by Eugène Sue
“Well, what followed?”
“In my life I never saw so distressing a spectacle. Pale, wan, meagre, half naked, and covered with wounds, David and the unhappy girl, chained by the middle of the body, one at one end and the other at the other end of the dungeon, looked like spectres. The lantern that lighted us threw over this scene a still more ghastly hue. David did not utter a word when he saw us; his gaze was fixed and fearful. The colonist said to him, with cruel irony, ‘Well, doctor, how goes it? You, who are so clever, why don’t you cure yourself?’ The black replied by a noble word and a dignified gesture; he raised his right hand slowly, his forefinger pointed to the roof, and, without looking at the colonist, said in a solemn tone, ‘God!’ and then was silent. ‘God?’ replied the planter, bursting into a loud fit of laughter, ‘tell him, then, — tell God to come and snatch you from my power! I defy him!’ Then Willis, overcome by fury and intoxication, shook his fist to heaven, and said, in blasphemous language, ‘Yes, I defy God to carry off my slaves before they are dead!’”
“The man was mad as well as brutal.”
“We were utterly disgusted. Monseigneur did not say a word, and we left the cell. This dungeon was situated, as well as the house, on the seashore. We returned to our brig, which was moored a short distance off, and at one o’clock in the morning, when all in the building were plunged in profound sleep, monseigneur went on shore with eight men well armed, and, going straight to the prison, burst open the doors, and freed David and Cecily. The two victims were carried on board so quietly that they were not perceived; and then monseigneur and I went to the planter’s house. Strange contrast! These men torture their slaves, and yet do not take any precaution against them, but sleep with doors and windows open. We easily got access to the sleeping-room of the planter, which was lighted on the inside by a small glass lamp. Monseigneur awakened the man, who sat upright in his bed, his brain still disturbed by the effect of his drunkenness. ‘You have to-night defied God to carry off your two victims before their death, and he has taken them,’ said monseigneur. Then taking a bag which I carried, and which contained twenty-five thousand francs in gold, he threw it on the fellow’s bed, and added, ‘This will indemnify you for the loss of your two slaves, — to your violence that destroys I oppose a violence that saves. God will judge between us.’ We then retreated, leaving Mr. Willis stupefied, motionless, and believing himself under the influence of a dream. A few minutes later we were again on board the brig, which instantly set sail.”
“It appears to me, my dear Murphy, that his royal highness overpaid this wretch for the loss of his slaves; for, in fact, David no longer belonged to him.”
“We calculated, as nearly as we could, the expense which his studies had cost for eight years, and then the price, thrice over, of himself and Cecily as slaves. Our conduct was contrary to the rights of property, I know; but if you had seen in what a horrible state we found this unfortunate and half-dead couple, if you had heard the sacrilegious defiance almost cast in the face of the Almighty by this man, drunk with wine and ferocity, you would comprehend how monseigneur desired, as he said, on this occasion to act as it were in behalf of Providence.”
“All this is as assailable and as justifiable as the punishment of the Schoolmaster, my worthy squire. And had not this adventure any consequences?”
“It could not. The brig was under Danish colours; the incognito of his royal highness was closely kept; we were taken for rich Englishmen. To whom could Willis have addressed his complaints, if he had any to make? In fact, he had told us himself, and the medical man of monseigneur declared it in a procès verbal, that the two slaves could not have lived eight days longer in this frightful dungeon. It required the greatest possible care to snatch David and Cecily from almost certain death. At last they were restored to life. From this period David has been attached to the suite of monseigneur as a medical man, and is most devotedly attached to him.”
“David married Cecily, of course, on arriving in Europe?”
