The Wandering Jew, Book VIII.. - Eugene Sue (trending books to read TXT) 📗

CHAPTER VI. (THE GO-BETWEEN.)

 

A few days have elapsed since the conflagration of M. Hardy's factory.

The following scene takes place in the Rue Clovis, in the house where

Rodin had lodged, and which was still inhabited by Rose-Pompon, who,

without the least scruple, availed herself of the household arrangements

of her friend Philemon. It was about noon, and Rose-Pompon, alone in the

chamber of the student, who was still absent, was breakfasting very gayly

by the fireside; but how singular a breakfast! what a queer fire! how

strange an apartment!

 

Imagine a large room, lighted by two windows without curtains--for as

they looked on empty space, the lodger had fear of being overlooked. One

side of this apartment served as a wardrobe, for there was suspended

Rose-Pompon's flashy costume of debardeur, not far from the boat-man's

jacket of Philemon, with his large trousers of coarse, gray stuff,

covered with pitch (shiver my timbers!), just as if this intrepid mariner

had bunked in the forecastle of a frigate, during a voyage round the

globe. A gown of Rose Pompon's hung gracefully over a pair of pantaloons,

the legs of which seemed to come from beneath the petticoat. On the

lowest of several book-shelves, very dusty and neglected, by the side of

three old boots (wherefore three boots?) and a number of empty bottles,

stood a skull, a scientific and friendly souvenir, left to Philemon by

one of his comrades, a medical student. With a species of pleasantry,

very much to the taste of the student-world, a clay pipe with a very

black bowl was placed between the magnificently white teeth of this

skull; moreover, its shining top was half hidden beneath an old hat, set

knowingly on one side, and adorned with faded flowers and ribbons. When

Philemon was drunk, he used to contemplate this bony emblem of mortality,

and break out into the most poetical monologues, with regard to this

philosophical contrast between death and the mad pleasures of life. Two

or three plaster casts, with their noses and chins more or less injured,

were fastened to the wall, and bore witness to the temporary curiosity

which Philemon had felt with regard to phrenological science, from the

patient and serious study of which he had drawn the following logical

conclusion:--That, having to an alarming extent the bump of getting into

debt, he ought to resign himself to the fatality of this organization,

and accept the inconvenience of creditors as a vital necessity. On the

chimney-piece, stood uninjured, in all its majesty, the magnificent

rowing-club drinking-glass, a china teapot without a spout, and an

inkstand of black wood, the glass mouth of which was covered by a coat of

greenish and mossy mould. From time to time, the silence of this retreat

was interrupted by the cooing of pigeons, which Rose-Pompon had

established with cordial hospitality in the little study. Chilly as a

quail, Rose-Pompon crept close to the fire, and at the same time seemed

to enjoy the warmth of a bright ray of sunshine, which enveloped her in

its golden light. This droll little creature was dressed in the oddest

costume, which, however, displayed to advantage the freshness of her

piquant and pretty countenance, crowned with its fine, fair hair, always

neatly combed and arranged the first thing in the morning. By way of

dressing-gown, Rose-Pompon had ingeniously drawn over her linen, the

ample scarlet flannel shirt which belonged to Philemon's official garb in

the rowing-club; the collar, open and turned down, displayed the

whiteness of the young girl's under garment, as also of her neck and

shoulders, on whose firm and polished surface the scarlet shirt seemed to

cast a rosy light. The grisette's fresh and dimpled arms half protruded

from the large, turned-up sleeves; and her charming legs were also half

visible, crossed one over the other, and clothed in neat white stockings,

and boots. A black silk cravat formed the girdle which fastened the shirt

round the wasp-like waist of Rose-Pompon, just above those hips, worthy

of the enthusiasm of a modern Phidias, and which gave to this style of

dress a grace very original.

 

We have said, that the breakfast of Rose-Pompon was singular. You shall

judge. On a little table placed before her, was a wash-hand-basin, into

which she had recently plunged her fresh face, bathing it in pure water.

From the bottom of this basin, now transformed into a salad-bowl, Rose

Pompon took with the tips of her fingers large green leaves, dripping

with vinegar, and crunched them between her tiny white teeth, whose

enamel was too hard to allow them to be set on edge. Her drink was a

glass of water and syrup of gooseberries, which she stirred with a wooden

mustard-spoon. Finally, as an extra dish, she had a dozen olives in one

of those blue glass trinket-dishes sold for twenty-five sous. Her dessert

was composed of nuts, which she prepared to roast on a red-hot shovel.

That Rose-Pompon, with such an unaccountable savage choice of food,

should retain a freshness of complexion worthy of her name, is one of

those miracles, which reveal the mighty power of youth and health. When

she had eaten her salad, Rose-Pompon was about to begin upon her olives,

when a low knock was heard at the door, which was modestly bolted on the

inside.

 

"Who is there?" said Rose-Pompon.

 

"A friend--the oldest of the old," replied a sonorous, jovial voice. "Why

do you lock yourself in?"

 

"What! is it you, Ninny Moulin?"

 

"Yes, my beloved pupil. Open quickly. Time presses."

 

"Open to you? Oh, I dare say!--that would be pretty, the figure I am!"

 

"I believe you! what does it matter what figure you are? It would be very

pretty, thou rosiest of all the roses with which Cupid ever adorned his

quiver!"

 

"Go and preach fasting and morality in your journal, fat apostle!" said

Rose--Pompon, as she restored the scarlet shirt to its place, with

Philemon's other garments.

 

"I say! are we to talk much longer through the door, for the greater

edification of our neighbors?" cried Ninny Moulin. "I have something of

importance to tell you--something that will astonish you--"

 

"Give me time to put on my gown, great plague that you are!"

