The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iii Part 43

Since then I have never seen her, but some one, I don't remember who, declared that she had been seen at the Morgue three months ago. If it were true, really so much the worse, for Mere Madeleine was a good sort of woman,--her heart was in her hand, and she had no more gall than a pigeon."

Fleur-de-Marie, though plunged young in an atmosphere of corruption, had subsequently breathed so pure an air that she experienced a deeply painful sensation at the horrid recital of La Louve. And if we have had the sad courage to make it, it has been because all the world should know that, hideous as it is, it is still a thousand times less revolting than other countless realities.

Ignorance and misery often conduct the lower cla.s.ses to these fearful degradations, human and social.

Yes; there is a crowd of hovels and dens, where children and adults, girls and boys, legitimate children and b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, lying pell-mell on the same mattress, have continually before their eyes these infamous examples of drunkenness, violence, debauch, and murder. Yes, and too frequently unnatural crimes at the tenderest age add to this acc.u.mulation of horrors.

The rich may shroud their vices in shadow and mystery, and respect the sanct.i.ty of the domestic hearth, but the most honest artisans, occupying nearly always a single chamber with their family, are compelled, from want of beds and s.p.a.ce, to make their children sleep together, sons and daughters, close to themselves, husbands and wives.

If we shudder at the fatal consequences of such necessity almost inevitably imposed on poor, but honest artisans, what must it be with workpeople depraved by ignorance or misconduct? What fearful examples do they not present to unhappy children, abandoned, or rather excited, from their tenderest youth to every brutal impulse and animal propensity?

Have they even the idea of what is right, decent, and modest? Must they not be as strange to social laws as the savages of the New World? Poor creatures! Corrupted at their very birth, who in the prisons, whither their wanderings and idleness often lead them, are already stigmatised by the coa.r.s.e and terrible metaphor, "Graines de Bagne" (Seeds of the Gaol)! and the metaphor is a correct one. This sinister prediction is almost invariably accomplished: the Galleys or the Bridewell, each s.e.x has its destiny.

We do not intend here to justify any profligacy. Let us only compare the voluntary degradation of a female carefully educated in the bosom of a wealthy family, which has set her none but the most virtuous examples.

Let us compare, we say, this degradation with that of La Louve, a creature, as it were, reared in vice, by vice, and for vice, and to whom is pointed out, not without reason, prost.i.tution as a condition protected by the government! This is true. There is a bureau where she is registered, certificated, and signs her name. A bureau where a mother has a right to authorise the prost.i.tution of her daughter; a husband the prost.i.tution of his wife. This place is termed the "Bureau des Moeurs" (the Office of Manners). Must not society have a vice most deeply rooted, incurable in the place of the laws which regulate marriage, when power,--yes, power,--that grave and moral abstraction, is obliged, not only to tolerate, but to regulate, to legalise, to protect, to render it less injurious and dangerous, this sale of body and soul; which, multiplied by the unbridled appet.i.tes of an immense population, acquires daily an almost incalculable amount.

Goualeuse, repressing the emotion which this sad confession of her companion had made in her, said to her, timidly:

"Listen to me without being angry."

"Well, what have you to say? I think I have gossiped enough; but it is no matter, as it is the last time we shall talk together."

"Are you happy, La Louve?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does the life you lead make you happy?"

"Here,--at St. Lazare?"

"No; when you are at home and free."

"Yes, I am happy."

"Always?"

"Always."

"You would not change your life for any other?"

"For any other? What--what other life can there be for me?"

"Tell me, La Louve," continued Fleur-de-Marie, after a moment's silence, "don't you sometimes like to build castles in the air? It is so amusing in prison."

"Castles in the air! About what?"

"About Martial."

"About my man?"

"Yes."

"_Ma foi!_ I never built any."

"Let me build one for you and Martial."

"Bah! What's the use of it?"

"To pa.s.s away time."

"Well, let's have your castle in the air."

"Well, then, only imagine that a lucky chance, such as sometimes occurs, brings you in contact with a person who says, 'Forsaken by your father and mother, your infancy was surrounded by such bad examples that you must be pitied, as much as blamed, for having become--'"

"Become what?"

"What you and I have become," replied Goualeuse, in a soft voice; and then she continued, "Suppose, then, that this person were to say to you, 'You love Martial; he loves you. Do you and he cease to lead an improper life,--instead of being his mistress, become his wife.'"

La Louve shrugged her shoulders.

"Do you think he would have me for his wife?"

"Except poaching, he has never committed any guilty act, has he?"

"No; he is a poacher in the river, as he was in the woods, and he is right. Why, now, ain't fish like game, for those to have who can catch them? Where do they bear the proprietor's mark?"

"Well, suppose that, having given up the dangerous trade of marauding on the river, he desires to become an honest man; suppose he inspires, by the frankness of his good resolutions, so much confidence in an unknown benefactor that he gives him a situation,--let us see, our castle is in the air,--gives him a situation--say as gamekeeper, for instance. Why, I should suppose that, as he had been a poacher, nothing could better suit his taste; it is the same occupation, but in the right way."

"Yes, _ma foi!_ it would be still to live in the woods."

"Only he would not have the situation but on condition that he would marry you, and take you with him."

"I go with Martial?"

"Yes; why, you said you should be so happy to live together in the depths of the forest. Shouldn't you prefer, instead of the miserable hut of the poacher, in which you would hide like guilty creatures, to have a neat little cottage, which you would take care of as the active and hard-working housekeeper?"

"You are making game of me. Can this be possible?"

"Who knows what may happen? But it's only a castle in the air."

"Ah, if it's only that, all very well!"

"La Louve, I think that I already see you established in your little home in the depths of the forest, with your husband and two or three children. Children,--what happiness! Are they not?"

"The children of my man!" exclaimed La Louve, with intense eagerness.

"Ah, yes! They would be dearly loved,--they would!"

"How they would keep you company in your solitude! And, then, when they grew up they would be able to render you great service: the youngest would pick up the dead branches for fuel; the eldest would go into the gra.s.s of the forest to watch a cow or two, which they would give you as a reward for your husband's activity, for as he had been a poacher he would make a better keeper."