The Wandering Jew Part 137

"Just fancy, little viper's eyes, looking as if they had been bored with a gimlet, in a face as pale as death--so pale, that the lips are white.

That's for his appearance. As for his character, the good old man's so polite!--he pulls off his hat so often, and makes you such low bows, that it is quite embarra.s.sing."

"But, to come back to the point," resumed Rose-Pompon, "what can he do all alone in those two rooms? If Cephyse should take the closet, on Philemon's return, we may amuse ourselves by finding out something about it. How much do they want for the little room?"

"Why, it is in such bad condition, that I think the landlord would let it go for fifty or fifty-five francs a-year, for there is no room for a stove, and the only light comes through a small pane in the roof."

"Poor Cephyse!" said Rose, sighing, and shaking her head sorrowfully.

"After having amused herself so well, and flung away so much money with Jacques Rennepont, to live in such a place, and support herself by hard work! She must have courage!"

"Why, indeed, there is a great difference between that closet and the coach-and-four in which Cephyse came to fetch you the other day, with all the fine masks, that looked so gay--particularly the fat man in the silver paper helmet, with the plume and the top boots. What a jolly fellow!"

"Yes, Ninny Moulin. There is no one like him to dance the forbidden fruit. You should see him with Cephyse, the Baccha.n.a.l Queen. Poor laughing, noisy thing!--the only noise she makes now is crying."

"Oh! these young people--these young people!" said the greengrocer.

"Easy, Mother a.r.s.ene; you were young once."

"I hardly know. I have always thought myself much the same as I am now."

"And your lovers, Mother a.r.s.ene?"

"Lovers! Oh, yes! I was too ugly for that--and too well taken care of."

"Your mother looked after you, then?"

"No, my girl; but I was harnessed."

"Harnessed!" cried Rose-Pompon, in amazement, interrupting the dealer.

"Yes,--harnessed to a water-cart, along with my brother. So, you see, when we had drawn like a pair of horses for eight or ten hours a day, I had no heart to think of nonsense."

"Poor Mother a.r.s.ene, what a hard life," said Rose-Pompon with interest.

"In the winter, when it froze, it was hard enough. I and my brother were obliged to be rough-shod, for fear of slipping."

"What a trade for a woman! It breaks one's heart. And they forbid people to harness dogs!" added Rose-Pompon, sententiously.(21)

"Why, 'tis true," resumed Mother a.r.s.ene. "Animals are sometimes better off than people. But what would you have? One must live, you know. As you make your bed, you must lie. It was hard enough, and I got a disease of the lungs by it--which was not my fault. The strap, with which I was harnessed, pressed so hard against my chest, that I could scarcely breathe: so I left the trade, and took to a shop, which is just to tell you, that if I had had a pretty face and opportunity, I might have done like so many other young people, who begin with laughter and finish--"

"With a laugh t'other side of the mouth--you would say; it is true, Mother a.r.s.ene. But, you see, every one has not the courage to go into harness, in order to remain virtuous. A body says to herself, you must have some amus.e.m.e.nt while you are young and pretty--you will not always be seventeen years old--and then--and then--the world will end, or you will get married."

"But, perhaps, it would have been better to begin by that."

"Yes, but one is too stupid; one does not know how to catch the men, or to frighten them. One is simple, confiding, and they only laugh at us.

Why, Mother a.r.s.ene, I am myself an example that would make you shudder; but 'tis quite enough to have had one's sorrows, without fretting one's self at the remembrance."

"What, my beauty! you, so young and gay, have had sorrows?"

"Ah, Mother a.r.s.ene! I believe you. At fifteen and a half I began to cry, and never left off till I was sixteen. That was enough, I think."

"They deceived you, mademoiselle?"

"They did worse. They treated me as they have treated many a poor girl, who had no more wish to go wrong than I had. My story is not a three volume one. My father and mother are peasants near Saint-Valery, but so poor--so poor, that having five children to provide for, they were obliged to send me, at eight years old, to my aunt, who was a charwoman here in Paris. The good woman took me out of charity, and very kind it was of her, for I earned but little. At eleven years of age she sent me to work in one of the factories of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. I don't wish to speak, ill of the masters of these factories; but what do they care, if little boys and girls are mixed up pell-mell with young men and women of eighteen to twenty? Now you see, there, as everywhere, some are no better than they should be; they are not particular in word or deed, and I ask you, what art example for the children, who hear and see more than you think for. Then, what happens? They get accustomed as they grow older, to hear and see things, that afterwards will not shock them at all."

