Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Ah! M. Charles; very well; you should have spoken so that one could hear you. Well, my pretty dear, if you want M. Charles, — and a good-looking fellow he is as ever won a woman’s heart, — go straight on, and the door will stare you in the face. Eh! eh! eh!” laughed out the old woman, shaking her fat sides with spiteful glee, “it seems he has not waited for nothing this time. Success to love and love-makings, and a merry end to it!”

  The marquise, ready to sink with confusion, began slowly to grope her way up the dingy staircase.

  “I say,” bawled out the old shell-fish woman, “our commandant knows what he is about, don’t he? Leave him alone to choose a pretty girl. His marm is a regular swell, ain’t she?”

  Had it not been requisite for her to run the gauntlet of the trio who occupied the entrance-door, Madame d’Harville, ready to sink with shame and terror, would gladly have retraced her steps. She made another effort, and at last reached the landing-place, where, to her unutterable consternation and surprise, she saw Rodolph waiting, impatiently, her arrival. Instantly flying to meet her, he hastily placed a purse in her hand, saying, in a hurried manner:

  “Your husband knows all, and is now following your very steps.”

  At this instant, the sharp tones of Madame Pipelet were heard crying out, “Where are you going to, sir?”

  “’Tis he!” exclaimed Rodolph, and then, almost forcing Madame d’Harville up the second staircase, he added, in a rapid manner, “make all haste to the very top of the house; on the fifth floor you will find a wretched family, named Morel. Remember your sole business in coming hither was to relieve their distress.”

  “I tell you, sir,” screamed Madame Pipelet, “that unless you tell me your name, you shall trample over me, as they walked over our brave men at Waterloo, before I let you pass.”

  Having, from the entrance to the alley, observed Madame d’Harville stop to speak to the porteress, the marquis had likewise prepared himself to pass through some sort of questioning.

  “I belong to the lady who just now entered,” said the marquis.

  “Bless me!” exclaimed Madame Pipelet, looking the picture of wonderment, “why, that, of course, is a satisfactory answer. You can pass on, if you please.”

  Hearing an unusual stir, M. Charles Robert had set the door of his apartments ajar, and Rodolph, unwilling to be recognised by M. d’Harville, whose quick, searching eye might have detected him, spite of the murkiness of the staircase, hearing him rapidly ascending the stairs, just as he reached the landing-place, dashed into the chamber of the astonished commandant, locking the door after him. M. Charles Robert, magnificently attired in his robe de chambre of scarlet damask with orange-coloured stripes, and Greek cap of embroidered velvet, was struck with astonishment at the unexpected appearance of Rodolph, whom he had not seen the preceding evening at the embassy, and who was upon the present occasion very plainly dressed.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” asked he at length, assuming a tone of killing haughtiness.

  “Be silent!” replied Rodolph; and there was that in his voice and manner that Charles Robert obeyed, even in spite of his own determination to strike terror into the bold invader of his private moments.

  A violent and continued noise, as of some heavy substance falling from one stair to the other, resounded through the dull silence of the gloomy staircase.

  “Unhappy man! He has murdered her!” exclaimed Rodolph.

  “Murdered!” ejaculated M. Charles Robert, turning very pale; “for the love of Heaven, what is all this about?”

  But, without heeding his inquiry, Rodolph partially opened the door, and discovered little Tortillard half rolling, half limping, down the stairs, holding in his hand the red silk purse Rodolph had just given to Madame d’Harville. Tortillard, with another scrambling shuffle, disappeared at the bottom of the last flight of stairs. The light step of Madame d’Harville, and the heavier tread of her husband, as he continued his pursuit of her from one story to another, could be distinctly heard. Somewhat relieved of his worst fears, yet unable to make out by what chance the purse so recently committed to Madame d’Harville’s hands should have been transferred to those of Tortillard, Rodolph said, authoritatively, to M. Robert:

  “Do not think of quitting your apartments for the next hour, I request!”

  “Upon my life and soul, that is a pretty thing to say to a gentleman in his own house,” replied M. Robert in an impatient and wrathful tone. “I ask you, again, what is the meaning of all this? Who the devil are you, sir? And how dare you dictate to me, a gentleman?”

