The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 2

by Eugène Sue

CHAPTER XIV.

RIGOLETTE.

Louise, the daughter of the lapidary, was possessed of more than ordinary loveliness of countenance, a fine, tall, graceful person, uniting, by the strict regularity of her faultless features and elegance of her figure, the classic beauty of Juno with the lightness and elegance assigned to the statue of the hunting Diana. Spite of the injury her complexion had received from exposure to weather, and the redness of her well-shaped hands and arms, occasioned by household labour,—despite even the humble dress she wore, the whole appearance of Louise Morel was stamped with that indescribable air of grace and superiority Nature sometimes is pleased to bestow upon the lowly-born, in preference to the descendant of high lineage.

We shall not attempt to paint the joy, the heartfelt gratitude of this family, so wondrously preserved from so severe a calamity; even the recent death of the little girl was forgotten during the first burst of happiness. Rodolph alone found leisure to remark the extreme paleness and utter abstraction of Louise, whose first ecstasy at finding her father free passed away, apparently plunged in a deep and painful reverie. Anxious to relieve the mind of Morel of any apprehensions for the future, and also to explain a liberality which might have raised suspicions as to the character he chose to assume, Rodolph drew the lapidary to the further end of the staircase, leaving to Rigolette the task of acquainting Louise with the death of her little sister, and said to him:

"Did not a young lady come to visit you and your family on the morning of the day before yesterday?"

"Yes, and appeared much grieved to see the distress we were in."

"Then you must thank her,—not me."

"Can it be possible, sir? That young lady—"

"Is your benefactress. I frequently wait upon her from our warehouse; when I hired an apartment here, I learned from the porteress all the particulars of your case, and the painful situation you were placed in; relying on this lady's well-known kindness and benevolence, I hastened to acquaint her with all I had heard respecting you; and, the day before yesterday, she came herself, in order to be fully aware of the extent of your misery. The distress she witnessed deeply affected her; but as it might have been brought about by misconduct, she desired me to take upon myself the task of inquiring into every circumstance relative to your past and present condition with as little delay as possible, being desirous of regulating her benevolent aid by the good or bad accounts she might receive of your honesty and good conduct."

"Kind, excellent lady! Well might I say—"

"As you observed just now to Madeleine, 'If the rich did but know!'—was not that it?"

"Is it possible that you are acquainted with the name of my wife? Who could have told you that?"

"My worthy friend," said Rodolph, interrupting Morel, "I have been concealed in the little garret adjoining your attic since six o'clock this morning."

"Have you, indeed, sir?"

"Yes, my honest fellow, I have, and from my hiding-place heard all that passed among you."

"Oh, sir! but why did you do so?"

"I could not have employed more satisfactory means of getting at your real character and sentiments; and I was desirous of seeing and hearing all you did or said without your being aware of my presence. The porter had made me acquainted with this small retreat, which he offered to me for a wood-closet. This morning, I asked his permission to visit it, and remained there more than an hour, during which time I had ample proof that a more upright, noble mind did not exist, and that the courageous resignation with which you bore your heavy trials was above all praise."

"Nay, indeed, sir, I do not merit such words as these. I was born honest, I hope, and it comes natural to me to act as I have done."

"I am quite sure of that; therefore I do not laud your conduct, I appreciate it. Just as I was about to quit my hiding-place, to relieve you of the presence of the bailiffs, I heard the voice of your daughter, and I meant to have allowed her the happiness of saving you. Unhappily, the rapacity of the men deprived poor Louise of the full completion of her pious task. I then made my appearance. Fortunately, I yesterday received several sums that were due to me, so that I was enabled to advance the money for your benefactress, and to pay off your unfortunate debt. But your distress has been so great, so unmerited, and so nobly sustained, that the well-deserved interest you have excited shall not stop here; and I take upon myself, in the name of your preserving angel, to promise you henceforward calmness, peace, and happiness, for yourself and family."

"Can it be possible? But, at least, sir, let me beseech you to tell me the name of this angel of goodness,—this heavenly preserver,—that it may dwell in our hearts and on our lips! By what name shall we bless her in our prayers?"

"Think of her and speak of her as the angel she is. Ah, you were right in saying just now that both rich and poor had their sorrows!"

"And is this dear lady, then, unhappy?"

"Who is free from care and suffering in this world of trial? But I see no cause for concealing from you the name of your protectress. The lady, then, is named—"

Remembering that Madame Pipelet was aware of Madame d'Harville's having, at her first coming to the house, inquired for the commandant, and fearing her indiscreet mention of the circumstance, Rodolph resumed, after a short pause:

"I will venture to tell you this lady's name, upon one condition—"

"Pray go on, sir."