"What you say there is true, Rose-Pompon. Poor children! who takes any trouble about them?--not their father or mother, for they are at their daily work."

"Yes, yes, Mother a.r.s.ene, it is all very well; it is easy to cry down a young girl that has gone wrong; but if they knew all the ins and outs, they would perhaps pity rather than blame her. To come back to myself--at fifteen years old I was tolerably pretty. One day I had something to ask of the head clerk. I went to him in his private room.

He told me he would grant what I wanted, and even take me under his patronage, if I would listen to him; and he began by trying to kiss me.

I resisted. Then he said to me:--'You refuse my offer? You shall have no more work; I discharge you from the factory.'"

"Oh, the wicked man!" said Mother a.r.s.ene.

"I went home all in tears, and my poor aunt encouraged me not to yield, and she would try to place me elsewhere. Yes--but it was impossible; the factories were all full. Misfortunes never come single; my aunt fell ill, and there was not a sou in the house; I plucked up my courage, and returned to entreat the mercy of the clerk at the factory. Nothing would do. 'So much the worse,' said he; 'you are throwing away your luck. If you had been more complying, I should perhaps have married you.' What could I do, Mother a.r.s.ene?--misery was staring me in the face; I had no work; my aunt was ill; the clerk said he would marry me--I did like so many others."

"And when, afterwards, you spoke to him about marriage?"

"Of course he laughed at me, and in six months left me. Then I wept all the tears in my body, till none remained--then I was very ill--and then--I console myself, as one may console one's self for anything.

After some changes, I met with Philemon. It is upon him that I revenge myself for what others have done to me. I am his tyrant," added Rose-Pompon, with a tragic air, as the cloud pa.s.sed away which had darkened her pretty face during her recital to Mother a.r.s.ene.

"It is true," said the latter thoughtfully. "They deceive a poor girl--who is there to protect or defend her? Oh! the evil we do does not always come from ourselves, and then--"

"I spy Ninny Moulin!" cried Rose-Pompon, interrupting the greengrocer, and pointing to the other side of the street. "How early abroad! What can he want with me?" and Rose wrapped herself still more closely and modestly in her cloak.

It was indeed Jacques Dumoulin, who advanced with his hat stuck on one side, with rubicund nose and sparkling eye, dressed in a loose coat, which displayed the rotundity of his abdomen. His hands, one of which held a huge cane shouldered like a musket, were plunged into the vast pockets of his outer garment.

Just as he reached the threshold of the door, no doubt with the intention of speaking to the portress, he perceived Rose-Pompon. "What!"

he exclaimed, "my pupil already stirring? That is fortunate. I came on purpose to bless her at the rise of morn!"

So saying, Ninny Moulin advanced with open arms towards Rose-Pompon who drew back a step.

"What, ungrateful child!" resumed the writer on divinity. "Will you refuse me the morning's paternal kiss?"

"I accept paternal kisses from none but Philemon. I had a letter from him yesterday, with a jar of preserves, two geese, a bottle of home-made brandy, and an eel. What ridiculous presents! I kept the drink, and changed the rest for two darling live pigeons, which I have installed in Philemon's cabinet, and a very pretty dove-cote it makes me. For the rest, my husband is coming back with seven hundred francs, which he got from his respectable family, under pretence of learning the ba.s.s viol, the cornet-a-piston, and the speaking trumpet, so as to make his way in society, and a slap-up marriage--to use your expression--my good child."

"Well, my dear pupil, we will taste the family brandy, and enjoy ourselves in expectation of Philemon and his seven hundred francs."

So saying, Ninny Moulin slapped the pockets of his waistcoat, which gave forth a metallic sound, and added: "I come to propose to you to embellish my life, to-day and to-morrow, and even the day after, if your heart is willing."

"If the announcements are decent and fraternal, my heart does not say no."

"Be satisfied; I will act by you as your grandfather, your great grandfather, your family portrait. We will have a ride, a dinner, the play, a fancy dress ball, and a supper afterwards. Will that suit you?"

"On condition that poor Cephyse is to go with us. It will raise her spirits."

"Well, Cephyse shall be of the party."

"Have you come into a fortune, great apostle?"