“This marriage, which ought to have been followed by results so happy, took place in the chapel of the palace of monseigneur; but, by a most extraordinary revulsion of conduct, hardly was she in the full enjoyment of an unhoped-for position, when, forgetting all that David had suffered for her and what she had suffered for him, blushing in the new world to be wedded to a black, Cecily, seduced by a man of most depraved morals, committed her first fault. It would seem as though the natural perversity of this abandoned woman, having till then slumbered, was suddenly awakened, and developed itself with fearful energy. You know the rest, and all the scandal of the adventures that followed. After having been two years a wife, David, whose confidence in her was only equalled by his love, learned the full extent of her infamy, — a thunderbolt aroused him from his blind security.”
“They say he tried to kill his wife.”
“Yes; but, through the interference of monseigneur, he consented to allow her to be immured for life in a prison, and it is thence that monseigneur now seeks to have her released, — to your great astonishment, as well as mine, my dear baron. But it is growing late, and his royal highness is anxious that your courier should start for Gerolstein with as little delay as possible.”
“In two hours’ time he shall be on the road. So now, my dear Murphy, farewell till the evening.”
“Till the evening, adieu.”
“Have you, then, forgotten that there is a grand ball at the —— Embassy, and that his royal highness will be present?”
“True. I have always forgotten that, since the absence of Colonel Verner and the Count d’Harneim, I have the honour to fulfil the functions of chamberlain and aide-de-camp.”
“Ah, apropos of the count and the colonel, when may we expect their return? Will they have soon completed their respective missions?”
“You know that monseigneur will keep them away as long as possible, that he may enjoy more solitude and liberty. As to the errand on which his royal highness has employed each of them, as an ostensible motive for getting rid of them in a quiet way, — sending one to Avignon and the other to Strasbourg, — I will tell you all about it some day, when we are both in a dull mood; for I will defy the most hypochondriacal person in existence not to burst with laughter at the narrative, as well as with certain passages in the despatches of these worthy gentlemen, who have assumed their pretended missions with so serious an air.”
“To tell the truth, I have never clearly understood why his royal highness attached the colonel and the count to his private person.”
“Why, my dear fellow, is not Colonel Verner the accurate type of military perfection? Is there, in the whole Germanic confederation, a more elegant figure, more flourishing and splendid moustaches, and a more complete military figure? And when he is fully decorated, screwed in, uniformed, gold-laced, plumed, etc., etc., it is impossible to see a more glorious, self-satisfied, proud, handsome — animal.”
“True, but it is his very good looks that prevent him from having the appearance of a man of refined and acute intellect.”
“Well! and monseigneur says that, thanks to the colonel, he is in the habit of finding even the dullest people in the world bearable. Before certain audiences, which are of necessity, he shuts himself up with the colonel for a half-hour or so, and then leaves him, full of spirits and light as air, quite ready to meet bores and defy them.”
“Just as the Roman soldier who, before a forced march, used to sole his sandals with lead, and so found all fatigue light by leaving them off. I now discover the usefulness of the colonel. But the Count d’Harneim?”
“Is also very serviceable to our dear lord; for, always hearing at his side the tinkling of this old cracked bell, shining and chattering, — continually seeing this soap-bubble so puffed up with nothingness, so magnificently variegated, and, as such, portraying the theatrical and puerile phase of sovereign power, — his royal highness feels the more sensibly the vanity of those barren pomps and glories of the world, and, by
contrast, has often derived the most serious and happy ideas from the contemplation of his useless and pattering chamberlain.”
“Well, well; but let us be just, my dear Murphy: tell me, in what court in the world would you find a more perfect model of a chamberlain? Who knows better than dear old D’Harneim the numberless rules and strict observances of etiquette? Who bears with more becoming demeanour an enamelled cross around his neck, or more majestically comports himself when the keys of office are suspended from his shoulders?”
“Apropos, baron; monseigneur declares that the shoulders of a chamberlain have a peculiar physiognomy: that is, he says, an appearance at once constrained and repulsive, which it is painful to look at; for, alas and alackaday! it is at the back of a chamberlain that the symbol of his office glitters, and, as monseigneur avers, the worthy D’Harneim always seems tempted to present himself backwards, that his importance may at once be seen, felt, and acknowledged.”
