by Eugène Sue
“And tell me, did the notary appear much struck with Cecily when she entered?”
“Why, how can any one tell what he thinks while he keeps those great green spectacles on? Besides, a godly saint such as he passes for has no business to know whether a woman is handsome or ugly. However, when we both walked into the room and stood before him, he gave quite a spring up from his seat. Most likely, he was astonished at Cecily’s dress, for she looked for all the world (only a hundred thousand times better) like one of those ‘buy-a-broom’ girls with her short petticoats and her handsome legs set off by her blue stockings with red clocks. My conscience, what a leg she has! Such a slender ankle! — and then, oh, such a calf! With a foot as small and delicate as an opera dancer’s. I can tell you that the notary seemed almost speechless with surprise, after he had looked at her through his green specs from head to toe.”
“Doubtless, as you say, he was struck by the whimsicality of Cecily’s costume.”
“Well, maybe so; however, I felt that the critical moment had arrived, and began to feel rather queer; fortunately, just as my courage began to fail me, M. Rodolph, I recollected a maxim I learned from you, and that got me safe through my difficulty.”
“What maxim do you mean, — I don’t remember teaching you any?”
“Don’t you know?— ‘It is always enough for one to wish, for the other to refuse; or, for one to desire, for the other to be unwilling.’ ‘So,’ said I to myself, ‘here goes to rid my king of lodgers of his German niece, and to burthen the hard-hearted master of poor Louise with her. Now, then, for a good piece of shamming;’ and, without giving the notary breathing time, I began by saying, in a polite and insinuating tone, ‘I hope, sir, you’ll excuse my niece being dressed as she is, but she has only just arrived, and has brought nothing with her but the costume of her country; and I am sure it don’t lay in my power to provide her with others; and, besides, it would not be worth while, since we have merely called to thank you for having allowed Madame Séraphin to say you would see Cecily, in consequence of the favourable character I had given her. Still, sir, I don’t think, after all, she would suit you.’”
“Capital, Madame Pipelet; go on.”
“‘And why so?’ inquired the notary, who had established himself by the warmest corner of the fire, and seemed to be looking very attentively at us from over his green spectacles, ‘why should you suppose your niece not likely to suit me?’ ‘Because, sir, Cecily is already quite homesick; she has only been here three days and yet she wants to go back; and so, she says, she will, too, if she is obliged to beg her way, or sing songs and sell little brooms, like the rest of her countrywomen.’ ‘But bless me!’ answered M. Ferrand, ‘do you, who are her principal relation, mean to allow of that?’ ‘I don’t see how I am to hinder her, sir,’ said I. ‘Certainly, I am the nearest relation she has, for the poor thing is an orphan, as I told good Madame Séraphin; but then she is twenty years of age, and, of course, mistress of her own actions.’ ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ interrupted he, quite impatiently; ‘don’t tell me about being her own mistress; at her time of life she is bound to obey her relations, and take their advice in all things.’ Upon which Cecily began to cry and to creep up to me, all of a tremble, as if she was quite afraid of the notary.”
“And what said Jacques Ferrand further?”
“Oh, he kept muttering in a grumbling tone, ‘A young creature at that age left to her own guidance! Why, it would be the ruin of her! And, as for begging her way back to Germany — a pretty idea! And you mean to call yourself her aunt, and say that you would sanction such conduct?’ ‘All right,’ says I to myself; ‘you are falling into the trap as neat as ninepence, you miserly old hunks, and if I do not saddle you with Cecily, my name is not what it is!’ ‘Yes,’ cried I, in a discontented voice, ‘I’m her aunt, sure enough, and worse luck to me for having such an encumbrance; I have difficulty enough to earn my bread, without having a great overgrown girl like that, to take it out of my mouth; and I would much rather she went back to her own country than stop here to be a burthen to me. The deuce take people who can’t manage to maintain their own children, but just send them for others to work for and keep without even so much as paying their travelling expenses!’ And then, as if Cecily were up to my schemes, and desirous of playing into my hands, she burst out into such a fit of crying and sobbing as quite touched the notary, who began in a sniffling, whining tone, as though preaching a sermon, ‘Let me tell you that you are accountable before Providence for the charge he has entrusted to your care and keeping, and you are answerable for any false step this poor girl may take. Now I am willing to join you in a charitable action; and if your niece will promise me to be honest, industrious, virtuous, pious, and, above all, never upon any occasion to desire to leave the house, I will take pity on her, and receive her into my service.’ ‘No, no!’ said Cecily, crying more violently than ever, ‘I don’t want to stop here with this gentleman; I wish to go back to my home; and I will, too!’”
