by Eugène Sue
Thanks to the timely application of Madame Pipelet’s infallible remedy, Alfred gradually recovered his senses; but, alas, scarcely was he restored to full consciousness ere he was subjected to another and equally cruel trial of his feelings!
An individual of middle age, respectably dressed, and possessing a countenance so simple, or rather so silly, as to render it impossible to suspect him of any malice prepense or intended irony, opened the upper and glazed part of the lodge door, saying, with the most genuine air of mystification:
“I have just read on a small board placed over the door, at the entrance to the alley, the following words: ‘Pipelet and Cabrion, dealers in Friendship and similar Articles. Inquire of the Porter.’ Will you oblige me by explaining the meaning of those words, if you are, as I presume you to be, the porter in question?”
“The meaning!” exclaimed M. Pipelet, in a voice of thunder, and giving vent at length to his so long restrained indignation; “the meaning is simply, sir-r-r, that M. Cabrion is an infamous scoundrel, — an impostor!”
The simple-looking interrogator drew back, in dread of the consequences that might follow this sudden and furious burst of wrath, while, wrought up to a state of fury, Alfred leaned over the half door of the lodge, his glaring eyeballs and clenched hands indicating the intensity of his feelings; while the figures of Madame Séraphin and Anastasie were dimly revealed amid the murky shades of the small room.
“Let me tell you, sir-r-r!” cried M. Pipelet, addressing the placid-looking man at the door, “that I have no dealings with that beggar Cabrion, and certainly none in the way of friendship!”
“No, that I’m sure you have not!” screamed out Madame Pipelet, in confirmation of her husband’s words; adding, as she displayed her forbidding countenance over her husband’s shoulder, “and I wonder very much where that old dunderhead has come from to ask such a stupid question?”
“I beg your pardon, madame,” said the guileless-looking individual thus addressed, again withdrawing another step to escape the concentrated anger of the enraged pair; “placards are made to be read, — you put out a board, which I read, — now allow me to say that I am not to blame for perusing what you set up purposely to attract attention, but that you are decidedly wrong to insult me so grossly when I civilly come to you, as your own board desires, for information.”
“Oh, you old fool! Get along with you!” exclaimed Anastasie, with a most hideous distortion of visage.
“You are a rude, unmannerly woman!”
“Alfred, deary, just fetch me your boot-jack: I’ll give that old chatterer such a mark that his own mother shall not know her darling again!”
“Really, madame, I can’t say I understand receiving such rough treatment when I come, by your own directions, to make inquiries respecting what you or your husband have publicly notified in the streets.”
“But, sir-r-r — !” cried the unhappy porter.
“Sir!” interrupted the hitherto placid inquirer, now worked up into extreme rage, “Sir! You may carry your friendship with your M. Cabrion as far as you please, but, give me leave to tell you, you have no business to parade yourself or your friendships in the face of everybody in the streets. And I think it right, sir, to let you know a bit of my mind; which is, that you are a boasting braggart, and that I shall go at once and lay a formal complaint against you at the police office.” Saying which, the individual departed in an apparently towering passion.
“Anastasie,” moaned out poor Pipelet, in a dolorous voice, “I shall never survive all this! I feel but too surely that I am struck with death, — I have not a hope of escape! You hear my name is publicly exposed in the open streets, in company with that scoundrel’s! He has dared to placard the hideous tale of my having entered into a treaty of friendship with him! And the innocent, unsuspecting public will read the hateful statement — remember it — repeat it — spread the detestable report! Oh, monstrous, enormous, devilish invention! None but a fiend could have had such a thought. But there must be an end to this. The measure is full, — ay, to overflowing; and things have come to such a pass that either this accursed painter or myself must perish in the deadly struggle!” And, wrought up to such a state of vigorous resolution as to completely conquer his usual apathy, M. Pipelet seized the portrait of Cabrion and rushed towards the door.
“Where are you going, Alfred?” screamed the wife.
“To the commissary of police, and, at the same time, to tear down that vile board! Then, bearing the board in one hand and the portrait in the other, I will cry aloud to the commissary, ‘Defend, avenge an injured man! Deliver me from Cabrion!’”