"That you never mention it again to any one,—mind, I say to any person whatever."

"I solemnly promise you never to let it pass my lips; but may I not hope to be permitted to thank this friend of the unfortunate?"

"I will let Madame d'Harville know your wish; but I scarcely think she will consent to it."

"Then this generous lady is called—"

"The Marquise d'Harville."

"Never will that name be forgotten by me! Henceforward it will be to me as that of my patron saint,—the object of my grateful worship! Oh, when I remember that, thanks to her, my wife, children,—all, are saved!—saved—no, no, not all,—my little Adèle has gone from us! We shall see her sweet face no more; but still, I know we must have parted with her sooner or later; the dear child's doom was long since decreed!"

Here the poor lapidary wiped away the tears which filled his eyes at the recollection of his lost darling.

"As for the last duties that have now to be performed for your poor child," said Rodolph, "if you will be guided by me, this is how we will arrange it. I have not yet begun to occupy my chamber; it is large, airy, and convenient. There is already one bed in it; and I will give orders to add all that may be requisite for the accommodation of yourself and family, until Madame d'Harville is enabled to find an eligible abode for you. The remains of your little daughter can then be left in your attic, where, until the period of interment, they can be properly watched and guarded by a priest with all requisite attention. I will request M. Pipelet to take upon himself every necessary arrangement for the mournful office of laying the poor babe in its peaceful grave."

"Nay, sir,—but, indeed, I cannot allow you to be turned out of your apartment! Now that we are so happily freed from our misery, and that I have no longer the dread of being dragged to prison, our poor garret will seem to me like a palace,—more especially if my Louise remains to watch over the family as she used to do."

"Your daughter shall never again quit you. You said, awhile ago, that the first desire of your heart was to have Louise always with you. Well then, as a reward for your past sufferings, I promise you she shall never leave you more."

"Oh, sir, this is too much; it cannot be reality! It seems as though I were dreaming some happy dream. I fear I have never been as religious as I ought. I have, in fact, known no other religion than that of honour. But such a reverse, such a change from wretchedness to joy, would make even an atheist believe, if not in priests, at least in a gracious, interposing, and preserving Providence."

"And if," said Rodolph, sadly, "a father's sorrow for the loss of his child can be assuaged by promises of rewards or recompense, I would say that the heavenly hand which takes one child from you gives you back the other."

"True,—most true! And henceforward our dear Louise will be with us to help us to forget our poor Adèle."

"Then you will accept the offer of my chamber, will you not? Or else how shall we be able to arrange for the mournful duties to the poor infant? Think of your wife, whose head is already in so weak a state. It will never do to allow her to remain with so afflicting a spectacle constantly before her eyes."

"What goodness," exclaimed the lapidary, "thus to remember all,—to think of all! Oh, you are indeed a friend! May Heaven bless and recompense you!"

"Come, you must reserve your thanks for the excellent lady you term your protecting angel. 'Tis her goodness inspires me with a desire to imitate her benevolence and charity. I feel assured I am but speaking as she would speak, were she here, and that all I do she will fully approve. So now, then, it is arranged you will occupy my room. But, just tell me, this Jacques Ferrand—"

The forehead of Morel became clouded over at the mention of this name.

"I suppose," continued Rodolph, "there is no doubt as to his being the same Jacques Ferrand who practises as a notary in the Rue du Sentier?"

"None whatever, sir," answered Morel; "but do you know him?" Then, assailed afresh by his fears for Louise, the lapidary continued: "Since you overheard all our conversation, tell me, sir,—tell me, do you not think I have just cause to hate this man, as I do? For who knows but my daughter—my Louise—"

The unhappy artisan could not proceed; he groaned with anguish, and concealed his face with his hands.

Rodolph easily divined the nature of his apprehensions.

"The very step taken by the notary ought to reassure your mind," said he, "as, there can be no doubt, he was instigated by revenge for your daughter's rejection of his improper advances to proceed to the hostile measures adopted. However, I have every reason to believe he is a very bad and dangerous man; and if my suspicions respecting him are realised," said Rodolph, after a few moments' silence, "then rely on Providence to punish him. If the just vengeance of the Almighty seems occasionally to slumber, it awakens, sooner or later."

"He is both rich and hypocritical!" cried the lapidary.

