Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER I. THE MASQUERADE.

  The following day to that on which Dagobert's wife (arrested for notaccounting for the disappearance of General Simon's daughters) was ledaway before a magistrate, a noisy and animated scene was transpiringon the Place du Chatelet, in front of a building whose first floor andbasement were used as the tap-rooms of the "Sucking Calf" public-house.

  A carnival night was dying out.

  Quite a number of maskers, grotesquely and shabbily bedecked, had rushedout of the low dance-houses in the Guildhall Ward, and were roaring outstaves of songs as they crossed the square. But on catching sight of asecond troop of mummers running about the water-side, the first partystopped to wait for the others to come up, rejoicing, with many a shout,in hopes of one of those verbal battles of slang and smutty talk whichmade Vade so illustrious.

  This mob--nearly all its members half seas over, soon swollen by themany people who have to be up early to follow their crafts--suddenlyconcentrated in one of the corners of the square, so that a pale,deformed girl, who was going that way, was caught in the human tide.This was Mother Bunch. Up with the lark, she was hurrying to receivesome work from her employer. Remembering how a mob had treated her whenshe had been arrested in the streets only the day before, by mistake,the poor work-girl's fears may be imagined when she was now surroundedby the revellers against her will. But, spite of all her efforts--veryfeeble, alas!--she could not stir a step, for the band of merry-makers,newly arriving, had rushed in among the others, shoving some of themaside, pushing far into the mass, and sweeping Mother Bunch--who was intheir way--clear over to the crowd around the public-house.

  The new-comers were much finer rigged out than the others, for theybelonged to the gay, turbulent class which goes frequently to theChaumiere, the Prado, the Colisee, and other more or less rowdyishhaunts of waltzers, made up generally of students, shop-girls, andcounter skippers, clerks, unfortunates, etc., etc.

  This set, while retorting to the chaff of the other party, seemed to bevery impatiently expecting some singularly desired person to put in herappearance.

  The following snatches of conversation, passing between clowns andcolumbines, pantaloons and fairies, Turks and sultans, debardeurs anddebardeuses, paired off more or less properly, will give an idea of theimportance of the wished-for personage.

  "They ordered the spread to be for seven in the morning, so theircarriages ought to have come up afore now."

  "Werry like, but the Bacchanal Queen has got to lead off the last dancein the Prado."

  "I wish to thunder I'd 'a known that, and I'd 'a stayed there to seeher--my beloved Queen!"

  "Gobinet; if you call her your beloved Queen again, I'll scratch you!Here's a pinch for you, anyhow!"

  "Ow, wow, Celeste! hands off! You are black-spotting the be-yutifulwhite satin jacket my mamma gave me when I first came out as DonPasqually!"

  "Why did you call the Bacchanal Queen your beloved, then? What am I, I'dlike to know?"

  "You are my beloved, but not my Queen, for there is only one moon inthe nights of nature, and only one Bacchanal Queen in the nights at thePrado."

  "That's a bit from a valentine! You can't come over me with suchrubbish."

  "Gobinet's right! the Queen was an out-and-outer tonight!"

  "In prime feather!"

  "I never saw her more on the go!"

  "And, my eyes! wasn't her dress stunning?"

  "Took your breath away!"

  "Crushing!"

  "Heavy!"

  "Im-mense!"

  "The last kick!"

  "No one but she can get up such dresses."

  "And, then, the dance!"

  "Oh, yes! it was at once bounding waving, twisting! There is not suchanother bayadere under the night-cap of the sky!"

  "Gobinet, give me back my shawl directly. You have already spoilt itby rolling it round your great body. I don't choose to have my thingsruined for hulking beasts who call other women bayaderes!"

  "Celeste, simmer down. I am disguised as a Turk, and, when I talk ofbayaderes, I am only in character."

  "Your Celeste is like them all, Gobinet; she's jealous of the BacchanalQueen."

  "Jealous!--do you think me jealous? Well now! that's too bad. If I choseto be as showy as she is they would talk of me as much. After all, it'sonly a nickname that makes her reputation! nickname!"

  "In that you have nothing to envy her--since you are called Celeste!"

  "You know well enough, Gobinet, that Celeste is my real name."

  "Yes; but it's fancied a nickname--when one looks in your face."

  "Gobinet, I will put that down to your account."

  "And Oscar will help you to add it up, eh?"

  "Yes; and you shall see the total. When I carry one, the remainder willnot be you."

  "Celeste, you make me cry! I only meant to say that your celestial namedoes not go well with your charming little face, which is still moremischievous than that of the Bacchanal Queen."

  "That's right; wheedle me now, wretch!"

  "I swear by the accursed head of my landlord, that, if you liked, youcould spread yourself as much as the Bacchanal Queen--which is saying agreat deal."