“So do, old darling! There, hold up your head and pluck up courage! And I tell you what, if the board is too high for you to reach, ask the man at the wine-shop to lend you his small ladder. That blackguard of a Cabrion! I only wish I had him in my power, I’d fry him for half an hour in my largest stew-pan! Why, scores of people have been publicly executed who did not deserve death a quarter as much as he does! The villain! I should like to see him just ready to have the guillotine dropped upon his head. Wouldn’t I give him my blessing in a friendly way? A rascal!”
Alfred, amid all his woes, yet displayed a rare magnanimity, contrasting strongly with the vindictive spirit of his partner.
“No, no,” said he; “spite of the wrongs he has done me, I would not, even if his life were in my power, ‘demand his head!’”
“But I would! I would! I would!” vociferated the ferocious Anastasie. “If he had fifty heads, I would demand every one of them! I would not leave him one! But go along; make haste, Alfred, and set the commissary of police to work upon him.”
“No,” cried Alfred, “I desire not his blood; but I have a right to demand the perpetual imprisonment of this malicious being. My repose requires it, — my health peremptorily calls for it. The laws of my country must either grant me this reparation for all I have suffered, or I quit France. Yes, beautiful and beloved France! I turn my back on you for ever! And that is all an ungrateful nation would gain by neglecting to heal the wounds of my tortured mind;” and, bending beneath the weight of his grief, Alfred majestically quitted the lodge, like one of the ancient victims of all-conquering Fatality.
CHAPTER XIV.
CECILY.
BEFORE WE INTRODUCE the reader to the conversation between Madame Séraphin and Madame Pipelet, we must premise that Anastasie, without entertaining the very slightest suspicion of the virtue and piety of the notary, felt the greatest indignation at the severity manifested by him in the case both of Louise Morel and M. Germain; and, as a natural consequence, the angry porteress included Madame Séraphin in the same censure; but still, like a skilful politician, Madame Pipelet, for reasons we shall hereafter explain, concealed her dislike to the femme-de-charge under the appearance of the greatest cordiality. After having explicitly declared her extreme disapprobation of the conduct pursued by Cabrion, Madame Séraphin went on to say:
“By the way, what has become of M. Bradamanti Polidori? I wrote to him yesterday evening, but got no reply; this morning I came to see him, but he was not to be found. I trust I shall be more fortunate this time.”
Madame Pipelet affected the most lively regret.
“Really,” cried she, “you are doomed to be unlucky!”
“How so?”
“M. Bradamanti has not yet returned.”
“Upon my word, this is enough to tire a saint!”
“So it is, I declare, Madame Séraphin. I’m sure I’m as sorry about it as if it was my own self.”
“I had so much to say to him.”
“It is all for the world as though you were bewitched!”
“Why, yes, it is so much the more vexatious, because I have to find all manner of excuses to run down here; for, if once M. Ferrand were to find out that I came to consult a quack doctor, he who is so devout, so scrupulous in all things, we should have a fearful scene!”
“La! He is just like Alfred, who is so silly t
hat really he is afraid of everything and everybody!”
“And you do not know, I suppose, when M. Bradamanti will return home?”
“No, not precisely; but I know very well that he expects some one about six or seven o’clock this evening, for he told me to request the person to call again, should he not be at home at the time mentioned. So, if you will call again in the evening, you will be sure to see him.”
But, as Anastasie said these words, she mentally added, “I would not have you too sure of that; in an hour’s time he will be on his road to Normandy!”
“Very well, then,” said Madame Séraphin, with an air of considerable chagrin. Then, pausing a brief space, she added, “I had also something to say to you, my dear Madame Pipelet. You know, I suppose, what happened to that girl, Louise Morel, whom everybody thought so good and virtuous—”
“Oh, pray don’t mention her!” replied Madame Pipelet, rolling her eyes with affected horror. “It makes one’s hair stand on end.”
