Thee!' he murmurs as he pulls on his boots.

'I thank Thee, I thank Thee,' he pronounces aloud.

Then he buttons up his gauntlets and buckles on his heavy belt with the revolver in its holster. 'At last, they are giving me justice.'

Justice!

He puts on his broad-brimmed felt hat and looks at himself in the mirror.

He is happy and, perhaps for the first time in his life, smiles at his own reflection.

He bursts out laughing at the thought of the trick he is going to play on the official courier by arriving in Washington ahead of him, and delivering the great news himself! 'God, what a bolt from the blue it will be!' I'll cross the Sierra by the mountain tracks; that way, I can see Father Gabriel and tell him the news. Now, there's another good man. How pleased he will be, and Shannon will have to bite his tongue. Those villains had better watch their step, from now on
we
shall be the ones to lay down the law here. I'll get Bill, Joe and Nash to ride with me, that'll be enough. I can stay with the Mormons
en route
,
and, if I travel through Nebraska, Missouri and Ohio, I'll be in Washington in a flash. My three Indians must come all the way to the Federal capital with me, and we must appear on horseback. Unless the Mormons can take me down the Platte River to catch the train. I hear the railway's reached Des Moines already.

'Ah, they're good souls, good souls . . ."

In his haste, he does not even bother to advise his sons of his departure, and it is only as he is jumping into the saddle that he shouts to Mina, who has come running from the poultry-yard: 'Tell the boys I'm going to Washington. We've won, we've won! The case is over. Tell them, and send Marchais to them. We've done it at last! Goodbye, my darling, see you soon!'

And, with his three Indians in his wake, he sets off like a whirlwind along the track that leads to the Sierra.

John Augustus Sutter leaves everything behind him.

He has his verdict.

The little party has been galloping all day long, and all night and all the following day They have barely given the horses time to breathe. On the second night, at about three in the morning, Sutter and his three Indians emerge from the great forests and reach the Mission Post which the good Father has built at the entrance to the col. The night is pitch black. There is not a star in the sky. Heavy clouds are hanging over the peaks of the Sierra. Men and horses are exhausted.

Father Gabriel is standing on the edge of the stone terrace that supports his little chapel. He is surrounded by Indians, men, women, children. They are all gazing in the same direction. To the north-west, the sky is ablaze. A great glow invades the lowering sky.

'God be praised, is it you, Captain?' cries Father Gabriel.

'General, General!' protests Sutter, jumping off his 
horse. 'They have promoted me to General! It's all over now, I've won my case. Judge Thompson declared in my favour. I've won. It's in the bag. I'm going to Washington at once to have the verdict registered. The country is ours now, we shall be able to work. Everything can go ahead smoothly.'

'God be praised!' says Father Gabriel again, 'I was anxious for you. Look at that great light over there.'

Sutter looks.

There, far over there, a great gleam lights up the sky and reddens it fitfully. It is not a forest fire, for it is way over there on the plain; it is not a prairie fire, for it is not summer-time and the dry season is still a long way off; nor is it crops that are burning, for the fields are still barren and unfilled. And that direction - due northwest! There can be no doubt, it is the Hermitage!

'Ach, the bastards!'

Sutter leaps on to his horse, jerks its head round and rides for home as if the devil were on his tail.

The moment Judge Thompson's verdict is known to the public, the entire city comes out on to the streets. Groups form at every corner and the bars and saloons are invaded by a crowd of vociferous drinkers. Violent arguments break out. Orators improvise speeches. Distillers offer 'drinks on the house', and stave in casks of brandy in the market-places. The mood of the mob becomes threatening. Sutter has too many enemies. Spokesmen of the party that opposed him and all the men of law who are in league against him incite the people, urging them to violence and mischief. Meetings are being held in every quarter of the town. In the evening, riots break out in San Francisco. The rioters set fire to the Law Courts, demolish the offices of the Clerk of the Court, destroy the Archives and storm the prisons. The populace are out to lynch Judge Thompson. Next day, the whole country is in a state of revolution and immediately men organize themselves into bands.

The authorities are powerless.

These people, who not so long ago acclaimed General Sutter, came to seek him out, to carry him off in triumph and give him a grand reception, an act of homage unique in the history of the United States, once more make their way to the Hermitage - but, this time, to attack it. There are about ten thousand of them and, as they advance, others hasten to swell the mob. The men are armed and there are wagons loaded with barrels of gunpowder. The Star-Spangled Banner floats above the heads of this disorderly multitude and it is to cries of 'Long Live America!' and 'Long Live California!' that everything in their path is pillaged, sacked, razed to the ground.

