Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XXVIII. THE STRANGER.

  The following scene took place on the morrow of the day in whichFather d'Aigrigny had been so rudely degraded by Rodin to the subalternposition formerly occupied by the socius.

  It is well known that the Rue Clovis is one of the most solitary streetsin the Montagne St. Genevieve district. At the epoch of this narrative,the house No. 4, in this street, was composed of one principal building,through which ran a dark passage, leading to a little, gloomy court, atthe end of which was a second building, in a singularly miserable anddilapidated condition. On the ground-floor, in front of the house, was ahalf-subterraneous shop, in which was sold charcoal, fagots, vegetables,and milk. Nine o'clock in the morning had just struck. The mistress ofthe shop, one Mother Arsene, an old woman of a mild, sickly countenance,clad in a brown stuff dress, with a red bandanna round her head, wasmounted on the top step of the stairs which led down to her door, andwas employed in setting out her goods--that is, on one side of herdoor she placed a tin milk-can, and on the other some bunches of stalevegetables, flanked with yellowed cabbages. At the bottom of the steps,in the shadowy depths of the cellar, one could see the light of theburning charcoal in a little stove. This shop situated at the side ofthe passage, served as a porter's lodge, and the old woman acted asportress. On a sudden, a pretty little creature, coming from the house,entered lightly and merrily the shop. This young girl was Rose-Pompon,the intimate friend of the Bacchanal Queen.--Rose-Pompon, a widow forthe moment, whose bacchanalian cicisbeo was Ninny Moulin, the orthodoxscapegrace, who, on occasion, after drinking his fill, could transformhimself into Jacques Dumoulin, the religious writer, and pass gayly fromdishevelled dances to ultramontane polemics, from Storm-blown Tulips toCatholic pamphlets.

  Rose-Pompon had just quitted her bed, as appeared by the negligence ofher strange morning costume; no doubt, for want of any other head-dress,on her beautiful light hair, smooth and well-combed, was stuck jauntilya foraging-cap, borrowed from her masquerading costume. Nothing couldbe more sprightly than that face, seventeen years old, rosy, fresh,dimpled, and brilliantly lighted up by a pair of gay, sparkling blueeyes. Rose Pompon was so closely enveloped from the neck to the feetin a red and green plaid cloak, rather faded, that one could guess thecause of her modest embarrassment. Her naked feet, so white that onecould not tell if she wore stockings or not, were slipped into littlemorocco shoes, with plated buckles. It was easy to perceive that hercloak concealed some article which she held in her hand.

  "Good-day, Rose-Pompon," said Mother Arsene with a kindly air; "you areearly this morning. Had you no dance last night?"

  "Don't talk of it, Mother Arsene; I had no heart to dance. PoorCephyse--the Bacchanal Queen--has done nothing but cry all night. Shecannot console herself, that her lover should be in prison."

  "Now, look here, my girl," said the old woman, "I must speak to youabout your friend Cephyse. You won't be angry?"

  "Am I ever angry?" said Rose-Pompon, shrugging her shoulders.

  "Don't you think that M. Philemon will scold me on his return?"

  "Scold you! what for?"

  "Because of his rooms, that you occupy."

  "Why, Mother Arsene, did not Philemon tell you, that, in his absence, Iwas to be as much mistress of his two rooms as I am of himself?"

  "I do not speak of you, but of your friend Cephyse, whom you have alsobrought to occupy M. Philemon's lodgings."

  "And where would she have gone without me, my good Mother Arsene? Sinceher lover was arrested, she has not dared to return home, because sheowes ever so many quarters. Seeing her troubles. I said to her: 'Come,lodge at Philemon's. When he returns, we must find another place foryou.'"

  "Well, little lovey--if you only assure me that M. Philemon will not beangry--"

  "Angry! for what? That we spoil his things? A fine set of things he hasto spoil! I broke his last cup yesterday--and am forced to fetch themilk in this comic concern."

  So saying, laughing with all her might, Rose-Pompon drew her prettylittle white arm from under her cloak, and presented to Mother Arseneone of those champagne glasses of colossal capacity, which hold about abottle.

