by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER III. THE CAROUSE.
The Bacchanal Queen, having Sleepinbuff and Rose-Pompon opposite her,and Ninny Moulin on her right hand, presided at the repast, called areveille-matin (wake-morning), generously offered by Jacques to hiscompanions in pleasure.
Both young men and girls seemed to have forgotten the fatigues of aball, begun at eleven o'clock in the evening, and finished at six inthe morning; and all these couples, joyous as they were amorous andindefatigable, laughed, ate, and drank, with youthful and Pantagruelianardor, so that, during the first part of the feast, there was lesschatter than clatter of plates and glasses.
The Bacchanal Queen's countenance was less gay, but much more animatedthan usual; her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes announced a feverishexcitement; she wished to drown reflection, cost what it might. Herconversation with her sister often recurred to her, and she tried toescape from such sad remembrances.
Jacques regarded Cephyse from time to time with passionate adoration;for, thanks to the singular conformity of character, mind, and tastebetween him and the Bacchanal Queen, their attachment had deeper andstronger roots than generally belong to ephemeral connections foundedupon pleasure. Cephyse and Jacques were themselves not aware of all thepower of a passion which till now had been surrounded only by joys andfestivities, and not yet been tried by any untoward event.
Little Rose-Pompon, left a widow a few days before by a student, who, inorder to end the carnival in style, had gone into the country to raisesupplies from his family, under one of those fabulous pretences whichtradition carefully preserves in colleges of law and medicine--RosePompon, we repeat, an example of rare fidelity, determined not tocompromise herself, had taken for a chaperon the inoffensive NinnyMoulin.
This latter, having doffed his helmet, exhibited a bald head, encircledby a border of black, curling hair, pretty long at the back of the head.By a remarkable Bacchic phenomenon, in proportion as intoxication gainedupon him, a sort of zone, as purple as his jovial face, crept by degreesover his brow, till it obscured even the shining whiteness of his crown.Rose-Pompon, who knew the meaning of this symptom, pointed it out to thecompany, and exclaimed with a loud burst of laughter: "Take care, NinnyMoulin! the tide of the wine is coming in."
"When it rises above his head he will be drowned," added the BacchanalQueen.
"Oh, Queen! don't disturb me; I am meditating, answered Dumoulin, whowas getting tipsy. He held in his hand, in the fashion of an antiquegoblet, a punch-bowl filled with wine, for he despised the ordinaryglasses, because of their small size.
"Meditating," echoed Rose-Pompon, "Ninny Moulin is meditating. Beattentive!"
"He is meditating; he must be ill then!"
"What is he meditating? an illegal dance?"
"A forbidden Anacreontic attitude?"
"Yes, I am meditating," returned Dumoulin, gravely; "I am meditatingupon wine, generally and in particular--wine, of which the immortalBossuet"--Dumoulin had the very bad habit of quoting Bossuet when he wasdrunk--"of which the immortal Bossuet says (and he was a judge of goodliquor): 'In wine is courage, strength joy, and spiritual fervor'--whenone has any brains," added Ninny Moulin, by way of parenthesis.
"Oh, my! how I adore your Bossuet!" said Rose-Pompon.
"As for my particular meditation, it concerns the question, whether thewine at the marriage of Cana was red or white. Sometimes I incline toone side, sometimes to the other--and sometimes to both at once."
"That is going to the bottom of the question," said Sleepinbuff.
"And, above all, to the bottom of the bottles," added the BacchanalQueen.
"As your majesty is pleased to observe; and already, by dint ofreflection and research, I have made a great discovery--namely, that, ifthe wine at the marriage of Cana was red--"
"It couldn't 'a' been white," said Rose-Pompon, judiciously.
"And if I had arrived at the conviction that it was neither white norred?" asked Dumoulin, with a magisterial air.
"That could only be when you had drunk till all was blue," observedSleepinbuff.