“Ah, ah,” thought Rodolph, “her dangerous falsehood has not deserted her, — the depraved creature has, evidently, fully comprehended the instructions she received from Baron de Graün.” Then, speaking aloud, the prince continued, “Did Cecily’s resistance appear to displease M. Jacques Ferrand?”
“Yes, M. Rodolph, it seemed to make him as savage as could be, and he muttered something between his teeth I could not make out. Then he said, abruptly, ‘It is not what you would prefer, young woman, but what is most suitable and creditable that is to be considered. Providence will never forsake you, so long as you conduct yourself respectably and virtuously, and carefully attend to your religious duties. You will be here in a family as pious as it is strict in all such matters; and if your aunt has any real regard for your welfare, she will take advantage of my offer. Your wages will be trifling at first, but hereafter I may be induced to increase them should your good behaviour render you deserving of encouragement.’ ‘Bravo!’ thinks I to myself, ‘I’ve regularly hooked the miser, and fixed him with Cecily as right as a trivet. Why, you old curmudgeon! You old skinflint! You miserable, hard-hearted old hypocrite! You know very well that Séraphin was your slave for years, and yet you seem to have forgotten her death, and the dreadful manner of it, as much as though nothing had happened.’ Then I said out loud, ‘No doubt, sir, yours is a very good place, and one as many would be thankful to have, but if this girl is so homesick, what am I to do?’ ‘Oh, take no notice of it,’ replied the notary, ‘and it will soon wear away. But make up your minds, — just say one way or the other; if you decide upon your niece entering my service, bring her here to-morrow evening at the same hour you came to-night; and my porter will show her about the premises, and also explain her work to her. As for her wages, I shall begin with twenty francs a month and her food.’ ‘Oh, sir, I hope you will make it twenty-five francs, — twenty is really too little!’ ‘No, no, not at present; by and by perhaps I may, if I am satisfied. One thing, however, I must impress upon you, and that is, that your niece will never go beyond these walls, neither will she be allowed to receive any visitors.’ ‘Bless your heart, sir! Who could come to see her? Why, she does not know a single soul in Paris, except myself, and I am obliged to stay at home to mind my lodge. I have been terribly put about to come out this evening, so you will see nothing of me; and as for my niece, she will be as great a stranger to me as though she was in her own country; and the best way to prevent her going out will be to make her wear the costume of her country, — she could not venture in the streets dressed in that manner.’ ‘You are quite right,’ replied the notary; ‘it is, besides, always respectable to wear the dress of our own country; your niece shall, therefore, continue to dress as she now is.’ ‘Come, my girl,’ said I to Cecily, who, with her head hanging down, and her finger in the corner of her mouth, was keeping up a continual weeping, ‘come, make up your mind. A good place with a worthy master is not to be found every day; so, if you choose to refuse it, do, but don’t look
to me for any further support; I’ll have nothing to do with you, I can tell you!’ Upon which Cecily, swelling as though her heart would burst, replied, sobbing, ‘Very well, then, if aunt was so particular, she should stay, but only on condition that, if she did not find herself comfortable, she might come away at the end of a fortnight.’ ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ answered the notary, ‘I shall not force you to stop against your will. I can promise you there are too many young persons would be thankful to have my situation; but I pity your position as an orphan, and, therefore, give you the preference. There, take your earnest money; and let your aunt bring you here about this time to-morrow evening.’ Cecily was too busy crying to take the two francs’ piece the old starvemouse offered, so I took it for her. We made our courtesies and came away.”
“You have managed admirably, Madame Pipelet; and I do not forget my promise; here is what I promised you, if you managed to get this girl taken off my hands.”
“Wait till to-morrow before you give it me, my king of lodgers!” cried Madame Pipelet, putting back the money Rodolph offered her; “perhaps, when I go to take Cecily this evening, M. Ferrand may have changed his mind.”