  "The fact is, that the Bacchanal had cheek enough, in all conscience."

  "Not to speak of her fascinating the bobbies!"

  "And magnetizing the beaks."

  "They may get as angry as they please; she always finishes by makingthem laugh."

  "And they all call her: Queen!"

  "Last night she charmed a slop (as modest as a country girl) whosepurity took up arms against the famous dance of the Storm-blown Tulip."

  "What a quadrille! Sleepinbuff and the Bacchanal Queen, having oppositeto them Rose-Pompon and Ninny Moulin!"

  "And all four making tulips as full-blown as could be!"

  "By-the-bye, is it true what they say of Ninny Moulin?"

  "What?"

  "Why that he is a writer, and scribbles pamphlets on religion."

  "Yes, it is true. I have often seen him at my employer's, with whom hedeals; a bad paymaster, but a jolly fellow!"

  "And pretends to be devout, eh?"

  "I believe you, my boy--when it is necessary; then he is my LordDumoulin, as large as life. He rolls his eyes, walks with his head onone side, and his toes turned in; but, when the piece is played out, heslips away to the balls of which he is so fond. The girls christened himNinny Moulin. Add, that he drinks like a fish, and you have the photoof the cove. All this doesn't prevent his writing for the religiousnewspapers; and the saints, whom he lets in even oftener than himself,are ready to swear by him. You should see his articles and histracts--only see, not read!--every page is full of the devil andhis horns, and the desperate fryings which await your impiousrevolutionists--and then the authority of the bishops, the power of thePope--hang it! how could I know it all? This toper, Ninny Moulin, givesgood measure enough for their money!"

  "The fact is, that he is both a heavy drinker and a heavy swell. Howhe rattled on with little Rose-Pompon in the dance and the full-blowntulip!"

  "And what a rum chap he looked in his Roman helmet and top-boots."

  "Rose-Pompon dances divinely, too; she has the poetic twist."

  "And don't show her heels a bit!"

  "Yes; but the Bacchanal Queen is six thousand feet above the level ofany common leg-shaker. I always come back to her step last night in thefull-blown tulip."

  "It was huge!"

  "It was serene!"

  "If I were father of a family, I would entrust her with the education ofmy sons!"

  "It was that step, however, which offended the bobby's modesty."

  "The fact is, it was a little free."

  "Free as air--so the policeman comes up to her, and says: 'Well,my Queen, is your foot to keep on a-goin' up forever?' 'No, modestwarrior!' replies the Queen; 'I practice the step only once everyevening, to be able to dance it when I am old. I made a vow of it, thatyou might become an inspector.'"

  "What a co
mic card!"

  "I don't believe she will remain always with Sleepinbuff."

  "Because he has been a workman?"

  "What nonsense! it would preciously become us, students and shop-boys,to give ourselves airs! No; but I am astonished at the Queen'sfidelity."

  "Yes--they've been a team for three or four good months."

  "She's wild upon him, and he on her."

  "They must lead a gay life."

  "Sometimes I ask myself where the devil Sleepinbuff gets all the moneyhe spends. It appears that he pays all last night's expenses, threecoaches-and-four, and a breakfast this morning for twenty, at ten francsa-head."

  "They say he has come into some property. That's why Ninny Moulin, whohas a good nose for eating and drinking, made acquaintance with him lastnight--leaving out of the question that he may have some designs on theBacchanal Queen."

  "He! In a lot! He's rather too ugly. The girls like to dance with himbecause he makes people laugh--but that's all. Little Rose-Pompon, whois such a pretty creature, has taken him as a harmless chap-her-own, inthe absence of her student."

  "The coaches! the coaches!" exclaimed the crowd, all with one voice.

  Forced to stop in the midst of the maskers, Mother Bunch had not losta word of this conversation, which was deeply painful to her, as itconcerned her sister, whom she had not seen for a long time. Not thatthe Bacchanal Queen had a bad heart; but the sight of the wretchedpoverty of Mother Bunch--a poverty which she had herself shared, butwhich she had not had the strength of mind to bear any longer--causedsuch bitter grief to the gay, thoughtless girl, that she would no moreexpose herself to it, after she had in vain tried to induce her sisterto accept assistance, which the latter always refused, knowing that itssource could not be honorable.

  "The coaches! the coaches!" once more exclaimed the crowd, as theypressed forward with enthusiasm, so that Mother Bunch, carried onagainst her will, was thrust into the foremost rank of the peopleassembled to see the show.

  It was, indeed, a curious sight. A man on horseback, disguised as apostilion, his blue jacket embroidered with silver, and enormous tailfrom which the powder escaped in puffs, and a hat adorned with longribbons, preceded the first carriage, cracking his whip, and crying withall his might: "Make way for the Bacchanal Queen and her court!"