"The partner of the Queen says well. One may be too athirst for science;but never mind! From all my studies on this question, to which I havedevoted my life--I shall await the end of my respectable career withthe sense of having emptied tuns with a historical--theological--andarcheological tone!"
It is impossible to describe the jovial grimace and tone with whichDumoulin pronounced and accentuated these last words, which provoked ageneral laugh.
"Archieolopically?" said Rose-Pompon. "What sawnee is that? Has he atail? does he live in the water?"
"Never mind," observed the Bacchanal Queen; "these are words of wise menand conjurers; they are like horsehair bustles--they serve for fillingout--that's all. I like better to drink; so fill the glasses, NinnyMoulin; some champagne, Rose-Pompon; here's to the health of yourPhilemon and his speedy return!"
"And to the success of his plant upon his stupid and stingy family!"added Rose-Pompon.
The toast was received with unanimous applause.
"With the permission of her majesty and her court," said Dumoulin, "Ipropose a toast to the success of a project which greatly interests me,and has some resemblance to Philemon's jockeying. I fancy that the toastwill bring me luck."
"Let's have it, by all means!"
"Well, then--success to my marriage!" said Dumoulin, rising.
These words provoked an explosion of shouts, applause, and laughter.Ninny Moulin shouted, applauded, laughed even louder than the rest,opening wide his enormous mouth, and adding to the stunning noise theharsh springing of his rattle, which he had taken up from under hischair.
When the storm had somewhat subsided, the Bacchanal Queen rose and said:"I drink to the health of the future Madame Ninny Moulin."
"Oh, Queen! your courtesy touches me so sensibly that I mustallow you to read in the depths of my heart the name of myfuture spouse," exclaimed Dumoulin. "She is called MadameHonoree-Modeste-Messaline-Angele de la Sainte-Colombe, widow."
"Bravo! bravo!"
"She is sixty years old, and has more thousands of francs-a-year thanshe has hair in her gray moustache or wrinkles on her face; she isso superbly fat that one of her gowns would serve as a tent for thishonorable company. I hope to present my future spouse to you on ShroveTuesday, in the costume of a shepherdess that has just devoured herflock. Some of them wish to convert her--but I have undertaken to diverther, which she will like better. You must help me to plunge her headlonginto all sorts of skylarking jollity."
"We will plunge her into anything you please."
"She shall dance like sixty!" said Rose-Pompon, humming a popular tune.
"She will overawe the police."
"We can say to them: 'Respect this lady; your mother will perhaps be asold some day!'"
Suddenly, the Bacchanal Queen rose; her countenance wore a singularexpression of bitter and sardonic delight. In one hand she held a glassfull to the brim. "I hear the Cholera is approaching in his seven-leagueboots," she cried. "I drink luck to the Cholera!" And she emptied thebumper.
Notwithstanding the general gayety, these words made a gloomyimpression; a sort of electric shudder ran through the assemblage, andnearly every countenance became suddenly serious.
"Oh, Cephyse!" said Jacques, in a tone of reproach.
"Luck to the Cholera," repeated the Queen, fearlessly. "Let him sparethose who wish to live, and kill together those who dread to part!"
Jacques and Cephyse exchanged a rapid glance, unnoticed by their joyouscompanions, and for some time the Bacchanal Queen remained silent andthoughtful.
"If you put it that way, it is different," cried Rose-Pompon, boldly."To the Cholera! may none but good fellows be left on earth!"
In spite of this variation, the impression was still painfullyimpressive. Dumoulin, wishing to cut short this gloomy subject,exclaimed: "Devil take the dead, and long live the living! And, talkingof chaps who both live and live well, I ask you to drink a health mostdear to our
joyous queen, the health of our Amphitryon. Unfortunately,I do not know his respectable name, having only had the advantageof making his acquaintance this night; he will excuse me, then, if Iconfine myself to proposing the health of Sleepinbuff--a name by nomeans offensive to my modesty, as Adam never slept in any other manner.I drink to Sleepinbuff."