“Not he, depend upon it! But where is she?”
“In the small room adjoining the apartments of the commandant; she will not stir out after the orders you gave. She seems mild and gentle as a lamb; but then, her eyes! Oh, dear! It is difficult to fancy her either one or the other, when one looks at those — Talking of the commandant, what a plotting, mysterious person he is! Would you believe it? When he came here to superintend the packing up of his furniture, he told me that if any letters came addressed to ‘Madame Vincent,’ they were for him, and that I was to send them to the Rue Mondine, No. 5. The idea of the pretty creature having his letters addressed as if for a female! What a conceited jackanapes he is! But the best of it was, he asked me what had become of his wood! ‘Your wood?’ said I, ‘why don’t you ask after your forest when you are about it?’ Oh, I said it so flat and plain! A mean, grasping hound, to trouble himself to ask after two pitiful loads of wood, — his wood, indeed! ‘What has become of your wood?’ repeated I, still working him on, till he got quite white with passion, ‘why, I burnt it to keep your things from the damp, which would otherwise have made mushrooms grow upon your fine embroidered cap, and the mildew from rotting your smart, glittering robe de chambre, which you must love so dearly, because you have put it on so many times when you were fool enough to wait for those who never meant to come, but were only laughing at you, — like the lady who made believe she was going to pay you a visit, and then passed your door, though you had set it wide open to show yourself decked in all your finery. Your wood, indeed! I like that! You poor squeeze-penny of a commandant, — enough to disgust one with men altogether.’”
A deep, plaintive groan, something between a grunt and a sigh, from the bed on which Alfred reposed, here interrupted Madame Pipelet.
“Ah, there’s the old duck beginning to stir; he will not be long before he wakes now. Will you excuse me, my king of lodgers?”
“Certainly; but I have yet some particulars to inquire of you.”
“Oh, very well,” answered Madame Pipelet. Then going up to her husband, she drew back the curtains, saying, “How are you by this time, my old chick? Look! there’s M. Rodolph, who has heard all about this fresh villainy of Cabrion’s, and is as sorry about it as can be.”
“Ah, M. Rodolph,” murmured Alfred, languidly turning his head towards the announced visitor, “this time the monster has struck at my heart; I shall quit this bed no more. I am now the object of all the placards of this vast city; my name is blazoned upon every wall in Paris, linked with that of a wretch unworthy of mention. Yes, môssieur, there you may see ‘Pipelet and Cabrion,’ bound together by an enormous band of union. Yes, I — I — the injured Pipelet — united in bonds of seeming amity and intimacy with that fellow Cabrion! Oh, môssieur, pity me! My name joined with his in the eyes of all the dwellers of this great capital, — the leading city of Europe!”
“Ah, M. Rodolph knows all about that; but he has yet to be told of your yesterday’s adventures with those two singular women, or whatever they were.”
“Alas, monsieur,” sighed Alfred, in a mournful voice, “he reserved his master-stroke of wickedness and fiendish malice till the last. This, however, passes all bounds, and human patience can bear no more!”
“Come, my dear M. Pipelet, calm yourself, and endeavour to relate this fresh annoyance to me.”
“All that he has hitherto done to vex and insult me is as nothing compared to his last malignant scheme to break my heart and ruin my peace. But now the shameless monster has gone the full extent of fiendish provocation. I know not whether I have the power of describing to you the scene of last night; when I attempt to speak, shame, confusion, and outraged modesty seem to deprive me of voice and breath.”
M. Pipelet, having managed with some difficulty to raise himself in his bed, modestly buttoned his flannel waistcoat up to his throat, and began in the following terms:
“My wife had just gone out, absorbed in the bitter reflections arising from the sight of my name so disgracefully prostituted on every wall in Paris; I sought to while away my solitary hours by attending to the new soling of a boot twenty times commenced and as often abandoned, — thanks to the unceasing persecutions of my pitiless persecutor. Well, sir, I was sitting at a table with the boot on my arm, though my thoughts were far otherwise engaged, when I saw the lodge door open and a female enter. The person who had just come in was wrapped in a large hooded cloak, and, without thinking any harm, I civilly rose from my seat, and put my hand to my hat. Then I observed another female, also attired in a similar cloak, with a large hood, enter the lodge and shut the door after her. Although somewhat astonished at the familiarity of such a proceeding, and the silence maintained by both the women, I rose a second time from my chair, and a second time I lifted my hand to my hat. And then, sir, — but no, no, I can never finish the recital; my wounded modesty chokes my utterance.”