  "Oh, dear!" said the greengrocer in amazement; "it is like a glasstrumpet."

  "It is Philemon's grand gala-glass, which they gave him when he took hisdegrees in boating," said Rose-Pompon, gravely.

  "And to think you must put your milk in it--I am really ashamed," saidMother Arsene.

  "So am I! If I were to meet any one on the stairs, holding this glass inmy hand like a Roman candlestick, I should burst out laughing, andbreak the last remnant of Philemon's bazaar, and he would give me hismalediction."

  "There is no danger that you will meet any one. The first-floor is goneout, and the second gets up very late."

  "Talking of lodgers," said Rose-Pompon, "is there not a room to leton the second-floor in the rear house? It might do for Cephyse, whenPhilemon comes back."

  "Yes, there is a little closet in the roof--just over the two rooms ofthe mysterious old fellow," said Mother Arsene.

  "Oh, yes! Father Charlemagne. Have you found out anything more abouthim?"

  "Dear me, no, my girl! only that he came this morning at break of day,and knocked at my shutters. 'Have you received a letter for me, my goodlady?' said he--for he is always so polite, the dear man!--'No, sir,'said I.'--'Well, then, pray don't disturb yourself, my good lady!' saidhe; 'I will call again.' And so he went away."

  "Does he never sleep in the house?"

  "Never. No doubt, he lodges somewhere else--but he passes some hourshere, once every four or five days."

  "And always comes alone?"

  "Always."

  "Are you quite sure? Does he never manage to slip in some little pussof a woman? Take care, or Philemon will give you notice to quit," saidRose-Pompon, with an air of mock-modesty.

  "M. Charlemagne with a woman! Oh, poor dear man!" said the greengrocer,raising her hands to heaven; "if you saw him, with his greasy hat, hisold gray coat, his patched umbrella, and his simple face, he looks morelike a saint than anything else."

  "But then, Mother Arsene, what does the saint do here, all alone forhours, in that hole at the bottom of the court, where one can hardly seeat noon-day?"

  "That's what I ask myself, my dovey, what can he be doing? It can't bethat he comes to look at his furniture, for he has nothing but a flockbed, a table, a stove, a chair, and an old trunk."

  "Somewhat in the style of Philemon's establishment," said Rose-Pompon.

  "Well, notwithstanding that, Rosey, he is as much afraid that any oneshould come into his room, as if we were all thieves, and his furniturewas made of massy gold. He has had a patent lock put on the door, at hisown expense; he never leaves me his key; and he lights his fire himself,rather than let anybody into his room."

  "And you say he is old?"

  "Yes, fifty or sixty."

  "And ugly?"

  "Just fancy, little viper's eyes, looking as if they had been bored witha gimlet, in a face as pale as death--so pale, that the lips are white.That's for his appearance. As for his character, the good old man's sopolite!--he pulls off his hat so often, and makes you such low bows,that it is quite embarrassing."

  "But, to come back to the point," resumed Rose-Pompon, "what can hedo all alone in those two rooms? If Cephyse should take the closet, onPhilemon's return, we may amuse ourselves by finding out something aboutit. How much do they want for the little room?"

  "Why, it is in such bad condition, that I think the landlord would letit go for fifty or fifty-five francs a-year, for there is no room for astove, and the only light comes through a small pane in the roof."

  "Poor Cephyse!" said Rose, sighing, and shaking her head sorrowfully."After having amused herself so well, and flung away so much money withJacques Rennepont, to live in such a place, and support herself by hardwork! She must have courage!"

  "Why, indeed, there is a great difference between that closet and thecoach-and-four in which Cephyse came to
fetch you the other day, withall the fine masks, that looked so gay--particularly the fat man inthe silver paper helmet, with the plume and the top boots. What a jollyfellow!"

  "Yes, Ninny Moulin. There is no one like him to dance the forbiddenfruit. You should see him with Cephyse, the Bacchanal Queen. Poorlaughing, noisy thing!--the only noise she makes now is crying."