  “M. d’Harville is informed of everything, — has followed his wife to your very door, — and is now pursuing her to the upper part of the house.”

  “God bless me! Here’s a situation!” exclaimed Charles Robert, with an appearance of utter consternation. “But what is to be done? What is the use of her going up-stairs? And how will she manage to get down again unobserved?”

  “Remain where you are, neither speak nor move until the porteress comes to you,” rejoined Rodolph, who hastened to give his final instructions to Madame Pipelet, leaving the commandant a prey to the most alarming apprehensions.

  “Well! well!” cried Madame Pipelet, her face radiant with chuckling exultation; “there’s rare sport going on! The lady who came to visit my fine gentleman on the first floor has been followed by another gentleman, who seems rather in a passion, — the husband of that silly young creature, I make no doubt. Directly the truth flashed across me, I tells him to go straight up; for, thinks I, he’ll be sure to murder our commandant. That’ll make a deal of talk in the neighbourhood; and folks will come crowding to see the house, just as they did at No. 36 after the man was killed there. Lord! I wonder the fighting has not begun yet. I have been listening to hear them set to; but I can’t catch the least sound.”

  “My dear Madame Pipelet, will you do me a great favour?” said Rodolph, putting five louis into her hand. “When this lady comes down-stairs, ask her how she found the poor Morels. Tell her she has performed an act of real charity in coming to see them, according to her promise, the last time she called to inquire respecting them.”

  Madame Pipelet looked first at the money and then at Rodolph, with an air of petrified astonishment.

  “What am I to do with this money?” inquired she, at length; “do you give it to me? Ah, I see! This handsome lady, then, does not come altogether for the commandant?”

  “The gentleman who followed her was her husband, as you justly supposed; but, being warned in time, the poor lady went straight on to the Morels, as though her only business here was to afford them succour. Now do you understand!”

  “I should think I did, — clear as noonday. ‘A nod is as good as a wink,’ as the old woman said. I know! You want me to help you cheat the husband? Lord bless you! I’m up to all those things, — quick as lightning, silent as the grave! Go along with you! I’m a regular good hand at keeping husbands in the dark; you might fancy I’d been used to it all my life. But tell me—”

  The huge hat of M. Pipelet was here observed sending its dark shadow across the floor of the lodge.

  “Anastasie,” said Alfred, gravely, “you are like M. César Bradamanti; you have no respect for anything or anybody. And let me tell you that there are subjects that should never be made the subject of a jest, even amongst the most familiar acquaintances.”

  “Nonsense, my old darling. Don’t stand there rolling up your eyes, and looking about as wise as a pig in a pound. You know well enough I was only joking; you know well enough that no living soul beneath the canopy of heaven can ever say I gave him a liberty. But that’ll do; so let’s talk of this good gentleman’s business. Suppose I do go out of my usual way to save this young lady, I’m sure I do it solely to oblige our new lodger, who, for his generosity, may well deserve to be called the king of lodgers.” Then, turning towards Rodolph, she added, “You shall see how cleverly I will go to work. Just hide yourself there in that corn
er behind the curtain. Quick, — quick! I hear them coming.”

  Rodolph had scarcely time to conceal himself ere M. and Madame d’Harville descended the stairs. The features of the marquis shone with happiness, mingled with a confused and astonished expression, while the countenance of his wife, as she hung on his arm, looked calm but pale.

  “Well, my good lady,” cried Madame Pipelet, going out of her lodge to address her, as she descended the last stair, “how did you find the poor creatures, — I mean the Morels? Ah, I doubt not, such a sight made your heart ache? God knows your charity was well bestowed! I told you the other day, when you called to inquire about them, what a state of starvation and misery they were in. Be assured, kind lady, these poor things are fit objects of your bounty; you will never have to regret coming to this out-of-the-way place to examine into their case. They really are deserving all your kindness, — don’t you think so, Alfred?”

  Alfred, the strictness of whose ideas touching a due regard for all conjugal duties made him revolt at the thoughts of helping to deceive a husband, replied only by a sort of grumbling sound, as vague as discordant.

  “Please to excuse my husband, madame,” resumed Madame Pipelet; “he has got the cramp in his stomach, and cannot speak loud enough to be understood, or he would tell you as well as myself that the poor people you have so fortunately relieved will pray of the Almighty, night and day, to bless and reward you, my worthy lady.”