“The fact is, that the incessant subject of the count’s meditations is to ascertain by what fatal imagination and direction the chamberlain’s key has been placed behind the chamberlain’s back; for it is related of him that he said, with his accustomed good sense, and with a kind of bitter grief, ‘What, the devil! one does not open a door with one’s back, at all events!’”
“Baron, the courier! the courier!” said Murphy, pointing to the clock.
“Sad old reprobate, to make me chatter thus! It is your fault. Present my respects to his royal highness,” said M. de Graün, taking his hat up in haste. “And now, adieu till the evening, my dear Murphy.”
“Till the evening, my dear baron, fare thee well. It will be late before we meet, for I am sure that monseigneur will go this very day to pay a visit to the mysterious house in the Rue du Temple.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE.
IN ORDER TO profit by the particulars furnished by Baron de Graün respecting La Goualeuse and Germain, the Schoolmaster’s son, it became necessary for Rodolph to visit the house in the Rue du Temple, formerly the abode of that young man, whose retreat the prince likewise hoped to discover through the intervention of Mlle. Rigolette. Although prepared to find it a difficult task, inasmuch as it was more than probable, if the grisette were really sufficiently in Germain’s confidence to be aware of his present abode, she also knew too well his anxiety to conceal it to be likely to give the desired information.
By renting the chamber lately occupied by the young man, Rodolph, besides being on the spot to follow up his researches, considered he should also be enabled to observe closely the different individuals inhabiting the rest of the house.
The same day on which the conversation passed between the Baron de Graün and Murphy, Rodolph, plainly and unpretendingly dressed, wended his way about three o’clock, on a gloomy November afternoon, towards the Rue du Temple.
Situated in a district of much business and dense population, the house in question had nothing remarkable in its appearance; it was composed of a ground floor, occupied by a man keeping a low sort of dram-shop, and four upper stories, surmounted by attics. A dark and narrow alley led to a small yard, or, rather, a species of square well, of about five or six feet in width, completely destitute of either air or light, and serving as a pestilential receptacle for all the filth thrown by the various occupants of the respective chambers from the unglazed sashes with which each landing-place was provided.
At the bottom of a damp, dismal-looking staircase, a glimmering light indicated the porter’s residence, rendered smoky and dingy by the constant burning of a lamp, requisite, even at midday, to enlighten the gloomy hole, into which Rodolph entered for the purpose of asking leave to view the apartment then vacant.
A lamp, placed behind a glass globe filled with water, served as a reflector; and by its light might be seen, at the far end of the “lodge” (as in courtesy it was styled), a bed, covered with a sort of patchwork counterpane, exhibiting a mingled mass of every known colour and material. A walnut-tree table graced the side of the room, bearing a variety of articles suited to the taste and ornamental notions of its owners. First in order appeared a little waxen Saint John, with a very fat lamb at his feet, and a large peruke of flowing white curls on his head, the whole enclosed in a cracked glass case, the joinings of which were ingeniously secured by slips of blue paper; secondly, a pair of old plated candlesticks, tarnished by time, and bearing, instead of lights, two gilded oranges, — doubtless an offering to the porteress on the last New Year’s day; and, thirdly, two boxes, the one composed of variegated straw, the other covered with multitudinous shells, but both smelling strongly of the galleys or house of correction (let us hope, for the sake of the morality of the porteress in the Rue du Temple, that these precious specimens were not presented to her from the original owners and fabricators of them); and, lastly, between the two boxes, and just beneath a circular clock, was suspended a pair of red morocco dress-boots, small enough for the feet of fairies, but elaborately and skilfully designed and completed. This chef-d’œuvre, as the ancient masters of the craft would style them, joined to the fantastic designs sketched on the walls representing boots and shoes, abundantly indicated that the porter of this establishment devoted his time and his talents to the repairing of shoes and shoe leather.
These boxes were the exclusive manufacture of the criminals confined either in the galleys or prisons, and who spent nearly all their spare hours in making them.