  "Oh! these young people--these young people!" said the greengrocer.

  "Easy, Mother Arsene; you were young once."

  "I hardly know. I have always thought myself much the same as I am now."

  "And your lovers, Mother Arsene?"

  "Lovers! Oh, yes! I was too ugly for that--and too well taken care of."

  "Your mother looked after you, then?"

  "No, my girl; but I was harnessed."

  "Harnessed!" cried Rose-Pompon, in amazement, interrupting the dealer.

  "Yes,--harnessed to a water-cart, along with my brother. So, you see,when we had drawn like a pair of horses for eight or ten hours a day, Ihad no heart to think of nonsense."

  "Poor Mother Arsene, what a hard life," said Rose-Pompon with interest.

  "In the winter, when it froze, it was hard enough. I and my brother wereobliged to be rough-shod, for fear of slipping."

  "What a trade for a woman! It breaks one's heart. And they forbid peopleto harness dogs!" added Rose-Pompon, sententiously.(21)

  "Why, 'tis true," resumed Mother Arsene. "Animals are sometimes betteroff than people. But what would you have? One must live, you know. Asyou make your bed, you must lie. It was hard enough, and I got a diseaseof the lungs by it--which was not my fault. The strap, with which Iwas harnessed, pressed so hard against my chest, that I could scarcelybreathe: so I left the trade, and took to a shop, which is just to tellyou, that if I had had a pretty face and opportunity, I might have donelike so many other young people, who begin with laughter and finish--"

  "With a laugh t'other side of the mouth--you would say; it is true,Mother Arsene. But, you see, every one has not the courage to go intoharness, in order to remain virtuous. A body says to herself, you musthave some amusement while you are young and pretty--you will not alwaysbe seventeen years old--and then--and then--the world will end, or youwill get married."

  "But, perhaps, it would have been better to begin by that."

  "Yes, but one is too stupid; one does not know how to catch the men, orto frighten them. One is simple, confiding, and they only laugh at us.Why, Mother Arsene, I am myself an example that would make you shudder;but 'tis quite enough to have had one's sorrows, without fretting one'sself at the remembrance."

  "What, my beauty! you, so young and gay, have had sorrows?"

  "Ah, Mother Arsene! I believe you. At fifteen and a half I began to cry,and never left off till I was sixteen. That was enough, I think."

  "They deceived you, mademoiselle?"

  "They did worse. They treated me as they have treated many a poor girl,who had no more wish to go wrong than I had. My story is not a threevolume one. My father and mother are peasants near Saint-Valery, butso poor--so poor, that having five children to provide for, they wereobliged to send me, at eight years old, to my aunt, who was a charwomanhere in Paris. The good woman took me out of charity, and very kind itwas of her, for I earned but little. At eleven years of age she sent meto work in one of the factories of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. I don'twish to speak, ill of the masters of these factories; but what do theycare, if little boys and girls are mixed up pell-mell with young men andwomen of eighteen to twenty? Now you see, there, as everywhere, some areno better than they should be; they are not particular in word or deed,and I ask you, what art example for the children, who hear and see morethan you think for. Then, what happens? They get accustomed as they growolder, to hear and see things, that afterwards will not shock them atall."

  "What you say there is true, Rose-Pompon. Poor children! who takes anytrouble about them?--not their father or mother, for they are at theirdaily work."

  "Yes, yes, Mother Arsene, it is all very well; it is easy to cry down ayoung girl that has gone wrong; but if they knew all the ins andouts, they would perhaps pity rather than blame her. To come back tomyself--at fifteen years old I was tolerably pretty. One day I hadsomething to ask of the head clerk. I went to him in his private room.He told me he would grant what I wanted, and even take me under hispatronage, if I would listen to him; and he began by trying to kiss me.I resisted. Then he said to me:--'You refuse my offer? You shall have nomore work; I discharge you from the factory.'"

  "Oh, the wicked man!" said Mother Arsene.

