Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Here are two thousand five hundred francs; give this young woman back the money you have just received from her.”

  Still more and more astonished at this singular interference, the man half hesitated to take the notes, and, when he had received them, he eyed them with the utmost suspicion, turning and twisting them about in every direction; at length, satisfied both as to their reality and genuineness, he finally deposited them in his pocketbook: but, as his surprise and alarm began to subside, so did his natural coarseness of idea return, and, eyeing Rodolph from head to foot with an impertinent stare, he exclaimed:

  “The notes are right enough; but pray who and what are you that go about with such sums? I should just wish to know whose it is, and how you came by it?”

  Rodolph was very plainly dressed, and his appearance by no means improved by the dust and dirt his clothes had gathered during his stay in M. Pipelet’s Cabinet of Melodrama.

  “I desired you to give back the gold you received just now from this young person,” replied Rodolph, in a severe and authoritative tone.

  “You desired me! And who the devil are you, to give your orders?” answered the man, approaching Rodolph in a threatening manner.

  “Give back the gold! Give it back, I say!” said the prince, grasping the wrist of Malicorne so tightly that the unhappy bailiff winced beneath his iron clutch.

  “I say,” bawled he, “hands off, will you? Curse me if I don’t think you’re old Nick himself! I am sure your fingers are cased with iron.”

  “Then return the money! Why, you despicable wretch! do you want to be paid twice over? Now return the gold and begone, or, if you utter one insolent word, I’ll fling you over the banisters!”

  “Well, don’t kick up such a row! There’s the girl’s money,” said Malicorne, giving back to Louise the rouleau he had received. “But mind what you are about, my sparky, and don’t think to ill-use me because you happen to be the strongest!”

  “That’s right!” said Bourdin, ensconcing himself behind his taller associate. “And who are you, I should like to know, who give yourself such airs?”

  “Who is he? Why, my lodger, my king of lodgers, you ill-looking, half-starved, hungry hounds! you ill-taught, dirty fellows!” exclaimed Madame Pipelet, who, puffing and panting for breath, had at last reached the landing where they stood; her head, as usual, adorned with her Brutus wig, which, during the heat and bustle she had experienced in ascending the stairs, had got pushed somewhat awry, while in her hand she bore an earthen stewpan, filled with smoking-hot broth, which she was charitably conveying to the Morels.

  “What the devil does this old hedgehog want?” cried Bourdin.

  “If you dare make any of your saucy speeches about me,” returned Madame Pipelet, “I’ll make you feel my nails, — ay, and my teeth, too, if you provoke me! And, if you don’t mend your manners, my lodger, my king of lodgers will pitch you over the banisters, and I will sweep you out into the street, as I would a heap of rubbish.”

  “This old beldam will bring the whole house about our ears,” said Bourdin to Malicorne; “we’ve touched the blunt, our expenses and all, so I say ‘Off’ is a good word.”

  “Here, take your property,” said the latter, flinging a bundle of law-papers at the feet of Morel.

  “Pick them up, and deliver them decently; you have been paid as a respectable officer would have been, act like one!” cried Rodolph, seizing the bailiff vigorously with one hand, while with the other he pointed to the papers.

  Fully convinced by this second powerful grip how useless any attempt at resistance would prove, the bailiff stooped down, and, mechanically picking up the papers, gave them to Morel, who, scarcely venturing to credit his senses, believed himself under the influence of a delightful dream.

  “Well, young chap,” grumbled out Malicorne, “although you have got a fist as strong as a drayman’s, mind you, if ever you fall into my clutches, I’ll make you smart for this!” So saying, he doubled his fist at Rodolph, and then scrambled down the stairs, taking four or five at a time, followed by his companion, who kept looking behind him with indescribable terror; while Madame Pipelet, burning to avenge the insults offered to her king of lodgers, looked at her steaming stewpan with an air of inspiration, and heroically exclaimed:

  “The debts of the Morels are paid! Henceforward they will have plenty of food, and can do without my messes! Look out there below!”

