by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XX. THE DEFIANCE.
Two or three times, without being remarked by the guests, one of thewaiters had come to whisper to his fellows, and point with expressivegesture to the ceiling. But his comrades had taken small account of hisobservations or fears, not wishing, doubtless, to disturb the guests,whose mad gayety seemed ever on the increase.
"Who can doubt now of the superiority of our manner of treating thisimpertinent Cholera? Has he dared even to touch our sacred battalion?"said a magnificent mountebank-Turk, one of the standard-bearers of themasquerade.
"Here is all the mystery," answered another. "It is very simple. Onlylaugh in the face of the plague, and it will run away from you."
"And right enough too, for very stupid work it does," added a prettylittle Columbine, emptying her glass.
"You are right, my darling; it is intolerably stupid work," answeredthe Clown belonging to the Columbine; "here you are very quiet, enjoyinglife, and all on a sudden you die with an atrocious grimace. Well! whatthen? Clever, isn't it? I ask you, what does it prove?"
"It proves," replied an illustrious painter of the romantic school,disguised like a Roman out of one of David's pictures, "it proves thatthe Cholera is a wretched colorist, for he has nothing but a dirtygreen on his pallet. Evidently he is a pupil of Jacobus, that king ofclassical painters, who are another species of plagues."
"And yet, master," added respectfully a pupil of the great painter, "Ihave seen some cholera patients whose convulsions were rather fine, andtheir dying looks first-rate!"
"Gentlemen," cried a sculptor of no less celebrity, "the questionlies in a nutshell. The Cholera is a detestable colorist, but a gooddraughtsman. He shows you the skeleton in no time. By heaven! how hestrips off the flesh!--Michael Angelo would be nothing to him."
"True," cried they all, with one voice; "the Cholera is a bad colorist,but a good draughtsman."
"Moreover, gentlemen," added Ninny Moulin, with comic gravity, "thisplague brings with it a providential lesson, as the great Bossuet wouldhave said."
"The lesson! the lesson!"
"Yes, gentlemen; I seem to hear a voice from above, proclaiming: 'Drinkof the best, empty your purse, and kiss your neighbor's wife; for yourhours are perhaps numbered, unhappy wretch!'"
So saying, the orthodox Silenus took advantage of a momentary absenceof mind on the part of Modeste, his neighbor, to imprint on the bloomingcheek of LOVE a long, loud kiss. The example was contagious, and a stormof kisses was mingled with bursts of laughter.
"Ha! blood and thunder!" cried the great painter as he gayly threatenedNinny Moulin; "you are very lucky that to-morrow will perhaps be the endof the world, or else I should pick a quarrel with you for having kissedmy lovely LOVE."
"Which proves to you, O Rubens! O Raphael! the thousand advantages ofthe Cholera, whom I declare to be essentially sociable and caressing."
"And philanthropic," said one of the guests; "thanks to him, creditorstake care of the health of their debtors. This morning a usurer, whofeels a particular interest in my existence, brought me all sorts ofanti-choleraic drugs, and begged me to make use of them."
"And I!" said the pupil of the great painter. "My tailor wished to forceme to wear a flannel band next to the skin, because I owe him a thousandcrowns. But I answered 'Oh, tailor, give me a receipt in full, and Iwill wrap myself up in flannel, to preserve you my custom!'"
"O Cholera, I drink to thee!" said Ninny Moulin, by way of grotesqueinvocation. "You are not Despair; on the contrary, you are the emblemof Hope--yes, of hope. How many husbands, how many wives, longed fora number (alas! too uncertain chance) in the lottery of widowhood! Youappear, and their hearts are gladdened. Thanks to you, benevolent pest!their chances of liberty are increased a hundredfold."
"And how grateful heirs ought to be! A cold--a heat--a trifle--andthere, in an hour, some old uncle becomes a revered benefactor!"
"And those who are always looking out for other people's places--what anally they must find in the Cholera!"
"And how true it will make many vows of constancy!" said Modeste,sentimentally. "How many villains have sworn to a poor, weak woman, tolove her all their lives, who never meant (the wretches!) to keep theirword so well!"
"Gentlemen," cried Ninny Moulin, "since we are now, perhaps, at the eveof the end of the world, as yonder celebrated painter has expressedit, I propose to play the world topsy-turvy: I beg these ladies to makeadvances to us, to tease us, to excite us, to steal kisses from us, totake all sorts of liberties with us, and (we shall not die of it) evento insult us. Yes, I declare that I will allow myself to be insulted.So, LOVE, you may offer me the greatest insult that can be offered to avirtuous and modest bachelor," added the religious writer, leaning overtowards his neighbor, who repulsed him with peals of laughter; and theproposal of Ninny Moulin being received with general hilarity, a newimpulse was given to the mirth and riot.
In the midst of the uproar, the waiter, who had before entered the roomseveral times, to whisper uneasily to his comrades, whilst he pointedto the ceiling, again appeared with a pale and agitated countenance;approaching the man who performed the office of butler, he said to him,in a low voice, tremulous with emotion: "They are come!"
"Who?"
"You know--up there"; and he pointed to the ceiling.
"Oh!" said the butler, becoming thoughtful; "where are they?"
"They have just gone upstairs; they are there now," answered the waiter,shaking his head with an air of alarm; "yes, they are there!"
"What does master say?"
"He is very vexed, because--" and the waiter glanced round at theguests. "He does not know what to do; he has sent me to you."
"What the devil have I to do with it?" said the other; wiping hisforehead. "It was to be expected, and cannot be helped."
"I will not remain here till they begin."
"You may as well go, for your long face already attracts attention. Tellmaster we must wait for the upshot."