  M. d’Harville gazed on his wife with feelings approaching to adoration, as he exclaimed, “Angel of goodness, how has base slander dared to disturb your heavenly work!”

  “An angel!” repeated Madame Pipelet; “that she is, and one of the very best heaven could send. There is not a better.”

  “Let us return home, I entreat!” said Madame d’Harville, who was suffering acutely under the restraint she had put upon herself since entering the house, and, now that the necessity for exertion was over, found her strength rapidly forsaking her.

  “Instantly,” replied the marquis.

  At the instant of their emerging into the open air from the obscurity of the alley, M. d’Harville, observing the pale looks of his wife, said, tenderly:

  “Ah, Clémence, I have deep cause to solicit your pity and forgiveness.”

  “Alas! my lord,” said the marquise, sighing deeply, “which of us has not need of pardon?”

  Rodolph quitted his hiding-place, deeply ruminating upon so terrible a scene, thus intermingled with absurdity and coarseness, and pondering over the curious termination to a drama, the commencement of which had called forth such different passions.

  “Well, now,” exclaimed Madame Pipelet, “you must say I played my part well. Didn’t I send that donkey of a husband home with longer ears than he came out with? Lord bless you! he’ll put his wife under a glass case, and worship her from this day forward. Poor, dear gentleman! I really could not help feeling sorry for him. Oh! but about your furniture, M. Rodolph; it has not come yet.”

  “I am now going to see about it. By the by, you had better go and inform the commandant that he may venture out.”

  “True; I’ll go and let the caged bird out. But what stuff and nonsense for him to hire apartments of no more use to him than they are to the King of Prussia! He is a fine fellow, he is, with his paltry twelve francs a month. This is the fourth time he has been made a fool of.”

  Rodolph quitted the house, and Madame Pipelet, turning to her husband, said, with a chuckling laugh, “Now, Alfred, the commandant’s turn has come; now for it! I mean to have a jolly good laugh at my gentleman, — up and dressed for nothing.”

  Arrived at the apartments of M. Charles Robert, the porteress rang the bell; the door was opened by the commandant himself.

  “Commandant,” said Anastasie, giving him a military salute, by placing the back of her little fat hand against the front of her wig, “I have come to set you free. Your friends have gone away arm in arm, happy as doves, under your very nose. Well, you are out of a nice mess, thanks to M. Rodolph. You ought to stand something very handsome to him for all he has done upon the present occasion.”

  “Then this slim individual with the moustachios is called M. Rodolph, is he?”

  “Exactly so; neither more nor less.”

  “And who and what is the fellow?”

  “Fellow, indeed!” cried Madame Pipelet, in a wrathful voice; “he is as good as other men, — better than some I could mention. Why, he is a travelling clerk, but the very king of lodgers; for, though he has only one room, he does not haggle and beat folks down, — not he. Why, he gave me six francs for doing for him, — six francs, mind, I say, without a word. Think of that! — without ever offering me a sou less. Oh, he is a lodger! I wish other people were at all like him!”

  “There, there, that’s enough; take the key.”

  “Shall I light the fire to-morrow, commandant?”

  “No!”

  “Next day?”

  “No, no! Don’t bother me.”

  “I say, commandant, if you recollect, I warned you that you would have your trouble for your pains.”

  M. Charles Robert threw a glance at his grinning tormentor that spoke of annihilation at least, and, dashing furiously by her, quitted the house, wondering much how a mere clerk should have become acquainted with his assignation with the Marquise d’Harville.

  As the commandant left the alley, Tortillard came hobbling along.

  “Well, what do you want?” said Madame Pipelet.

  “Has the Borgnesse been to call upon me?” asked the young scamp, without attending to the porteress’s question.

  “The Chouette? No, you ugly monster! What should she come for?”

  “Why, to take me with her into the country, to be sure,” said Tortillard, swinging on the lodge gate.

  “And what does your master say to it?”

  “Oh, father managed all that. He sent this morning to M. Bradamanti, to ask him to give me leave to go in the country, — the country, — the country,” sang or rather screamed the amiable scion of M. Bras Rouge, beating time most melodiously on the window-panes.