At the instant when Rodolph ventured into the smoky den, M. Pipelet, the porter, temporarily absent, had left his better half, Madame Pipelet, as his representative. This individual was seated by the stove in the centre of the lodge, deeply engrossed in watching the boiling of a pot placed over it. The description of Madame Pipelet may be given in a few words. She was the most ugly, forbidding, wrinkled, toothless old hag one might meet in the course of a long life. Her dress was dirty, tawdry, and untidy; while her head-dress was composed of a Brutus wig, originally of a blond colour, but changed by time into every shade of red, brown, and yellow, the stiff ends of the perished hair standing out like the ears of wheat in a wheat-sheaf. Much did Madame Pipelet pride herself upon this tasteful covering to her sexagenarian skull; nor was it believed she ever laid it aside, whether sleeping or waking.
At the sight of Rodolph the porteress inquired, in a surly tone:
“Well, and pray what do you want?”
“I believe, madame,” replied Rodolph, laying a profound emphasis on the word madame, “I believe there is an apartment to be let in this house?”
The deep respect implied in his voice and words somewhat mollified the porteress, who answered, rather less sourly:
“This Individual Was Seated by the Stove”
Original Etching by Adrian Marcel
“Yes, there is a room to let on the fourth floor, but you cannot see it now, — Alfred has gone out.”
“You are speaking of your son, I presume, madame; may I take the liberty of asking whether he is expected in shortly?”
“I am not speaking of my son, but my husband. I suppose there is no act of parliament why my Pipelet should not be called ‘Alfred.’ Is there, pray?”
“None, certainly, madame, that I am aware of; but, with your kind permission, I will await his return. I am very desirous of taking the vacant chamber, — both the street and neighbourhood suit me; and the admirable order in which the house seems kept pleases me excessively. But, previously to viewing the lodging I am anxious to take, I should be very glad to ascertain whether you, madame, could do me the favour to take the management of my little housekeeping off my hands? I never like to have any one about me but the authorised housekeeper belonging to the house, when such arrangements meet with their approbation.”
This proposition, so flatteringly expressed, and the word “housekeeper” completely won Madame Pipelet, who replied:
“With the greatest of pleasure, sir, I will attend to all you require. I am sure I shall be proud to wait u
pon such a gentleman; and, for the small charge of six francs a month, you shall be treated like a prince.”
“Then for six francs a month, I may reckon upon your valuable services. Will you permit me to ask your name?”
“Pomona Fortunata Anastasia Pipelet.”
“Well, then, Madame Pipelet, having agreed as to your own terms, will you be pleased to tell me those for the apartment I wish to engage?”
“With the adjoining small closet, one hundred and fifty francs a month, — not a farthing less. The principal lessee is a screw, — a regular skinflint.”
“What is his name?”
“M. Bras Rouge.”
This name, and the remembrances so unexpectedly presented by it, made Rodolph start.
“I think, Madame Pipelet, you were saying that the principal lessee of the house is — —”
“M. Bras Rouge.”
“And he lives — —”
“Rue aux Fêves, No. 13. He also keeps an estaminet near the Champs Elysées.”
All doubt was then at an end, — it was the Bras Rouge of infamous notoriety; and singular indeed did the circumstance of thus coming across him strike Rodolph.
“But though M. Bras Rouge is your principal lessee, he is not, I presume, the owner of the house; may I ask who is?”
“M. Bourdon; but I have never had communication with any one besides M. Bras Rouge.”
With the design of still further ingratiating himself with the porteress, Rodolph resumed:
“My dear madame, this cold day would make a little of something warm and comfortable very acceptable. Might I venture to solicit the favour of your stepping as far as the spirit-shop, kept so conveniently at hand, and bring a bottle of cassia and two glasses? For I feel very tired, and the cold has quite seized me. Stay, madame, we will have three glasses, if you please; because I hope your husband will join us when he returns.”