  So saying, she stooped over the banisters, and poured the contents of her stewpan down the backs and shoulders of the two bailiffs, who had just reached the first floor landing.

  “There goes!” screamed out the delighted porteress. “Capital! Ha, ha, ha! there they are! two regular sops, in the pan! Well, I do enjoy this!”

  “What the devil is this?” exclaimed Malicorne, thoroughly soaked with the hot, greasy liquid. “I say, I wish you would mind what you are about up there, you old figure of fun!”

  “Alfred!” bawled Madame Pipelet, in a tone sharp and shrill enough to have split the tympanum of a deaf man; “Alfred, my old darling, have at ’em! They wanted to behave ill to your ‘Stasie (Anastasie)! The nasty fellows have been taking liberties, — quite violent! Knock them down with your broom! And call the oyster-woman, and the man at the wine-vaults, to help you! Get out, you! Get — get — get out! Cht, cht, cht! Thieves! thieves! robbers! Cht — b-r-r-r-r-r-r — hou, hou, hou! Knock them — knock them down! That’s right, old dear! Pay them off! Break their bones! Serve them out! Boum, boum, boum!”

  And, by way of conclusion to this concatenation of discordant noises, accompanied by a constant succession of stamping and kicking of feet, Madame Pipelet, carried away by the excitement of the moment, flung her earthen stewpan to the bottom of the staircase, which, breaking into a thousand pieces at the very instant that the two bailiffs, terrified by the yells and noises from overhead, were precipitately descending the stairs with hasty strides, added not a little to their terror.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” cried Anastasie, bursting into loud fits of laughter. “Now be off with you, — I think you have had enough!” Then, crossing her arms, she stood, like a triumphant Amazon, rejoicing in the victory she had achieved.

  While Madame Pipelet was thus venting her rage upon the bailiffs, Morel had thrown himself, in heartfelt gratitude, at the feet of Rodolph.

  “Ah, sir,” exclaimed he, when at last words came to his assistance, “you have saved a whole family! To whom do we owe this unhoped-for assistance?”

  “‘To the God who watches over and protects all honest men,’ as your immortal Béranger says.”

  Note. — The following are some curious particulars relative to bodily restraint, as cited in the “Pauvre Jacques,” a journal published under the patronage of the “Society for the Furtherance and Protection of Christianity:”

  (Prison Committee.) (Comité des Prisons.)

  “A protest and intimation of bodily restraint are generally carried about by sheriffs’ officers, and charged by law, the first, 4f. 35c., the second, 4f. 70c.; for these, however, the officers usually demand, for the former, 10f. 40c., for the second, 16f. 40c.; thus illegally claiming from the unfortunate victims of law 26f. 80c., for that which is fixed by that very law at 9f. 50c.

  “For an arrest, the legal charge is, including stamp and registering, 3f. 50c.; coach-hire, 5f.; for arrest and entry in the prison books, 60f. 25c.; office dues, 8f. Total, 76f. 75c. A bill of the usual scale ordinarily charged by sheriffs’ officers, now lying before us, shows that these allowances by law are magnified by the extortion of the officers into a sum of about 240f., instead of the 76f. they are alone entitled to claim.”

  The same journal says: “Sheriffs’ officer —— has been to our office, requesting us to correct an article which appeared in one of our numbers, headed, ‘A woman hung.’ ‘I did not hang the woman!’ observed he, angrily. We did not assert that he did, but, to prevent any further misapprehension, content ourselves with reprinting the paragraph in question: ‘A few days
ago, a sheriffs’ officer, named —— , went to the Rue de la Lune, to arrest a carpenter, who dwelt there. The man, perceiving him from the street, rushed hastily into his house, exclaiming, “I am a ruined man! The officers are here to arrest me!” His wife, at these words, hastened to secure the door; while the carpenter ran to a room on the top of the house, to conceal himself. The officer, finding admittance refused, went and fetched a magistrate and a blacksmith; the door was forced, and, on proceeding up-stairs, the woman was found hanging in her own bedchamber. The officer did not allow himself to be diverted from the pursuit by the sight of the corpse; he continued his search, and at length discovered the husband in his hiding-place. “I arrest you!” cried the bailiff. “I have no money!” replied the man. “Then you must go to prison.” “Let me at least bid my wife adieu!” “It is not worth while waiting for that, — your wife is dead! She has hung herself!”’ Now, M. —— (adds the journal we have quoted), what have you to say to that? You see we have merely copied your own statement upon oath, in which you have detailed all these frightful circumstances with horrible minuteness!”