"Thanks, old son!" said Jacques, gayly; "were I to forget your name, Ishould call you 'Have-a-sip?' and I am sure that you would answer: 'Iwill.'"
"I will directly!" said Dumoulin, making the military salute with onehand, and holding out the bowl with the other.
"As we have drunk together," resumed Sleepinbuff, cordially, "we oughtto know each other thoroughly. I am Jacques Rennepont?"
"Rennepont!" cried Dumoulin, who appeared struck by the name, in spiteof his half-drunkenness; "you are Rennepont?"
"Rennepont in the fullest sense of the word. Does that astonish you?"
"There is a very ancient family of that name--the Counts of Rennepont."
"The deuce there is!" said the other, laughing.
"The Counts of Rennepont are also Dukes of Cardoville," added Dumoulin.
"Now, come, old fellow! do I look as if I belonged to such a family?--I,a workman out for a spree?"
"You a workman? why, we are getting into the Arabian Nights!" criedDumoulin, more and more surprised. "You give us a Belshazzar's banquet,with accompaniment of carriages and four, and yet are a workman? Onlytell me your trade, and I will join you, leaving the Vine of the Divineto take care of itself."
"Come, I say! don't think that I am a printer of flimsies, and asmasher!" replied Jacques, laughing.
"Oh, comrade! no such suspicion--"
"It would be excusable, seeing the rigs I run. But I'll make you easy onthat point. I am spending an inheritance."
"Eating and drinking an uncle, no doubt?" said Dumoulin, benevolently.
"Faith, I don't know."
"What! you don't know whom you are eating and drinking?"
"Why, you see, in the first place, my father was a bone-grubber."
"The devil he was!" said Dumoulin, somewhat out of countenance, thoughin general not over-scrupulous in the choice of his bottle-companions:but, after the first surprise, he resumed, with the most charmingamenity: "There are some rag-pickers very high by scent--I meandescent!"
"To be sure! you may think to laugh at me," said Jacques, "but you areright in this respect, for my father was a man of very great merit. Hespoke Greek and Latin like a scholar, and often told me that he had nothis equal in mathematics; besides, he had travelled a good deal."
"Well, then," resumed Dumoulin, whom surprise had partly sobered, "youmay belong to the family of the Counts of Rennepont, after all."
"In which case," said Rose-Pompon, laughing, "your father was not agutter-snipe by trade, but only for the honor of the thing."
"No, no--worse luck! it was to earn his living," replied Jacques; "but,in his youth, he had been well off. By what appeared, or rather bywhat did not appear, he had applied to some rich relation, and therich relation had said to him: 'Much obliged! try the work'us.' Then hewished to make use of his Greek, and Latin, and mathematics. Impossibleto do anything--Paris, it seems, being choke-full of learned men--somy father had to look for his bread at the end of a hooked stick, andthere, too, he must have found it, for I ate of it during two years,when I came to live with him after the death of an aunt, with whom I hadbeen staying in the country."
"Your respectable father must have been a sort of philosopher," saidDumoulin; "but, unless he found an inheritance in a dustbin, I don't seehow you came into your property."
"Wait for the end of the song. At twelve years of age I was anapprentice at the factory of M. Tripeaud; two years afterwards, myfather died of an accident, leaving me the furniture of our garret--amattress, a chair, and a table--and, moreover, in an old Eau de Colognebox, some papers (written, it seems, in English), and a bronze medal,worth about ten sous, chain and all. He had never spoken to me of thesepapers, so, not knowing if they were good for anything, I left them atthe bottom of an old trunk, instead of burning them--which was well forme, since it is upon these papers that I have had money advanced."
"What a godsend!" said Dumoulin. "But somebody must have known that youhad them?"