“I merely alluded to her by way of saying that we are now quite without a servant, and that, if you should chance to hear of a well-disposed, honest, and industrious young person, I should take it as a favour if you would send her to us. Upon my word, girls of good character are so difficult to be met with that one had need search in twenty places at once to find one.”
“Depend upon it, Madame Séraphin, that, should I hear of anybody likely to suit you, I will let you know; but, in my opinion, good situations are more rare even than good servants.” Then, again relapsing into a fit of abstraction, Anastasie added, though mentally, “A likely story that I should send any young girl to be starved to death in your dungeon of a house; your master is too stingy and hard-hearted! The idea of throwing that poor Louise and M. Germain both in prison!”
“I need not tell you,” continued Madame Séraphin, “what a still, quiet house ours is; any young person must be improved by living in a family where there is continually something to be learned; and that Louise must have been naturally a depraved creature, to turn out badly spite of the good and religious advice bestowed on her by M. Ferrand.”
“No doubt; but depend upon it that, directly I hear of a young person likely to suit you, I will be sure to let you know.”
“There is just one thing more I should like to mention,” resumed Madame Séraphin, “and that is, that M. Ferrand would greatly prefer taking a person who had no relatives or friends, because then, you understand, having no motive for wishing to go out, she would be less exposed to danger, neither would her mind be so likely to be upset; so that, if you should happen to meet with an orphan, I think M. Ferrand would prefer taking her, in the first place, because it would be doing a good action; and, secondly, as, having neither friends nor followers, she could not have any excuse for wishing to go out. I assure you that wretched girl, Louise, gave M. Ferrand a severe lesson, I can tell you, Madame Pipelet, and one that will make him very careful what sort of a servant he engages. Only imagine such a scandalous affair occurring in a house like ours! Dreadful! Well, then, I will call again this evening to see M. Bradamanti, and, at the same time, I can have a little conversation with Mother Burette.”
“Then I will say adieu, Madame Séraphin, till this evening, when you will be quite sure of finding M. Bradamanti.”
Madame Séraphin returned the salutation, and quitted the lodge.
“What a deuce of a worry she is in about Bradamanti!” said Madame Pipelet, when her visitor had disappeared. “I wonder what she wants with him? And then, too, M. Bradamanti is just as anxious to avoid seeing her before he starts for Normandy. I was dreadfully afraid she meant to stick here till he did return home, and that would have been the more awkward, as M. Bradamanti expects the same lady who came last night; I could not manage to have a squint at her then, but I am determined to-night to stare her regularly out of countenance, like I did the lady who came on the sly to visit my five-farthing commandant. Ah, the screw! the nipcheese! He has never ventured to show his face here since. However, by way of teaching him better, I shall make good use of his wood; yes, yes, my fine gentleman, it shall keep the lodge warm, as well as air your shut-up apartments. A disappointed puppy! Ha, ha, ha! Go, and be hanged with your paltry twelve francs a month! Better learn to pay people honest wages, than go flaunting about in a bright green dressing-gown, like a great lanky grasshopper! But who the plague can this lady of M. Bradamanti’s be, I wonder? Is she respectable, or t’other? I should like to know, for I am as curious as a magpie; but that is not my fault; I am as God made me, so I can’t help it. I know one’s disposition is born with us, and so the blame does not lie at my door. Stop a bit; I’ve just thought of a capital plan to find out who this lady really is; and, what’s more, I’ll engage it turns out successful. Who is that I see coming? Ah, my king of lodgers! Your servant, M. Rodolph!” cried Madame Pipelet, saluting him, after the military fashion, by placing the back of her left hand to her wig.
It was, in truth, Rodolph, who, as yet ignorant of the death of M. d’Harville, approached gaily, saying:
“Good day to you, Madame Pipelet! Can you tell me if Mlle. Rigolette is at home? I have something to say to her, if she is.”
“At home, poor girl! Why, when is she ever out? When does she lose an hour, or idle instead of working?”
“And how gets on Morel’s unfortunate wife? Does she appear more reconciled to her misfortunes?”