  The same journal also cites two or three hundred similar facts, of which the following may serve as a specimen: “The expenses upon a note of hand for 300f. have been run up by the sheriffs’ officers to 964f.; the debtor, therefore, who is a mere artisan, with a family of five children, has been detained in prison for the last seven months!”

  The author of this work had a double reason for borrowing thus largely from the pages of the “Pauvre Jacques.” In the first place, to show that the horrors of the last chapter are far below reality in their painful details. And secondly, to prove that, if only viewed in a philanthropic light, the allowing such a state of things to go on (namely, the exorbitant and illegal fees both demanded and exacted by certain public functionaries), frequently acts as a preventive to the exercise of benevolence, and paralyses the hand of charity. Thus, were a small capital of 1000f. collected among kind-hearted individuals, three or four honest, though unfortunate, artisans might be released from a prison and restored to their families, by employing the above-named sum in paying the debts of such as were incarcerated for amounts varying from 250 to 300f.! But when the original debt is increased threefold by the excessive and illegal expenses, even the most charitable recede from the good work of delivering a fellow creature, from the impression that two-thirds of their well-intentioned bounty would only go into the pockets of pampered sheriffs’ officers and their satellites. And yet no class of unfortunate beings stand more in need of aid and charitable assistance than the unfortunate class we have just been speaking of.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  RIGOLETTE.

  LOUISE, THE DAUGHTER of the lapidary, was possessed of more than ordinary loveliness of countenance, a fine, tall, graceful person, uniting, by the strict regularity of her faultless features and elegance of her figure, the classic beauty of Juno with the lightness and elegance assigned to the statue of the hunting Diana. Spite of the injury her complexion had received from exposure to weather, and the redness of her well-shaped hands and arms, occasioned by household labour, — despite even the humble dress she wore, the whole appearance of Louise Morel was stamped with that indescribable air of grace and superiority Nature sometimes is pleased to bestow upon the lowly-born, in preference to the descendant of high lineage.

  We shall not attempt to paint the joy, the heartfelt gratitude of this family, so wondrously preserved from so severe a calamity; even the recent death of the little girl was forgotten during the first burst of happiness. Rodolph alone found leisure to remark the extreme paleness and utter abstraction of Louise, whose first ecstasy at finding her father free passed away, apparently plunged in a deep and painful reverie. Anxious to relieve the mind of Morel of any apprehensions for the future, and also to explain a liberality which might have raised suspicions as to the character he chose to assume, Rodolph drew the lapidary to the further end of the staircase, leaving to Rigolette the task of acquainting Louise with the death of her little sister, and said to him:

  “Did not a young lady come to visit you and your family on the morning of the day before yesterday?”

  “Yes, and appeared much grieved to see the distress we were in.”

  “Then you must thank her, — not me.”

  “Can it be possible, sir? That young lady—”

  “Is your benefactress. I frequently wait upon her from our warehouse; when I hired an apartment here, I learned from the porteress all the particulars of your case, and the painful situation you were placed in; relying on this lady’s well-known kindness and benevolence, I hastened to acquaint her with all I had heard respecting you; and, the day before yesterday, she came herself, in order to be fully aware of the extent of your misery. The distress she witnessed deeply affected her; but as it might have been brought about by misconduct, she desired me to take upon myself the task of inquiring into every circumstance relative to your past and present condition with as little delay as possible, being desirous of regulating her benevolent aid by the good or bad accounts she might receive of your honesty and good conduct.”