  "I went home all in tears, and my poor aunt encouraged me not to yield,and she would try to place me elsewhere. Yes--but it was impossible;the factories were all full. Misfortunes never come single; my aunt fellill, and there was not a sou in the house; I plucked up my courage, andreturned to entreat the mercy of the clerk at the factory. Nothing woulddo. 'So much the worse,' said he; 'you are throwing away your luck. Ifyou had been more complying, I should perhaps have married you.' Whatcould I do, Mother Arsene?--misery was staring me in the face; I had nowork; my aunt was ill; the clerk said he would marry me--I did like somany others."

  "And when, afterwards, you spoke to him about marriage?"

  "Of course he laughed at me, and in six months left me. Then I weptall the tears in my body, till none remained--then I was very ill--andthen--I console myself, as one may console one's self for anything.After some changes, I met with Philemon. It is upon him that I revengemyself for what others have done to me. I am his tyrant," addedRose-Pompon, with a tragic air, as the cloud passed away which haddarkened her pretty face during her recital to Mother Arsene.

  "It is true," said the latter thoughtfully. "They deceive a poorgirl--who is there to protect or defend her? Oh! the evil we do does notalways come from ourselves, and then--"

  "I spy Ninny Moulin!" cried Rose-Pompon, interrupting the greengrocer,and pointing to the other side of the street. "How early abroad! Whatcan he want with me?" and Rose wrapped herself still more closely andmodestly in her cloak.

  It was indeed Jacques Dumoulin, who advanced with his hat stuck on oneside, with rubicund nose and sparkling eye, dressed in a loose coat,which displayed the rotundity of his abdomen. His hands, one of whichheld a huge cane shouldered like a musket, were plunged into the vastpockets of his outer garment.

  Just as he reached the threshold of the door, no doubt with theintention of speaking to the portress, he perceived Rose-Pompon. "What!"he exclaimed, "my pupil already stirring? That is fortunate. I came onpurpose to bless her at the rise of morn!"

  So saying, Ninny Moulin advanced with open arms towards Rose-Pompon whodrew back a step.

  "What, ungrateful child!" resumed the writer on divinity. "Will yourefuse me the morning's paternal kiss?"

  "I accept paternal kisses from none but Philemon. I had a letter fromhim yesterday, with a jar of preserves, two geese, a bottle of home-madebrandy, and an eel. What ridiculous presents! I kept the drink, andchanged the rest for two darling live pigeons, which I have installedin Philemon's cabinet, and a very pretty dove-cote it makes me. For therest, my husband is coming back with seven hundred francs, which he gotfrom his respectable family, under pretence of learning the bass viol,the cornet-a-piston, and the speaking trumpet, so as to make his way insociety, and a slap-up marriage--to use your expression--my good child."

  "Well, my dear pupil, we will taste the family brandy, and enjoyourselves in expectation of Philemon and his seven hundred francs."

  So saying, Ninny Moulin slapped the pockets of his waistcoat, whichgave forth a metallic sound, and added: "I come to propose to you toembellish my life, to-day and to-morrow, and even the day after, if yourheart is willing."

  "If the announcements are decent and fraternal, my heart does not sayno."

  "Be satisfied; I will act by you as your grandfather, your greatgrandfather, your family portrait. We will have a ride, a dinner, theplay, a fancy dress ball, and a supper afterwards. Will that suit
you?"

  "On condition that poor Cephyse is to go with us. It will raise herspirits."

  "Well, Cephyse shall be of the party."

  "Have you come into a fortune, great apostle?"

  "Better than that, most rosy and pompous of all Rose-Pom, pons! I amhead editor of a religious journal; and as I must make some appearancein so respectable a concern, I ask every month for four weeks inadvance, and three days of liberty. On this condition, I consent to playthe saint for twenty-seven days out of thirty, and to be always as graveand heavy as the paper itself."

  "A journal! that will be something droll, and dance forbidden steps allalone on the tables of the cafes."