  “Will you leave off, you young rascal, or are you going to break my window? Oh, here comes a coach!”

  “Oh! oh! oh!” shrieked the urchin; “it is my dear Chouette! Oh, how nice the ride in a coach!”

  And, looking through the window, they saw reflected upon the red blind of the opposite glass the hideous profile of the Borgnesse. She beckoned to Tortillard, who ran out to her. The coachman descended from his box, and opened the door; Tortillard sprang into the vehicle, which instantly drove off.

  Another person beside the Chouette was in the carriage. In the farther corner, and wrapped in an old cloak with a furred collar, his features shrouded by a black silk cap pulled down over his brows, sat the Schoolmaster. His inflamed lids formed a horrible contrast with the white globeless space beneath; and this fearful spectacle was rendered still more hideous by the action of the severe cold upon his seamed and frightful countenance.

  “Now, small boy, squat yourself down on the pins of my man; you’ll serve to keep him warm,” said the Borgnesse to Tortillard, who crouched like a dog close to the feet of the Schoolmaster and the Chouette.

  “Now, then, my coves,” said the driver, “on we go to the ‘ken’ at Bouqueval, don’t we, La Chouette? You shall see whether I can ‘tool a drag’ or not.”

  “And keep your pads on the move, my fine fellow; for we must get hold of the girl to-night.”

  “All right, my blind un; we’ll go the pace.”

  “Shall I give you a hint?” said the Schoolmaster.

  “What about?”

  “Why, cut it fine as you pass by the ‘nabs’ at the barrier; the meeting might lead to disagreeable recollections. It is not every old acquaintance it is worth while to renew our friendship with. You have been wanted at the barriers for some time.”

  “I’ll keep my weather-eye open,” replied the driver, getting on his box.

&nb
sp; It needs scarcely be told, after this specimen of slang, that the coachman was a robber, one of the Schoolmaster’s worthy associates. The vehicle then quitted the Rue du Temple.

  Two hours afterwards, towards the closing of a winter’s day, the vehicle containing the Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, stopped before a wooden cross, marking out the sunken and lonely road which conducted to the farm at Bouqueval, where the Goualeuse remained under the kind protection of Madame Georges.

  CHAPTER III.

  AN IDYL.

  THE HOUR OF five had just struck from the church clock of the little village of Bouqueval; the cold was intense, the sky clear, the sun, sinking slowly behind the vast leafless woods which crowned the heights of Ecouen, cast a purple hue over the horizon, and sent its faint, sloping rays across the extensive plains, white and hard with winter’s frost.

  In the country each season has its own distinctive features, its own peculiar charm; at times the dazzling snow changes the whole scene into immense landscapes of purest alabaster, exhibiting their spotless beauties to the reddish gray of the sky. Then may be seen in the glimmer of twilight, either ascending or descending the hill, a benighted farmer returning to his habitation; his horse, cloak, and hat, are covered with the falling snow. Bitter is the cold, biting the north wind, dark and gloomy the approaching night; but what cares he? There, amid those leafless trees, he sees the bright taper burning in the window of his cheerful home; while from the tall chimney a column of dark smoke rolls upwards through the flaky shower that descends, and speaks to the toil-worn farmer of a blazing hearth and humble meal prepared by kind affection to welcome him after the fatigues of his journey. Then the rustic gossip by the fireside, on which the fagot burns and crackles, and a peaceful, comfortable night’s rest, amid the whistling of the winds, and the barking of the various dogs at the different farms scattered around, with the answering cry from the distant watch-dog.

  Daylight opens upon a scene of fairy-land. Surely the tiny elves have been celebrating some grand fête, and have left some of their adornments behind them, for on each branch hang long spiracles of crystal, glittering in the rays of a winter’s sun with all the prismatic brilliancy of the diamond. The damp, rich soil of the arable land is laid down in furrows, where hides the timid hare in her form, or the speckled partridge runs merrily. Here and there is heard the melancholy tinkling of the sheep-bell hanging from the neck of some important leader of the numerous flocks scattered over the verdant heights and turfy valleys of the neighbourhood; while, carefully wrapped in his dark gray cloak, the shepherd, seated under shelter of those knotted trunks and interlaced branches, chants his cheerful lay, while his fingers are busily employed weaving a basket of rushes.