"At the moment of your deepest despair, a guardian angel appeared to save you from ruin; so, at the moment when least expected, will an inexorable Avenger call upon the notary to atone for his past crimes, if he be guilty."

At this moment Rigolette came out of the miserable garret belonging to Morel; the kind-hearted girl had evidently been shedding tears, and was trying to dry her eyes before she descended the stairs. Directly Rodolph perceived her, he exclaimed:

"Tell me, my good neighbour, will it not be much better for M. Morel and his family to occupy my chamber while they are waiting till his benefactress, whose agent I am, shall have found a comfortable residence for him?"

Rigolette surveyed Rodolph with an air of unfeigned surprise.

"Really," cried she, at length, "are you in earnest in making so kind and considerate an offer?"

"Quite so, on one condition, which depends on yourself."

"Oh, all that is in my power!"

"You see, I had some rather difficult accounts to arrange for my employer, which are wanted as early as possible,—indeed, I expect they will be sent for almost directly; my papers are in my room. Now would you be neighbourly enough to let me bring my work into your apartment, and just spare a little corner of your table? I should not disturb your work the least in the world, and then the whole of the Morel family, by the assistance of Madame Pipelet and her husband, may be at once established in my apartment."

"Certainly I will, and with great pleasure; neighbours should always be ready to help and oblige each other. I am sure, after all you have done for poor M. Morel, you have set a good example; so I shall be very glad to give you all the assistance in my power, monsieur."

"No, no,—don't call me monsieur! say 'my dear friend,' or 'neighbour,' whichever you prefer; unless you lay aside all ceremony, I shall not have courage to intrude myself and papers into your room," said Rodolph, smiling.

"Well, pray don't let that be any hindrance; then, if you like, I'll call you 'neighbour,' because, you know, you are so."

"Father! father!" said one of Morel's little boys, coming out of the garret, "mother is calling for you! Make haste, father,—pray do!"

The lapidary hastily followed the child back to his chamber.

"Now, then, neighbour," said Rodolph to Rigolette, "you must do me one more service."

"With all my heart, if it lies in my power to do so."

"I feel quite sure you are a clever manager and housekeeper; now we must go to work at once to provide the Morels with comfortable clothing, and such matters as may be essential for their accommodation in my apartment, which at present merely contains my slender stock of bachelor's furniture, sent in yesterday. Beds, bedding, and a great quantity of requisites will be needed for so many persons; and I want you to assist me in procuring them all the comforts I wish them to have with as little delay as possible."

Rigolette reflected a moment, and then replied:

"You shall have all this before two hours have passed: good clothes, nicely made, warm and comfortable, good white linen for all the family, two small beds for the children, one for the grandmother, and, in fact, all that is required; but, I can tell you, all this will cost a great, great deal of money."

"Diable! and how much?"

"Oh, at least—the very least, five or six hundred francs."

"For everything?"

"Yes; you see it is a great sum of money," said Rigolette, opening her eyes very wide and shaking her head.

"But we could procure all this?"

"Within two hours."

"My little neighbour, you must be a fairy!"

"Oh, no! it is easy enough. The Temple is but two steps from here, and you will get there everything you require."

"The Temple?"

"Yes, the Temple."

"What place is that?"

"What, neighbour, don't you know the Temple?"

"No, neighbour."

"Yet it is the place where such persons as you and I fit themselves out in furniture and clothes, when they are economical. It is much cheaper than any other place, and the things are also good."

"Really!"

"I think so. Well, now, I suppose—how much did you pay for your greatcoat?"

"I cannot say precisely."

"What, neighbour! not know how much you gave for your greatcoat?"

"I will tell you, in confidence, neighbour," said Rodolph, smiling, "that I owe for it; so, you see, I cannot exactly say."

"Oh, neighbour, neighbour, you do not appear to me to be very orderly in your habits!"

"Alas, neighbour, I fear not!"

"I must cure you of that, if you desire that we should continue friends; and I see already that we shall be, for you seem so kind! You will not be sorry to have me for a neighbour, I can see. You will assist me and I shall assist you,—we are neighbours, and that's why. I shall look after your linen; you will give me your help in cleaning my room. I am up very early in the morning, and will call you, that you may not be late in going to your work; I will knock against the wainscot until you say to me, 'Good morning, neighbour!'"

"That's agreed; you shall awaken me, you shall take charge of my linen, and I will clean out your room."

"Certainly. And, when you have anything to buy, you must go to the Temple; for see now, for example, your greatcoat must have cost you eighty francs, I have no doubt; well, you might have bought one just as good at the Temple for thirty francs."