  "Yes, it will be droll enough; but not for everybody. They are richsacristans, who pay the expenses. They don't look to money, provided thejournal bites, tears, burns, pounds, exterminates and destroys. On myword of honor, I shall never have been in such a fury!" added NinnyMoulin, with a loud, hoarse laugh. "I shall wash the wounds of myadversaries with venom of the finest vintage, and gall of the firstquality."

  For his peroration, Ninny Moulin imitated the pop of uncorking a bottleof champagne--which made Rose-Pompon laugh heartily.

  "And what," resumed she, "will be the name of your journal ofsacristans?"

  "It will be called 'Neighborly Love.'"

  "Come! that is a very pretty name."

  "Wait a little! there is a second title."

  "Let us hear it."

  "'Neighborly Love; or, the Exterminator of the Incredulous, theIndifferent, the Lukewarm, and Others,' with this motto from the greatBossuet: 'Those who are not for us are against us.'"

  "That is what Philemon says in the battles at the Chaumiere, when heshakes his cane."

  "Which proves, that the genius of the Eagle of Meaux is universal. Ionly reproach him for having been jealous of Moliere."

  "Bah! actor's jealousy," said Rose-Pompon.

  "Naughty girl!" cried Ninny Moulin, threatening her with his finger.

  "But if you are going to exterminate Madame de la Sainte-Colombo, who issomewhat lukewarm--how about your marriage?"

  "My journal will advance it, on the contrary. Only think! editor-Inchief is a superb position; the sacristans will praise, and push, andsupport, and bless me; I shall get La-Sainte-Colombe--and then, what alife I'll lead!"

  At this moment, a postman entered the shop, and delivered a letter tothe greengrocer, saying: "For M. Charlemagne, post-paid!"

  "My!" said Rose-Pompon; "it is for the little mysterious old man, whohas such extraordinary ways. Does it come from far?"

  "I believe you; it comes from Italy, from Rome," said Ninny Moulin,looking in his turn at the letter, which the greengrocer held in herhand. "Who is the astonishing little old man of whom you speak?"

  "Just imagine to yourself, my great apostle," said Rose-Pompon, "alittle old man, who has two rooms at the bottom of that court. He neversleeps there, but comes from time to time, and shuts himself up forhours, without ever allowing any one to enter his lodging, and withoutany one knowing what he does there."

  "He is a conspirator," said Ninny Moulin, laughing, "or else a comer."

  "Poor dear man," said Mother Arsene, "what has he done with his falsemoney? He pays me always in sous for the bit of bread and the radish Ifurnish him for his breakfast."

  "And what is the name of this mysterious chap?" asked Dumoulin.

  "M. Charlemagne," said the greengrocer. "But look, surely one speaks ofthe devil, one is sure to see his horns."

  "Where's the horns?"

  "There, by the side of the house--that little old man, who walks withhis neck awry, and his umbrella under his arm."

  "M. Rodin!" ejaculated Ninny Moulin, retreating hastily, and descendingthree steps into the shop, in order not to be seen. Then he added. "Yousay, that this gentleman calls himself--"

  "M. Charlemagne--do you know him?" asked the greengrocer.

  "What the devil does he do here, under a false name?" said JacquesDumoulin to himself.

  "You know him?" said Rose-Pompon, with impatience. "You are quiteconfused."

  "And this gentleman has two rooms in this house, and comes heremysteriously," said Jacques Dumoulin, more and more surprised.

  "Yes," resumed Rose-Pompon; "you can see his windows from Philemon'sdove-cote."

  "Quick! quick! let me go into the passage, that I may not meet him,"said Dumoulin.

  And, without having been perceived by Rodin, he glided from the shopinto the passage, and thence mounted to the stairs, which led to theapartment occupied by Rose-Pompon.

  "Good-morning, M. Charlemagne," said Mother Arsene to Rodin, who madehis appearance on the threshold. "You come twice in a day; that isright, for your visits are extremely rare."

  "You are too polite, my good lady," said Rodin, with a very courteousbow; and he entered the shop of the greengrocer.

  (21) There are, really, ordinances, full of a touching interest for thecanine race, which forbid the harnessing of dogs.