The Hermitage is burned down, the factories, workshops, sawmills, repair shops and windmills are blown up, the orchards chopped down, the irrigation pipelines perforated, the flocks and herds mown down by rifle-fire and any Indians, Kanakas or Chinese unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the marauders are lynched without mercy. Anything that bears Sutter's trademark is obliterated. The plantations are put to the torch, the vineyards ravaged. Finally, they attack the wine-cellars. And the destructive fury of the mob turns vicious - they kill, they break, they burn, they sack with such utter ruthlessness that even the poultry are 
slaughtered by volley-fire. Then they go up to Burgdorf and to Grenzach, where they again wreak havoc, destroying everything, reducing it to ashes. They saw through the lock-gates, smash up the surface of the roads and blow up the bridges.

Ruins and ashes.

When Sutter returns home, four days after his departure, nothing remains of his vast enterprises.

Thin plumes of smoke still rise from the smouldering debris. Clouds of urubus, vultures and crows with bloodied beaks squabble over the carrion of horses and cattle littered about the fields.

From the branch of a wild fig-tree swings the corpse of Jean Marchais.

This time, all is lost.

Forever.

Sutter contemplates the disaster with a mournful eye.

John Augustus Sutter is worn out. His life, his suffering, his hardships, his energy, his will, his endurance, his work, his perseverance, his hopes have all been in vain. His books, his papers, his instruments, his weapons, his tools, his bear and puma skins, his furs, his walrus tusks, his whalebones, his stuffed birds, his collection of butterflies, his Indian trophies, his specimens of ambergris and of genuine amber, of auriferous sand, of precious stones and of minerals of all kinds have been reduced to a heap of hot ashes.

Everything that he holds most dear, everything that represents the life and the pride of a man, 
has gone up in smoke.

General John Augustus Sutter no longer possesses anything of his own, except the clothes on his back, his viaticum and the Book of Revelation in his pocket.

He, who had hoped to become the richest man in the world!

Overcome with self-pity, he weeps for a long time. He is a broken man.

And suddenly he thinks of his children.

Where are they? What has become of them?

Then he begins to wander through the district, from farm to farm and village to village. Everywhere, they sneer at him, mock him, turn their backs on him. The people insult him. The children throw stones.

Sutter steels himself, says nothing, takes it all, the spite and the abuse.

He has a crushing sense of guilt.

He mumbles a prayer: 'Our Father, Which art in Heaven . . .'

He has fallen into a second childhood.

He is a pathetic old man.

Months pass. And then one day his sorrowful wanderings bring him to San Francisco.

He enters the city without being recognized by a soul.

He is frightened by the tall houses that rise up on either side, the intersecting streets, the swiftly-moving vehicles, the hurrying people who jostle him. Above all, he has a horror of the human face and is afraid to raise his eyes.

Misfortune dogs his footsteps.

He sleeps in the port and begs in the outer suburbs. He spends hours hanging about the waste ground where, only yesterday, stood the offices of his lawyer son.

One day, mechanically and without thinking, he goes in to see Judge Thompson. He finds his daughter, who has been given refuge there. Mina is in bed, she is suffering from nervous shock and has difficulty in expressing herself.

There, too, he hears news of his sons. Victor has again taken ship for Europe. Arthur was killed defending his farm. As for Emile, the eldest son, the lawyer, the one who had the whole business at his finger-tips and conducted the lawsuit, he has committed suicide in some squalid hovel.

As Sutter is stone deaf, he asks them to repeat this painful story twice.

'Thy will be done. Amen.'

At
the foot of the Twin Peaks, there stands a large white house whose pediment and Ionic columns are made of wood. It is surrounded by a spacious park and flower gardens. This is the country home of Judge Thompson; he loves to spend his weekends there, inspecting his young rose-bushes with a volume of Plutarch under his arm. It is in this retreat that Sutter, little by little, is restored to life and consciousness.

His legs are weak and he has put on an enormous amount of weight. White locks tumble over his stooping shoulders. His left side is afflicted with a slight tremor. His eyes water perpetually.

Mina has made a quick recovery from her terrible shock, the natural resilience of youth and the maternal care of Mrs Thompson have sufficed to restore her. She is engaged to Ulrich de Winckelried, a young dentist; the wedding is fixed for Christmas, and she is so happy about it that she cannot abide the sight, nor the presence, of her old, broken-down father. That is why she stays with the Thompsons in their town house, where these good people, so simple, so cheerful, so human, are always ready to guide and advise her in the setting-up of her new household.