"Really, that is marvellous! And so you think that for four or five hundred francs these poor Morels—"

"Will be completely set up, and very comfortable for a long while."

"Neighbour, an idea comes across me."

"Well, what is this idea?"

"Do you understand all about household affairs?"

"Yes; I should think so," said Rigolette, with a slight affectation of manner.

"Take my arm, then, and let us go to the Temple and buy all these things for the Morels; won't that be a good way?"

"Oh, how capital! Poor souls! But, then, the money?"

"I have it."

"What, five hundred francs?"

"The benefactor of the Morels has given me carte blanche; and she will spare nothing to see these poor people restored to comfort. Is there any place where we can buy better supplies than at the Temple?"

"Certainly not; you will not find better things anywhere; and then there is everything, and all ready, there; little frocks for children, and gowns for the mother."

"Well, then, neighbour, let us go at once to the Temple:"

"Ah, mon Dieu! but—"

"What?"

"Nothing; only, you see, my time is everything to me, and I am already a little behindhand, through coming here to watch over poor Madame Morel; and you must know that an hour in one way, and an hour in another, that by little and little makes whole days; well, a day is thirty sous, and, whether we gain something or nothing, we must live; but bah! never mind. I will make up for that at night, and then, d'ye see, parties of pleasure are very rare, and I call this one. It will seem to me that I am rich, rich, rich, and that it is with my own money that I shall buy all these things for the Morels. So come along, neighbour, I will throw on my shawl and cap, and then I am ready."

"Suppose, whilst you are doing this, I bring my papers to your apartment?"

"Willingly; and then you will see my room," said Rigolette, with pride, "for it is all tidy, which will convince you how early I am in the morning; and that, if you are idle and a sluggard, so much the worse for you, for I shall be a troublesome neighbour."

So saying, light as a bird, Rigolette descended the staircase, followed by Rodolph, who went into his own room to brush off the dust which had settled on him in M. Pipelet's garret. We will hereafter disclose how it was that Rodolph was not informed of the carrying off of Fleur-de-Marie from the farm at Bouqueval, and why he had not visited the Morels the day after his conversation with Madame d'Harville.

Rodolph, furnished, by way of saving appearances, with a thick roll of papers, entered Rigolette's chamber.

Rigolette was nearly the same age as Goualeuse, her old prison acquaintance. There was between these two young girls the same difference that there is between laughter and tears; between joyous light-heartedness and melancholy dejection; between the wildest thoughtlessness and a dark and constant reflection on the future; between a delicate, refined, elevated, poetic nature, exquisitely sensitive, and incurably wounded by remorse, and a gay, lively, happy, good, and compassionate nature. Rigolette had no sorrows but those derived from the woes of others, and with these she sympathised with all her might, devoting herself, body and soul, to any suffering fellow creature; but, her back turned on them, to use a common expression, she thought no more about them. She often checked her bursts of laughter by a flood of tears, and then checked her tears by renewing her laughter. Like a real Parisian, Rigolette preferred excitement to calm, and motion to repose; the loud and echoing harmony of the orchestra at the fête of the Chartreuse or the Colysée to the soft murmurs of the breeze, waters, and leaves; the bustling disturbance of the thoroughfares of Paris to the silent solitude of the fields; the brilliancy of fireworks, the flaring of the grand finale, the uproar of the maroons and Roman candles, to the serenity of a lovely night,—starlight, clear, and still. Alas, yes! the dear, good little girl actually preferred the pavement of the streets of the capital to the fresh moss of the shaded paths, perfumed with violets; the dust of the Boulevards to the waving of the ears of corn, mingled with the scarlet of the wild poppies and the azure of the bluebells.

Rigolette only left her chamber on Sundays, and each morning to provide her prescribed allowance of chickweed, bread, milk, and millet, for herself and her two birds, as Madame Pipelet observed; but she lived in Paris for Paris, and would have been wretched to have resided anywhere but in the capital.

A few words as to the personal appearance of the grisette, and we will then introduce Rodolph into the chamber of his neighbour.

Rigolette was scarcely eighteen years of age, of middle height, rather small than large, but so gracefully formed, so admirably proportioned, so delightfully filled out, so entirely in accordance with her step, which was light and easy, that she seemed perfect of her kind. The movement of her finely formed feet, always encased in well-made boots of black cloth, with a rather thick sole, reminded you of the quick, pretty, and cautious tread of the quail or wagtail. She did not seem to walk, but to pass over the pavement as if she were gliding over the surface. This step, so peculiar to grisettes, at once nimble, attractive, and as if somewhat alarmed, may doubtless be attributed to three causes: their desire to be thought pretty, their fear of being mistaken for what they are not, and to the desire they always have not to lose a minute in their peregrinations.