  “Kind, excellent lady! Well might I say—”

  “As you observed just now to Madeleine, ‘If the rich did but know!’ — was not that it?”

  “Is it possible that you are acquainted with the name of my wife? Who could have told you that?”

  “My worthy friend,” said Rodolph, interrupting Morel, “I have been concealed in the little garret adjoining your attic since six o’clock this morning.”

  “Have you, indeed, sir?”

  “Yes, my honest fellow, I have, and from my hiding-place heard all that passed among you.”

  “Oh, sir! but why did you do so?”

  “I could not have employed more satisfactory means of getting at your real character and sentiments; and I was desirous of seeing and hearing all you did or said without your being aware of my presence. The porter had made me acquainted with this small retreat, which he offered to me for a wood-closet. This morning, I asked his permission to visit it, and remained there more than an hour, during which time I had ample proof that a more upright, noble mind did not exist, and that the courageous resignation with which you bore your heavy trials was above all praise.”

  “Nay, indeed, sir, I do not merit such words as these. I was born honest, I hope, and it comes natural to me to act as I have done.”

  “I am quite sure of that; therefore I do not laud your conduct, I appreciate it. Just as I was about to quit my hiding-place, to relieve you of the presence of the bailiffs, I heard the voice of your daughter, and I meant to have allowed her the happiness of saving you. Unhappily, the rapacity of the men deprived poor Louise of the full completion of her pious task. I then made my appearance. Fortunately, I yesterday received several sums that were due to me, so that I was enabled to advance the money for your benefactress, and to pay off your unfortunate debt. But your distress has been so great, so unmerited, and so nobly sustained, that the well-deserved interest you have excited shall not stop here; and I take upon myself, in the name of your preserving angel, to promise you henceforward calmness, peace, and happiness, for yourself and family.”

  “Can it be possible? But, at least, sir, let me beseech you to tell me the name of this angel of goodness, — this heavenly preserver, — that it may dwell in our hearts and on our lips! By what name shall we bless her in our prayers?”

  “Think of her and speak of her as the angel she is. Ah, you were right in saying just now that both rich and poor had their sorrows!”

  “And is this dear lady, then, unhappy?”

  “Who is free from care and suffering in this world of trial? But I see no cause for concealing from you the name of your protectress. The lady, then, is named—”

  Remembering that Madame Pipelet was aware of Madame d’Harville’s having, at her first coming to the house, inquired for the commandant, and fearing her indiscreet mention of the circumstance, Rodolph re
sumed, after a short pause:

  “I will venture to tell you this lady’s name, upon one condition—”

  “Pray go on, sir.”

  “That you never mention it again to any one, — mind, I say to any person whatever.”

  “I solemnly promise you never to let it pass my lips; but may I not hope to be permitted to thank this friend of the unfortunate?”

  “I will let Madame d’Harville know your wish; but I scarcely think she will consent to it.”

  “Then this generous lady is called—”

  “The Marquise d’Harville.”

  “Never will that name be forgotten by me! Henceforward it will be to me as that of my patron saint, — the object of my grateful worship! Oh, when I remember that, thanks to her, my wife, children, — all, are saved! — saved — no, no, not all, — my little Adèle has gone from us! We shall see her sweet face no more; but still, I know we must have parted with her sooner or later; the dear child’s doom was long since decreed!”

  Here the poor lapidary wiped away the tears which filled his eyes at the recollection of his lost darling.

  “As for the last duties that have now to be performed for your poor child,” said Rodolph, “if you will be guided by me, this is how we will arrange it. I have not yet begun to occupy my chamber; it is large, airy, and convenient. There is already one bed in it; and I will give orders to add all that may be requisite for the accommodation of yourself and family, until Madame d’Harville is enabled to find an eligible abode for you. The remains of your little daughter can then be left in your attic, where, until the period of interment, they can be properly watched and guarded by a priest with all requisite attention. I will request M. Pipelet to take upon himself every necessary arrangement for the mournful office of laying the poor babe in its peaceful grave.”