"Yes; one of those people that are always looking out for old debts cameto Cephyse, who told me all about it; and, after he had read the papers,he said that the affair was doubtful, but that he would lend me tenthousand francs on it, if I liked. Ten thousand francs was a large sum,so I snapped him up!"
"But you must have supposed that these old papers were of great value."
"Faith, no! since my father, who ought to have known their value, hadnever realized on them--and then, you see, ten thousand francs in good,bright coin, falling as it were from the clouds, are not to be sneezedat--so I took them--only the man made me do a bit of stiff as guarantee,or something of that kind."
"Did you sign it?"
"Of course--what did I care about it? The man told me it was only amatter of form. He spoke the truth, for the bill fell due a fortnightago, and I have heard nothing of it. I have still about a thousandfrancs in his hands, for I have taken him for my banker. And that's theway, old pal, that I'm able to flourish and be jolly all day long, aspleased as Punch to have left my old grinder of a master, M. Tripeaud."
As he pronounced this name, the joyous countenance of Jacques becamesuddenly overcast. Cephyse, no longer under the influence of the painfulimpression she had felt for a moment, looked uneasily at Jacques, forshe knew the irritation which the name of M. Tripeaud produced withinhim.
"M. Tripeaud," resumed Sleepinbuff, "is one that would make the goodbad, and the bad worse. They say that a good rider makes a good horse;they ought to say that a good master makes a good workman. Zounds! whenI think of that fellow!" cried Sleepinbuff, striking his hand violentlyon the table.
"Come, Jacques--think of something else!" said the Bacchanal Queen."Make him laugh, Rose-Pompon."
"I am not in a humor to laugh," replied Jacques, abruptly, for he wasgetting excited from the effects of the wine; "it is more than I canbear to think of that man. It exasperates me! it drives me mad! Youshould have heard him saying: 'Beggarly workmen! rascally workmen! theygrumble that they have no food in their bellies; well, then, we'll givethem bayonets to stop their hunger.'(11) And there's the children in hisfactory--you should see them, poor little creatures!--working as longas the men--wasting away, and dying by the dozen--what odds? as soonas they were dead plenty of others came to take their places--not likehorses, which can only be replaced with money."
"Well, it is clear, that you do not like your old master," saidDumoulin, more and more surprised at his Amphitryon's gloomy andthoughtful air, and, regretting that the conversation had taken thisserious turn, he whispered a few words in the ear of the BacchanalQueen, who answered by a sign of intelligence.
"I don't like M. Tripeaud!" exclaimed Jacques. "I hate him--and shallI tell you why? Because it is as much his fault as mine, that I havebecome a good-for-nothing loafer. I don't say it to screen myself; butit is the truth. When I was 'prenticed to him as a lad, I was all heartand ardor, and so bent upon work, that I used to take my shirt off tomy task, which, by the way, was the reason that I was first calledSleepinbuff. Well! I might have toiled myself to death; not one word ofencouragement did I receive. I came first to my work, and was the lastto leave off; what matter? it was not even noticed. One day, I wasinjured by the machinery. I was taken to the hospital. When I came out,weak as I was, I went straight to my work; I was not to be frightened;the others, who knew their master well, would often say to me: 'Whata muff you must be, little one! What good will you get by working sohard?'--still I went on. But, one day, a worthy old man, called FatherArsene, who had worked in the house many years, and was a model of goodconduct, was suddenly turned away, because he was getting too feeble. Itwas a death-blow to him; his wife was infirm, and, at his age, he couldnot get another place. Whe
n the foreman told him he was dismissed, hecould not believe it, and he began to cry for grief. At that moment, M.Tripeaud passes; Father Arsene begs him with clasped hands to keep himat half-wages. 'What!' says M. Tripeaud, shrugging his shoulders; 'doyou think that I will turn my factory into a house of invalids? You areno longer able to work--so be off!' 'But I have worked forty years of mylife; what is to become of me?' cried poor Father Arsene. 'That is notmy business,' answered M. Tripeaud; and, addressing his clerk, he added:'Pay what is due for the week, and let him cut his stick.' FatherArsene did cut his stick; that evening, he and his old wife suffocatedthemselves with charcoal. Now, you see, I was then a lad; but that storyof Father Arsene taught me, that, however hard you might work, it wouldonly profit your master, who would not even thank you for it, and leaveyou to die on the flags in your old age. So all my fire was damped, andI said to myself: 'What's the use of doing more than I just need? IfI gain heaps of gold for M. Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?'Therefore, finding neither pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgustfor it--just did barely enough to earn my wages--became an idler and arake--and said to myself: 'When I get too tired of labor, I can alwaysfollow the example of Father Arsene and his wife."'
Whilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts,the other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin andthe Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal fromthe Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles andglasses with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompanimentof Ninny Moulin's rattle "The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of theStorm-blown Tulip!"
At these joyous cries, which burst suddenly, like shell, Jacquesstarted; then gazing with astonishment at his guests, he drew his handacross his brow, as if to chase away the painful ideas that oppressedhim, and exclaimed: "You are right. Forward the first couple! Let us bemerry!"
In a moment, the table, lifted by vigorous arms, was removed to theextremity of the banqueting-room; the spectators, mounted upon chairs,benches, and window-ledges, began to sing in chorus the well-known airof les Etudiants, so as to serve instead of orchestra, and accompanythe quadrille formed by Sleepinbuff, the Queen, Ninny Moulin, and RosePompon.
Dumoulin, having entrusted his rattle to one of the guests, resumed hisextravagant Roman helmet and plume; he had taken off his great-coatat the commencement of the feast, so that he now appeared in all thesplendor of his costume. His cuirass of bright scales ended in a tunicof feathers, not unlike those worn by the savages, who form the oxen'sescort on Mardi Gras. Ninny Moulin had a huge paunch and thin legs,so that the latter moved about at pleasure in the gaping mouths of hislarge top boots.
Little Rose-Pompon, with her pinched-up cocked-hat stuck on one side,her hands in the pockets of her trousers, her bust a little inclinedforward, and undulating from right to left, advanced to meetNinny-Moulin; the latter danced, or rather leaped towards her, hisleft leg bent under him, his right leg stretched forward, with the toeraised, and the heel gliding on the floor; moreover, he struck his neckwith his left hand, and by a simultaneous movement, stretched forthhis right, as if he would have thrown dust in the eyes of his oppositepartner.
This first figure met with great success, and the applause wasvociferous, though it was only the innocent prelude to the step ofthe Storm-blown Tulip--when suddenly the door opened, and one of thewaiters, after looking about for an instant, in search of Sleepinbuff,ran to him, and whispered some words in his ear.
"Me!" cried Jacques, laughing; "here's a go!"
The waiter added a few more words, when Sleepinbuff's face assumedan expression of uneasiness, as he answered. "Very well! I comedirectly,"--and he made a step towards the door.
"What's the matter, Jacques?" asked the Bacchanal Queen, in somesurprise.
"I'll be back immediately. Some one take my place. Go on with thedance," said Sleepinbuff, as he hastily left the room.
"Something, that was not put down in the bill," said Dumoulin; "he willsoon be back."
"That's it," said Cephyse. "Now cavalier suel!" she added, as she tookJacques's place, and the dance continued.
Ninny Moulin had just taken hold of Rose Pompon with his right hand,and of the Queen with his left, in order to advance between the two, inwhich figure he showed off his buffoonery to the utmost extent, whenthe door again opened, and the same waiter, who had called out Jacques,approached Cephyse with an air of consternation, and whispered in herear, as he had before done to Sleepinbuff.
The Bacchanal Queen grew pale, uttered a piercing scream, and rushed outof the room without a word, leaving her guests in stupefaction.
(11) These atrocious words were actually spoken during the Lyons Riots.