The Wandering Jew — Complete
mattress, a chair, and a table--and, moreover, in an old Eau de Cologne
box, some papers (written, it seems, in English), and a bronze medal,
worth about ten sous, chain and all. He had never spoken to me of these
papers, so, not knowing if they were good for anything, I left them at
the bottom of an old trunk, instead of burning them--which was well for
me, since it is upon these papers that I have had money advanced."
"What a godsend!" said Dumoulin. "But somebody must have known that you
had them?"
"Yes; one of those people that are always looking out for old debts came
to Cephyse, who told me all about it; and, after he had read the papers,
he said that the affair was doubtful, but that he would lend me ten
thousand francs on it, if I liked. Ten thousand francs was a large sum,
so I snapped him up!"
"But you must have supposed that these old papers were of great value."
"Faith, no! since my father, who ought to have known their value, had
never realized on them--and then, you see, ten thousand francs in good,
bright coin, falling as it were from the clouds, are not to be sneezed
at--so I took them--only the man made me do a bit of stiff as guarantee,
or something of that kind."
"Did you sign it?"
"Of course--what did I care about it? The man told me it was only a
matter of form. He spoke the truth, for the bill fell due a fortnight
ago, and I have heard nothing of it. I have still about a thousand
francs in his hands, for I have taken him for my banker. And that's the
way, old pal, that I'm able to flourish and be jolly all day long, as
pleased as Punch to have left my old grinder of a master, M. Tripeaud."
As he pronounced this name, the joyous countenance of Jacques became
suddenly overcast. Cephyse, no longer under the influence of the painful
impression she had felt for a moment, looked uneasily at Jacques, for
she knew the irritation which the name of M. Tripeaud produced within
him.
"M. Tripeaud," resumed Sleepinbuff, "is one that would make the good
bad, and the bad worse. They say that a good rider makes a good horse;
they ought to say that a good master makes a good workman. Zounds! when
I think of that fellow!" cried Sleepinbuff, striking his hand violently
on the table.
"Come, Jacques--think of something else!" said the Bacchanal Queen.
"Make him laugh, Rose-Pompon."
"I am not in a humor to laugh," replied Jacques, abruptly, for he was
getting excited from the effects of the wine; "it is more than I can
bear to think of that man. It exasperates me! it drives me mad! You
should have heard him saying: 'Beggarly workmen! rascally workmen! they
grumble that they have no food in their bellies; well, then, we'll give
them bayonets to stop their hunger.'(11) And there's the children in his
factory--you should see them, poor little creatures!--working as long
as the men--wasting away, and dying by the dozen--what odds? as soon
as they were dead plenty of others came to take their places--not like
horses, which can only be replaced with money."
"Well, it is clear, that you do not like your old master," said
Dumoulin, more and more surprised at his Amphitryon's gloomy and
thoughtful air, and, regretting that the conversation had taken this
serious turn, he whispered a few words in the ear of the Bacchanal
Queen, who answered by a sign of intelligence.
"I don't like M. Tripeaud!" exclaimed Jacques. "I hate him--and shall
I tell you why? Because it is as much his fault as mine, that I have
become a good-for-nothing loafer. I don't say it to screen myself; but
it is the truth. When I was 'prenticed to him as a lad, I was all heart
and ardor, and so bent upon work, that I used to take my shirt off to
my task, which, by the way, was the reason that I was first called
Sleepinbuff. Well! I might have toiled myself to death; not one word of
encouragement did I receive. I came first to my work, and was the last
to leave off; what matter? it was not even noticed. One day, I was
injured by the machinery. I was taken to the hospital. When I came out,
weak as I was, I went straight to my work; I was not to be frightened;
the others, who knew their master well, would often say to me: 'What
a muff you must be, little one! What good will you get by working so
hard?'--still I went on. But, one day, a worthy old man, called Father
Arsene, who had worked in the house many years, and was a model of good
conduct, was suddenly turned away, because he was getting too feeble. It
was a death-blow to him; his wife was infirm, and, at his age, he could
not get another place. When the foreman told him he was dismissed, he
could not believe it, and he began to cry for grief. At that moment, M.
Tripeaud passes; Father Arsene begs him with clasped hands to keep him
at half-wages. 'What!' says M. Tripeaud, shrugging his shoulders; 'do
you think that I will turn my factory into a house of invalids? You are
no longer able to work--so be off!' 'But I have worked forty years of my
life; what is to become of me?' cried poor Father Arsene. 'That is not
my business,' answered M. Tripeaud; and, addressing his clerk, he added:
'Pay what is due for the week, and let him cut his stick.' Father
Arsene did cut his stick; that evening, he and his old wife suffocated
themselves with charcoal. Now, you see, I was then a lad; but that story
of Father Arsene taught me, that, however hard you might work, it would
only profit your master, who would not even thank you for it, and leave
you to die on the flags in your old age. So all my fire was damped, and
I said to myself: 'What's the use of doing more than I just need? If
I gain heaps of gold for M. Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?'
Therefore, finding neither pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgust
for it--just did barely enough to earn my wages--became an idler and a
rake--and said to myself: 'When I get too tired of labor, I can always
follow the example of Father Arsene and his wife."'
Whilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts,
the other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin and
the Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal from
the Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles and
glasses with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompaniment
of Ninny Moulin's rattle "The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of the
Storm-blown Tulip!"
At these joyous cries, which burst suddenly, like shell, Jacques
started; then gazing with astonishment at his guests, he drew his hand
across his brow, as if to chase away the painful ideas that oppressed
him, and exclaimed: "You are right. Forward the first couple! Let us be
merry!"
In a moment, the table, lifted by vigorous arms, was removed to the
extremity of the banqueting-room; the spectators, mounted upon chairs,
benches, and window-ledges, began to sing in chorus the well-known air
of les Etudiants, so as to serve instead of orchestra, and accompany
the quadrille formed by Sleepinbuff, the Queen, Ninny Moulin, and Rose
Pompon.
Dumoulin, having entrusted his rattle to one of the guests, resumed his
extravagant Roman helmet and plume; he had taken off his great-coat
at the commencement of the feast, so that he now appeared in all the
splendor of his costume. His cuirass of bright scales ended in a tunic
of feathers, not unlike those worn by the savages, who form the oxen's
escort on Mardi Gras. Ninny Moulin had a huge paunch and thin legs,
so that the latter moved about at pleasure in the gaping mouths of his
large top boots.
Little Rose-Pompon, with her pinched-up cocked-hat stuck on one side,
her hands in the pockets of her trousers, her bust a little inclined
forward, and undulating from right to left, advanced to meet
Ninny-Moulin; the latter danced, or rather leaped towards her, his
left leg bent under him, his right leg stretched forward, with the toe
raised, and the heel gliding on the floor; moreover, he struck his neck
with his left hand, and by a simultaneous movement, stretched forth
his right, as if he would have thrown dust in the eyes of his opposite
partner.
This first figure met with great success, and the applause was
vociferous, though it was only the innocent prelude to the step of
the Storm-blown Tulip--when suddenly the door opened, and one of the
waiters, after looking about for an instant, in search of Sleepinbuff,
ran to him, and whispered some words in his ear.
"Me!" cried Jacques, laughing; "here's a go!"
The waiter added a few more words, when Sleepinbuff's face assumed
an expression of uneasiness, as he answered. "Very well! I come
directly,"--and he made a step towards the door.
"What's the matter, Jacques?" asked the Bacchanal Queen, in some
surprise.
"I'll be back immediately. Some one take my place. Go on with the
dance," said Sleepinbuff, as he hastily left the room.
"Something, that was not put down in the bill," said Dumoulin; "he will
soon be back."
"That's it," said Cephyse. "Now cavalier suel!" she added, as she took
Jacques's place, and the dance continued.
Ninny Moulin had just taken hold of Rose Pompon with his right hand,
and of the Queen with his left, in order to advance between the two, in
which figure he showed off his buffoonery to the utmost extent, when
the door again opened, and the same waiter, who had called out Jacques,
approached Cephyse with an air of consternation, and whispered in her
ear, as he had before done to Sleepinbuff.
The Bacchanal Queen grew pale, uttered a piercing scream, and rushed out
of the room without a word, leaving her guests in stupefaction.
(11) These atrocious words were actually spoken during the Lyons Riots.
CHAPTER IV. THE FAREWELL
The Bacchanal Queen, following the waiter, arrived at the bottom of the
staircase. A coach was standing before the door of the house. In it she
saw Sleepinbuff, with one of the men who, two hours before, had been
waiting on the Place du Chatelet.
On the arrival of Cephyse, the man got down, and said to Jacques, as he
drew out his watch: "I give you a quarter of an hour; it is all that I
can do for you, my good fellow; after that we must start. Do not try to
escape, for we'll be watching at the coach doors."
With one spring, Cephyse was in the coach. Too much overcome to speak
before, she now exclaimed, as she took her seat by Jacques, and remarked
the paleness of his countenance: "What is it? What do they want with
you?"
"I am arrested for debt," said Jacques, in a mournful voice.
"You!" exclaimed Cephyse, with a heart-rending sob.
"Yes, for that bill, or guarantee, they made me sign. And yet the man
said it was only a form--the rascal!"
"But you have money in his hands; let him take that on account."
"I have not a copper; he sends me word by the bailiff, that not having
paid the bill, I shall not have the last thousand francs."
"Then let us go to him, and entreat him to leave you at liberty. It was
he who came to propose to lend you this money. I know it well, as he
first addressed himself to me. He will have pity on you."
"Pity?--a money broker pity? No! no!"
"Is there then no hope? none?" cried Cephyse clasping her hands in
anguish. "But there must be something done," she resumed. "He promised
you!"
"You can see how he keeps his promises," answered Jacques, with
bitterness. "I signed, without even knowing what I signed. The bill is
over-due; everything is in order, it would be vain to resist. They have
just explained all that to me."
"But they cannot keep you long in prison. It is impossible."
"Five years, if I do not pay. As I'll never be able to do so, my fate is
certain."
"Oh! what a misfortune! and not to be able to do anything!" said
Cephyse, hiding her face in her hands.
"Listen to me, Cephyse," resumed Jacques, in a voice of mournful