  In an open carriage, drawn by four lean horses, on which rode two oldpostilions dressed as devils, was raised a downright pyramid of men andwomen, sitting, standing, leaning, in every possible variety of odd,extravagant, and grotesque costume; altogether an indescribable mass ofbright colors, flowers, ribbons, tinsel and spangles. Amid this heap ofstrange forms and dresses appeared wild or graceful countenances, uglyor handsome features--but all animated by the feverish excitement ofa jovial frenzy--all turned with an expression of fanatical admirationtowards the second carriage, in which the Queen was enthroned, whilstthey united with the multitude in reiterated shouts of "Long live theBacchanal Queen."

  This second carriage, open like the first, contained only the fourdancers of the famous step of the Storm-blown Tulip--Ninny Moulin, RosePompon, Sleepinbuff, and the Bacchanal Queen.

  Dumoulin, the religious writer, who wished to dispute possession of Mme.de la Sainte-Colombe with his patron, M. Rodin--Dumoulin, surnamedNinny Moulin, standing on the front cushions, would have presented amagnificent study for Callot or Gavarni, that eminent artist, whounites with the biting strength and marvellous fancy of an illustriouscaricaturist, the grace, the poetry, and the depth of Hogarth.

  Ninny Moulin, who was about thirty-five years of age, wore very muchback upon his head a Roman helmet of silver paper. A voluminous plume ofblack feathers, rising from a red wood holder, was stuck on one sideof this headgear, breaking the too classic regularity of its outline.Beneath this casque, shone forth the most rubicund and jovial face, thatever was purpled by the fumes of generous wine. A prominent nose, withits primitive shape modestly concealed beneath a luxuriant growth ofpimples, half red, half violet, gave a funny expression to a perfectlybeardless face; while a large mouth, with thick lips turning theirinsides outwards, added to the air of mirth and jollity which beamedfrom his large gray eyes, set flat in his head.

  On seeing this joyous fellow, with a paunch like Silenus, one could nothelp asking how it was, that he had not drowned in wine, a hundred timesover, the gall, bile, and venom which flowed from his pamphlets againstthe enemies of Ultramontanism, and how his Catholic beliefs could floatupwards in the midst of these mad excesses of drink and dancing. Thequestion would have appeared insoluble, if one had not remembered howmany actors, who play the blackest and most hateful first robbers on thestage, are, when off it, the best fellow in the world.

  The weather being cold, Ninny Moulin wore a kind of box-coat, which,being half-open, displayed his cuirass of scales, and his flesh-coloredpantaloons, finishing just below the calf in a pair of yellow tops tohis boots. Leaning forward in front of the carriage, he uttered wildshouts of delight, mingled with the words: "Long live the BacchanalQueen!"--after which, he shook and whirled the enormous rattle he heldin his hand. Standing beside him, Sleepinbuff waved on high a bannerof white silk, on which were the words: "Love and joy to the BacchanalQueen!"

  Sleepinbuff was about twenty-five years of age. His countenance was gayand intelligent, surrounded by a collar of chestnut-colored whiskers;but worn with late hours and excesses, it expressed a singular mixtureof carelessness and hardihood, recklessness and mockery; still, no baseor wicked passion had yet stamped there its fatal impress. He was theperfect type of the Parisian, as the term is generally applied, whetherin the army, in the provinces, on board a king's ship, or a merchantman.It is not a compliment, and yet it is far from being an insult; it is anepithet which partakes at once of blame, admiration, and fear; for if,in this sense, the Parisian is often idle and rebellious, he is alsoquick at his work, resolute in danger, and always terribly satirical andfond of practical jokes.

  He was dressed in a very flashy style. He wore a black velvet jacketwith silver buttons, a scarlet waistcoat, trousers with broad bluestripes, a Cashmere shawl for a girdle with ends loosely floating, anda chimney-pot hat covered with flowers and streamers. This disguise setoff his light, easy figure to great advantage.

  At the back of the carriage, standing up on the cushions, were RosePompon and the Bacchanal Queen.

  Rose-Pompon, formerly a fringe-maker, was about seventeen years old, andhad the prettiest and most winning little face imaginable. She was gaylydressed in debardeur costume. Her powdered wig, over which was smartlycocked on one side an orange and green cap laced with silver, increasedthe effect of her bright black eyes, and of her round, carnation cheeks.She wore about her neck an orange-colored cravat, of the same materialas her loose sash. Her tight jacket and narrow vest of light greenvelvet, with silver ornaments, displayed to the best advantage acharming figure, the pliancy of which must have well suited theevolutions of the Storm blown Tulip. Her large trousers, of the samestuff and color as the jacket, were not calculated to hide any of herattractions.

  The Bacchanal Queen, being at the least a head taller, leaned with onehand on the shoulder of Rose-Pompon. Mother Bunch's sister ruled, likea true monarch, over this mad revelry, which her very presence seemedto inspire, such influence had her own mirth and animation over all thatsurrounded her.