Once again, John Augustus Sutter is all alone.

He paces to and fro beneath the trees or stands for hours in contemplation before a newly-blossomed rose. He never speaks to anyone. Sometimes, he will stop without ceremony in front of one of the gardeners, make a gesture as if to ask him something, then turn his back and walk away without opening his lips. The wind stirs the skirts of his frock-coat. He seeks the most secluded alley-ways to walk in. In the distance, the boom of the Pacific surf can be heard.

Twice a week, Judge Thompson comes out to see the General.

In all the vast territories of the United States, Judge Thompson alone understands and feels compassion for the plight of the General. Thompson is an enlightened man with a broad and well-balanced outlook; he fulfils his duties with the utmost integrity. Having made a thorough study of Greek in his youth, he has preserved a love for the humanities, a lofty system of reasoning and a taste for logical, unbiased deduction that he is capable of carrying to its ultimate conclusion. His mind is naturally inclined towards the contemplative mode. Thus he grasps the tragic aspect of John Augustus Sutter's life.

He has taken all the General's interests into his own hands, reviewed the whole affair and spent entire nights bent over the dossiers of the case. He has nothing with which to reproach himself. His verdict was arrived at in 
a full knowledge of the facts, according to the dictates of his conscience as a man and as a high court magistrate; in all equity, he pronounced in accordance with the letter and the spirit of the law. But, but . . . today, he understands that it is not so much a question of law as of saving a man, an old man, and he listens to the counsels of his heart. And when he comes to see the General, he makes a point of preaching reason to him.

Meanwhile, he offers him a refuge and sees to it that he gets all the care and attention his condition requires.

'Listen, General, you've suffered enough, don't persist with this business that has brought you nothing but misery. This is what I suggest you do, I've been thinking about it for a long time. Renounce all claims against individual persons. Give up all your proprietorial rights to those plots of land that passed long ago into other hands and are now registered in new names; give up once and for all any idea of getting your hands on your percentage of the gold extracted, or to be extracted in future - believe me, neither the State legislature nor the Federal government itself will ever succeed in collecting one red cent of it. Declare yourself ready to come to terms for, let us say . . . one million dollars' indemnity, payable in cash, and I will do everything in my power to obtain the money for you. If you're absolutely determined to work, you could very well demand new territory and you will get it easily; you know perfectly well the one thing we're not short of hereabouts is land, and, thank God, there's plenty of room still for newcomers. But don't go on with this futile business that will get you nowhere. You know as well as I do that there are too many vested interests, and everyone is intriguing against you in Washington. Trust me, and give up the game, it's not worth the candle.'

'Judge Thompson,' the General invariably replies, 'Judge Thompson, you judged the case and pronounced a verdict according to your conscience. And today you talk to me about money! Tell me, what am I suing for? I am suing for justice, nothing else. The highest court in this land must declare whether you were right or wrong. And it will pronounce. Besides, I am not appealing to mere man, but to God. I must carry this matter to the bitter end, for if I do not obtain justice in this world, it is a consolation to me to think that I will obtain it in heaven, and that one day I shall sit upon the right hand of the Lord.'

'But think of your children, think of Mina who is soon to be married. One day, she'll make you a grandfather.'

'Judge Thompson, a man like myself is damned and has no children. That is surely the sole error of my life. Arthur was killed, Emile committed suicide, and you told me yourself that we must consider Victor as lost, since he disappeared when the
Golden Gate
was shipwrecked in the open sea at the exit from the Magellan Straits. And, since I no longer possess anything, and cannot give her anything, I shall not be harming Mina by taking this matter to its conclusion; on the contrary, if I win, I shall have provided for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren and for seven times seven generations.'

'But what are you going to live on?'

'God, who has stripped me of everything, will provide for me as he nourishes the birds and the beasts.'

'I implore you not to leave here, you can stay as long as you like.'

'Yes, yes, I will go to Washington, at Christmas, after Mina's wedding. Then, we shall see whether there are any honest judges in Washington.'

Mina marries her dentist and the General departs for Washington, at Christmas, just as he has always said. He is armed with a recommendation from the Mayor of San Francisco, and, in his pocket, Judge Thompson's verdict keeps company with the little volume of the Book of Revelation. Thompson has also managed to persuade the State legislature to pay the old General a pension, a pension for life of three thousand dollars a year.