“Yes, M. Rodolph, I am glad to say she does; and how can she be otherwise, when, thanks to you, or the generous friend whose agent you are, she is supplied with every comfort, both for herself and her children, who are as happy as fishes in the sea? Why, they want for nothing; they have good air, good food, good fires, and good beds, with a nurse to take care of them, besides Mlle. Rigolette, who, although working like a little busy bee, and without seeming to take part in their proceedings, never loses sight of them, bless you! And they have had a black doctor to see them, who says he comes from you. ‘Well,’ says I, when I looked at him, ‘you are a funny one for a doctor, you are! I suppose, Mr. Nigger, you are physician to a company of charcoalmen, because there is no fear of your blacking your hands when you feel their pulse?’ But la, M. Rodolph, I’m only joking! For what difference does colour make? Leastways your blacky seems to be a first-rate clever man, spite of his dingy face, for the first thing he did was to order a composing draught for Morel’s wife, which did her a world of good!”
“Poor thing! I doubt not she is still very miserable?”
“Why, yes, M. Rodolph, naturally enough she is, for she has plenty of grief before her: her husband in a madhouse, and her daughter in prison! Ah, that poor Louise! That is the sorest of her heartaches; such a blow as that to an honest family, such as theirs has always been, is not to be got over so easily. And that Madame Séraphin, housekeeper to the notary, who has caused all this misery, has just been here, saying all manner of cruel things about the poor girl. If I had not had my own game to play, she should not have told the tale quite her own way; but I’ve got a pill for her to swallow by and by, so I’ll let her off easy. Why, only conceive her assurance in coming to ask me if I could not recommend her some young person to supply the place of Louise in the establishment of that old brute of a notary. What a blessed pair the master and his housekeeper are! Just fancy their preferring an orphan, if they can obtain one, to be their servant! Don’t you see through that, M. Rodolph? They pretend that their reason for wishing for an orphan is, because, having neither parents nor friends, she would never wish to go out, and would be more free from interruption; but that is not it, that is all a fudge; the truth is, they think that, if they could get a poor, friendless girl into their clutches, having nobody to see her righted, they could cheat her out of her wages as much as they liked. Now is not that true, M. Rodolph?”
“No doubt,” replied the person addressed, with the air of one who is thinking deeply on a subject.
The information thus afforded him as to Madame Séraphin seeking an orphan
girl, to replace Louise as servant in the family of M. Ferrand, appeared to present the almost certain means of accomplishing the just punishment of the notary; and, while Madame Pipelet was yet speaking, he was arranging every point of the part he had mentally destined for Cecily, whom he purposed making the principal instrument in effecting the retributive justice he meant to inflict on the vile persecutor of Louise Morel.
“Oh, I was quite sure you would be of my opinion,” continued Madame Pipelet, “and that you would agree with me in thinking that their only reason for desiring to engage an orphan girl is, that they may do her out of her wages; and, I can tell you, I would sooner drop down dead than send any poor, friendless creature to such a house! Certainly, I don’t happen to know of any one, but, if I knew of fifty, they should not enter into such a wretched house, if I could hinder them. Don’t you think I’m right, M. Rodolph?”
“Madame Pipelet, will you do me a great favour?”
“Do you a favour, M. Rodolph? Lord love your heart and soul! Just say what there is I can do for you, and then see whether I will or no. Come, what is it? Shall I jump into the fire? or curl my best wig with boiling oil? or is there anybody I can worry, bite, pinch, or scold for you? Only say the word. I am wholly at your service, heart and body, your most humble slave; always stipulating that in my service there shall be no offence to Alfred’s prior claims on me.”
“Oh, my dear Madame Pipelet, make yourself perfectly easy! I want you to manage a little affair for me, which is this: I have got to place out a young orphan girl, who is utterly a stranger to Paris; and I wish very much, with your assistance, to obtain for her the situation vacant in M. Ferrand’s establishment.”
“You don’t mean it? La, I never can think you are in earnest! What! Send a poor, friendless girl to live with such a miserly wretch as that hard-hearted old notary? No, no, M. Rodolph, that was not what you wanted me to do, I’m sure!”