  She was a tall girl of about twenty years of age, light and graceful,with regular features, and a merry, racketing air. Like her sister, shehad magnificent chestnut hair, and large blue eyes; but instead of beingsoft and timid, like those of the young sempstress, the latter shonewith indefatigable ardor in the pursuit of pleasure. Such was the energyof her vivacious constitution, that, notwithstanding many nights anddays passed in one continued revel, her complexion was as pure, hercheeks as rosy, her neck as fresh and fair, as if she had that morningissued from some peaceful home. Her costume, though singularand fantastic, suited her admirably. It was composed of a tight,long-waisted bodice in cloth of gold, trimmed with great bunches of
scarlet ribbon, the ends of which streamed over her naked arms, anda short petticoat of scarlet velvet, ornamented with golden beads andspangles. This petticoat reached half way down a leg, at once trim andstrong, in a white silk stocking, and red buskin with brass heel.

  Never had any Spanish dancer a more supple, elastic, and tempting form,than this singular girl, who seemed possessed with the spirit of dancingand perpetual motion, for, almost every moment, a slight undulation ofhead, hips, and shoulders seemed to follow the music of an invisibleorchestra; while the tip of her right foot, placed on the carriage doorin the most alluring manner, continued to beat time--for the BacchanalQueen stood proudly erect upon the cushions.

  A sort of gilt diadem, the emblem of her noisy sovereignty, hung withlittle bells, adorned her forehead. Her long hair, in two thick braids,was drawn back from her rosy cheeks, and twisted behind her head. Herleft hand rested on little Rose-Pompon's shoulder, and in her right sheheld an enormous nosegay, which she waved to the crowd, accompanyingeach salute with bursts of laughter.

  It would be difficult to give a complete idea of this noisily animatedand fantastic scene, which included also a third carriage, filled, likethe first, with a pyramid of grotesque and extravagant masks. Amongstthe delighted crowd, one person alone contemplated the picture with deepsorrow. It was Mother Bunch, who was still kept, in spite of herself, inthe first rank of spectators.

  Separated from her sister for a long time, she now beheld her in all thepomp of her singular triumph, in the midst of the cries of joy, andthe applause of her companions in pleasure. Yet the eyes of the youngsempstress grew dim with tears; for, though the Bacchanal Queen seemedto share in the stunning gayety of all around her--though her face wasradiant with smiles, and she appeared fully to enjoy the splendorsof her temporary elevation--yet she had the sincere pity of the poorworkwoman, almost in rags, who was seeking, with the first dawn ofmorning, the means of earning her daily bread.

  Mother Bunch had forgotten the crowd, to look only at her sister,whom she tenderly loved--only the more tenderly, that she thought hersituation to be pitied. With her eyes fixed on the joyous and beautifulgirl, her pale and gentle countenance expressed the most touching andpainful interest.

  All at once, as the brilliant glance of the Bacchanal Queen travelledalong the crowd, it lighted on the sad features of Mother Bunch.

  "My sister!" exclaimed Cephyse--such was the name of the BacchanalQueen--"My sister!"--and with one bound, light as a ballet-dancer, shesprang from her movable throne (which fortunately just happened tobe stopping), and, rushing up to the hunchback, embraced heraffectionately.

  All this had passed so rapidly, that the companions of the BacchanalQueen, still stupefied by the boldness of her perilous leap, knew nothow to account for it; whilst the masks who surrounded Mother Bunch drewback in surprise, and the latter, absorbed in the delight of embracingher sister, whose caresses she returned, did not even think of thesingular contrast between them, which was sure to soon excite theastonishment and hilarity of the crowd.

  Cephyse was the first to think of this, and wishing to save her sisterat least one humiliation, she turned towards the carriage, and said:"Rose Pompon, throw me down my cloak; and, Ninny Moulin, open the doordirectly!"

  Having received the cloak, the Bacchanal Queen hastily wrapped it roundher sister, before the latter could speak or move. Then, taking her bythe hand, she said to her: "Come! come!"

  "I!" cried Mother Bunch, in alarm. "Do not think of it!"

  "I must speak with you. I will get a private room, where we shall bealone. So make haste, dear little sister! Do not resist before all thesepeople--but come!"

  The fear of becoming a public sight decided Mother Bunch, who, confusedmoreover with the adventure, trembling and frightened, followed hersister almost mechanically, and was dragged by her into the carriage, ofwhich Ninny Moulin had just opened the door. And so, with the cloak ofthe Bacchanal Queen covering Mother Bunch's poor garments and deformedfigure, the crowd had nothing to laugh at, and only wondered what thismeeting could mean, while the coaches pursued their way to the eatinghouse in the Place du Chatelet.