“Come, come, old pet,” said Madame Pipelet, encouragingly, “get on with your story; we are all men here.”
“Well, then,” stammered forth Alfred, his face becoming scarlet as the fullest blown peony, “then their mantles fell to the ground. And what do you think I saw? Why, a couple of sirens, or nymphs, or witches of one kind or the other, with no sort of clothing except a petticoat made of leaves, while a wreath of similar descriptions decorated their heads. And then the two advanced towards me with outstretched arms, as though inviting me to throw myself into them.”
“Oh, the impudent sluts!” exclaimed Anastasie.
“Their impure advances disgusted me,” continued Alfred, animated with a chaste indignation; “and, in conformity with a habit which has ever attended the most critical moments of my life, I remained still and motionless on my chair. Then, profiting by my surprise and stupor, the two sirens came gently forward to a sort of low music, turning and twisting and extending their arms and legs in all directions. I became petrified, as though changed to stone; I waited their approach in silent agony. They came nearer and nearer, till at last they wrapped me tight in their arms.”
“Did they, though?” cried Anastasie. “Oh, the hussies! I only wish I had been there with my broomstick; I’d have taught them how to come hopping and skipping, and holding out their arms for an innocent, virtuous, married man to tumble into, — I would, the bold-faced beggars!”
“Slowly Dancing and Whirling around Me”
Original Etching by Porteau
“When I felt myself in a manner half stifled between them, I gave myself up for lost. My blood retreated from my heart, — I felt as if struck with death; when one of the sirens — a great, fair girl, and the boldest of the two — leaned upon my shoulder, took off my hat, and, still slowly dancing and whirling around me, left me bald-headed and defenceless. Then the other one, accompanying the action with all sorts of attitudes and singular dances,
and waving of the arms, draws out a pair of scissors she must have hid somewhere, — for I’m quite sure she had no pockets, — came close behind me, and grasping with one hand all my remaining hair, snipped it all off with one cut of her huge scissors; yes, all, — every lock, — every hair I had to cover my poor old head; dancing, and wheeling, and balancing, first on one foot, then on the other, swaying out legs and arms in all sorts of stage-struck ways; then joining voices, the pair of audacious spirits began singing, ‘’Tis for Cabrion, — for Cabrion; we take your locks for Cabrion, — your dear friend Cabrion!’ Whilst the second voice repeated in a louder strain, ‘Your head is shorn for Cabrion, — for Cabrion, your friend!’”
After a pause, interrupted by repeated sighs and groans, Alfred resumed:
“During this impudent spoliation I once ventured to raise my eyes, and then I saw flat against the windows of the lodge the detestable countenance of Cabrion, with his large beard and pointed-crowned hat. He was laughing, too, — laughing with all his might. Oh, how I shuddered at the horrible vision! To escape from so harrowing a sight I closed my eyes. When I opened them again all had disappeared, and I found myself seated on my chair, bald-headed and completely disfigured for life. You see, monsieur, that, by dint of obstinacy, impudence, and cunning, Cabrion has at length effected his fell design. But by what fearful, what diabolical means, has he succeeded! He wishes the world to believe he is my accepted friend; began by sticking up a notice here in my immediate neighbourhood to the effect that he and I had entered into a treaty of friendship! Then, not content with so infamous an assertion, he has caused my name, in conjunction with his own, to be displayed on every wall in Paris, binding them together with an enormous band of union, so that at this moment the whole of this vast capital is impressed with the most perfect belief of my close intimacy with this scoundrel. Then he desired locks of my hair, and he has every hair off my head, — no doubt with the view, the guilty view, of exhibiting them as proofs of our sworn friendship. Thanks to the merciless exaction of his bold-faced dancing women, my last lock is stolen. So now, monsieur, you see plainly there is nothing left for me but to quit France, — my lovely and beloved France, — in whose dear bosom I had hoped to live and die!”