 

"If it is because of my modesty, do not think of it. I am not over nice.

I should like you very well as you are!"

 

"Only to think that such a monster is the favorite of all the

churchgoers!" said Rose-Pompon, opening the door as she finished

fastening her dress.

 

"So! you have at last returned to the dovecot, you stray girl!" said

Ninny Moulin, folding his arms, and looking at Rose-Pompon with comic

seriousness. "And where may you have been, I pray? For three days the

naughty little bird has left its nest."

 

"True; I only returned home last night. You must have called during my

absence?"

 

"I came, every day, and even twice a day, young lady, for I have very

serious matters to communicate."

 

"Very serious matters? Then we shall have a good laugh at them."

 

"Not at all--they are really serious," said Ninny Moulin, seating

himself. "But, first of all, what did you do during the three days that

you left your conjugal and Philemonic home? I must know all about it,

before I tell you more."

 

"Will you have some olives?" said Rose-Pompon, as she nibbled one of them

herself.

 

"Is that your answer?--I understand!--Unfortunate Philemon!"

 

"There is no unfortunate Philemon in the case, slanderer. Clara had a

death in her house, and, for the first few days after the funeral she was

afraid to sleep alone."

 

"I thought Clara sufficiently provided against such fears."

 

"There you are deceived, you great viper! I was obliged to go and keep

the poor girl company."

 

At this assertion, the religious pamphleteer hummed a tune, with an

incredulous and mocking air.

 

"You think I have played Philemon tricks?" cried Rose-Pompon, cracking a

nut with the indignation of injured innocence.

 

"I do not say tricks; but one little rose-colored trick."

 

"I tell you, that it was not for my pleasure I went out. On the

contrary--for, during my absence, poor Cephyse disappeared."

 

Yes, Mother Arsene told me that the Bacchanal-Queen was gone on a

journey. But when I talk of Philemon, you talk of Cephyse; we don't

progress."

 

"May I be eaten by the black panther that they are showing at the Porte

Saint-Martin if I do not tell you the truth. And, talking of that, you

must get tickets to take me to see those animals, my little Ninny Moulin!

They tell me there never were such darling wild beasts."

 

"Now really, are you mad?"

 

"Why so?"

 

"That I should guide your youth, like a venerable patriarch, through the

dangers of the Storm-blown Tulip, all well and good--I ran no risk of

meeting my pastors and masters; but were I to take you to a Lent

Spectacle (since there are only beasts to be seen), I might just run

against my sacristans--and how pretty I should look with you on my arm!"

 

"You can put on a false nose, and straps to your trousers, my big Ninny;

they will never know you."

 

"We must not think of false noses, but of what I have to tell you, since

you assure me that you have no intrigue in hand."

 

"I swear it!" said Rose-Pompon, solemnly, extending her left hand

horizontally, whilst with her right she put a nut into her mouth. Then

she added, with surprise, as she looked at the outside coat of Ninny

Moulin, "Goodness gracious! what full pockets you have got! What is there

in them?"

 

"Something that concerns you, Rose-Pompon," said Dumoulin, gravely.

 

"Me?"

 

"Rose-Pompon!" said Ninny Moulin, suddenly, with a majestic air; "will

you have a carriage? Will you inhabit a charming apartment, instead of

living in this dreadful hole? Will you be dressed like a duchess?"

 

"Now for some more nonsense! Come, will you eat the olives? If not, I

shall eat them all up. There is only one left."

 

Without answering this gastronomic offer, Ninny Moulin felt in one of his

pockets, and drew from it a case containing a very pretty bracelet, which

he held up sparkling before the eyes of the young girl.

 

"Oh! what a sumptuous bracelet!" cried she, clapping her hands. "A

green-eyed serpent biting his tail--the emblem of my love for Philemon."

 

"Do not talk of Philemon; it annoys me," said Ninny Moulin, as he clasped

the bracelet round the wrist of Rose-Pompon, who allowed him to do it,

laughing all the while like mad, and saying to him, "So you've been

employed to make a purchase, big apostle, and wish to see the effect of

Well! it is charming!"

 

"Rose-Pompon," resumed Ninny Moulin, "would you like to have a servant, a

box at the Opera, and a thousand francs a month for your pin-money?"

 

"Always the same nonsense. Get along!" said the young girl, as she held

up the bracelet to the light, still continuing to eat her nuts. "Why

always the same farce, and no change of bills?"

 

Ninny Moulin again plunged his hand into his pocket, and this time drew

forth an elegant chain, which he hung round Rose-Pompon's neck.

 

"Oh! what a beautiful chain!" cried the young girl, as she looked by

turns at the sparkling ornament and the religious writer. "If you chose

that also, you have a very good taste. But am I not a good natured girl

to be your dummy, just to show off your jewels?"

 

"Rose-Pompon," returned Ninny Moulin, with a still more majestic air,

"these trifles are nothing to what you may obtain, if you will but follow

the advice of your old friend."

 

Rose began to look at Dumoulin with surprise, and said to him, "What does

all this mean, Ninny Moulin? Explain yourself; what advice have you to

give?"

 

Dumoulin did not answer, but replunging his hand into his inexhaustible

pocket, he fished up a parcel, which he carefully unfolded, and in which

was a magnificent mantilla of black lace. Rose-Pompon started up, full of

new admiration, and Dumoulin threw the rich mantilla over the young

girl's shoulders.

 

"It is superb! I have never seen anything like it! What patterns! what

work!" said Rose-Pompon, as she examined all with simple and perfectly

disinterested curiosity. Then she added, "Your pocket is like a shop;

where did you get all these pretty things?" Then, bursting into a fit of

laughter, which brought the