The above incident was scarcely perceived in the midst of the growingtumult of the joyous feast. But, among the guests, one alone laughednot, drank not. This was Jacques. With fixed and lurid eye, he gazedupon vacancy. A stranger to what was passing around him, the unhappy manthought of the Bacchanal Queen, who had been so gay and brilliant in themidst of similar saturnalia. The remembrance of that one being, whomhe still loved with an extravagant love, was the only thought that fromtime to time roused him from his besotted state.
It is strange, but Jacques had only consented to join this masqueradebecause the mad scene reminded him of the merry day he had spent withCephyse--that famous breakfast, after a night of dancing, in which theBacchanal Queen, from some extraordinary presentiment, had proposed alugubrious toast with regard to this very pestilence, which was thenreported to be approaching France. "To the Cholera!" had she said. "Lethim spare those who wish to live, and kill at the same moment those whodread to part!"
And now, at this time, remembering those mournful words, Jacques wasabsorbed in painful thought. Morok perceived his absence of mind, andsaid aloud to him, "You have given over drinking, Jacques. Have you hadenough wine? Then you will want brandy. I will send for some."
"I want neither wine nor brandy," answered Jacques, abruptly, and hefell back into a sombre reverie.
"Well, you may be right," resumed Morok, in a sardonic tone, and raisinghis voice still higher. "You do well to take care of yourself. I waswrong to name brandy in these times. There would be as much temerity infacing a bottle of brandy as the barrel of a loaded pistol."
On hearing his courage as a toper called in question, Sleepinbuff lookedangrily at Morok. "You think it is from cowardice that I will not drinkbrandy!" cried the unfortunate man, whose half-extinguished intellectwas roused to defend what he called his dignity. "Is it from cowardicethat I refuse, d'ye think, Morok? Answer me!"
"Come, my good fellow, we have all shown our pluck today," said one ofthe guests to Jacques; "you, above all, who, being rather indisposed,
yet had the courage to take the part of Goodman Cholera."
"Gentlemen," resumed Morok, seeing the general attention fixed uponhimself and Sleepinbuff, "I was only joking; for if my comrade (pointingto Jacques) had the imprudence to accept my offer, it would be an act,not of courage, but of foolhardiness. Luckily, he has sense enough torenounce a piece of boasting so dangerous at this time, and I--"
"Waiter!" cried Jacques, interrupting Morok with angry impatience, "twobottles of brandy, and two glasses!"
"What are you going to do?" said Morok, with pretended uneasiness. "Whydo you order two bottles of brandy?"
"For a duel," said Jacques, in a cool, resolute tone.
"A duel!" cried the spectators, in surprise.
"Yes," resumed Jacques, "a duel with brandy. You pretend there is asmuch danger in facing a bottle of brandy as a loaded pistol; let us eachtake a full bottle, and see who will be the first to cry quarter."
This strange proposition was received by some with shouts of joy, and byothers with genuine uneasiness.
"Bravo! the champions of the bottle!" cried the first.
"No, no; there would be too much danger in such a contest," said theothers.
"Just now," added one of the guests; "this challenge is as serious as aninvitation to fight to the death."
"You hear," said Morok, with a diabolical smile, "you hear, Jacques?Will you now retreat before the danger?"
At these words, which reminded him of the peril to which he was aboutto expose himself, Jacques started, as if a sudden idea had occurred tohim. He raised his head proudly, his cheeks were slightly flushed, hiseye shone with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, and he exclaimed in a firmvoice: "Hang it, waiter! are you deaf? I asked you for two bottles ofbrandy."
"Yes, sir," said the waiter, going to fetch them, although himselffrightened at what might be the result of this bacchanalian struggle.But the mad and perilous resolution of Jacques was applauded by themajority.
Ninny Moulin moved about on his chair, stamped his feet, and shoutedwith all his might: "Bacchus and drink! bottles and glasses! the throatsare dry! brandy to the rescue! Largess! largess!"
And, like a true champion of the tournament, he embraced Modeste,adding, to excuse the liberty: "Love, you shall be the Queen of Beauty,and I am only anticipating the victor's happiness!"
"Brandy to the rescue!" repeated they all, in chorus. "Largess!"
"Gentlemen," added Ninny Moulin, with enthusiasm, "shall we remainindifferent to the noble example set us by Goodman Cholera? He said inhis pride, 'brandy!' Let us gloriously answer, 'punch!'"
"Yes, yes! punch!"
"Punch to the rescue!"
"Waiter!" shouted the religious writer, with the voice of a Stentor,"waiter! have you a pan, a caldron, a hogshead, or any other immensity,in which we can brew a monster punch?"
"A Babylonian punch!"
"A lake of punch!"
"An ocean of punch!"
Such was the ambitious crescendo that followed the proposition of NinnyMoulin.
"Sir," answered the waiter, with an air of triumph, "we just happen tohave a large copper caldron, quite new. It has been used, and would holdat least thirty bottles."
"Bring the caldron!" said Ninny Moulin, majestically.
"The caldron forever!" shouted the chorus.
"Put in twenty bottles of brandy, six loaves of sugar, a dozen lemons, apound of cinnamon, and then--fire! fire!" shouted the religious writer,with the most vociferous exclamations.
"Yes, yes! fire!" repeated the chorus!
The proposition of Ninny Moulin gave a new impetus to the generalgayety; the most extravagant remarks were mingled with the sound ofkisses, taken or given under the pretext that perhaps there would beno to-morrow, that one must make the most of the present, etc., etc.Suddenly, in one of the moments of silence which sometimes occur in themidst of the greatest tumult, a succession of slow and measured tapssounded above the ceiling of the banqueting-room. All remained silent,and listened.