Rodolph had not seen Rigolette but by the dim light of Morel's garret, or on the landing-place, equally obscure, and he was therefore really struck by the bright and fresh countenance of the young girl when he softly entered her apartment, which was lighted up by two large windows. He remained motionless for a moment, in admiration of the striking picture before his eyes. Standing in front of a glass placed over her mantelpiece, Rigolette was tying under her chin the ribands of a small cap of bordered tulle, ornamented with a light trimming of cherry-coloured riband. The cap, which fitted tightly, was placed at the back of her head, and thus revealed two large and thick bandeaux of glossy hair, shining like jet, and falling very low in front. Her eyebrows, fine and well defined, seemed as if traced in ink, and curved above two large black, piercing, and intelligent eyes; her firm and velvety cheeks were suffused with the rosy hue of health, fresh to the eye, fresh to the touch, like a ripe peach covered with the dew of dawn; her small, upturned, attractive, and saucy nose, would have been a fortune to any Lisette or Marton; her mouth, which was rather large, had rosy and moist lips, small, white, close, and pearly teeth, and was laughter-loving and sportive; three charming dimples, which gave a characteristic grace to her features, were placed, two in her cheeks, and the other in her chin, close to a beauty-spot, a small ebony speck, which was most killingly situated at the corner of her mouth. Between a worked collar, which fell very low, and the border of the little cap, gathered in by a cherry-coloured riband, was seen a forest of beautiful hair, so accurately twisted and turned up that their roots were seen as clearly and as black as if they had been painted on the ivory of that lovely neck. A plum-coloured merino gown, with a plain back and close sleeves, made skilfully by Rigolette, covered a figure so small and slender that the young girl never wore a corset,—for economy's sake. An ease and unusual freedom in the smallest action of the shoulders and body, which resembled the facile undulations of a cat's motions, evinced this fact. Imagine a gown fitting tightly to a form rounded and polished as marble, and we must agree that Rigolette could easily dispense with this accessory to the toilet of which we have spoken. The tie of a small apron of dark green levantine formed a girdle around a waist which might have been spanned by the ten fingers.

Believing herself to be alone (for Rodolph still remained at the door, motionless and unperceived), the grisette, having smoothed down her bandeaux with her small hand, white and delicately clean, put her small foot on a chair and stooped to tie the lace of her boot. This attitude developed to Rodolph a portion of a cotton stocking, white as snow, and a well-formed ankle and leg.

After the detail we have given of this toilet, we may guess that Rigolette had selected her prettiest cap and best apron to do honour to her neighbour on their excursion to the Temple. She found the pretended tradesman's clerk very much to her taste; his face, at once kind, bold, and animated, pleased her greatly; and then he had been so kind to the Morels, by giving up his room to them; so that, thanks to this proof of goodness, and, perhaps, also to his good looks, Rodolph had unwittingly advanced into the confidence of the grisette with giant strides. She, according to her ideas, founded on the compelled intimacy and reciprocal obligation which neighbourhood invites, thought herself very fortunate in having such a neighbour as Rodolph to succeed to the travelling clerk, Cabrion, and François Germain; for she was beginning to find that the next room had remained very long empty, and was afraid that she should never again see it occupied in an agreeable manner.

Rodolph took advantage of his invisibility to cast a curious eye around him, and he found the apartment even beyond the praises which Madame Pipelet had bestowed on the extreme cleanliness of the humble home of Rigolette. Nothing could be more lively or better arranged than this apartment. A gray paper, with green garlands, covered the walls; the floor, painted of a red colour, shone like a looking-glass; a small earthenware stone was placed in the chimney, where was piled up, very symmetrically, a small store of wood, cut so short, so thin, that, without exaggeration, each piece might have been compared to a very large match. On the stone mantelpiece, painted gray marble, there were, for ornaments, two pots of common flowers, covered in with green moss; a small case of boxwood contained a silver watch instead of a pendule. On one side was a brass candlestick, shining like gold, and having in it a small piece of wax-light; and, on the other side, no less resplendently, one of those lamps formed by a cylinder and a brass reflector, supported by a bar of steel, and having a base of lead. A tolerably large square glass, in a black wood frame, was over the mantelpiece. Curtains of gray and green Persian cloth, with a woollen-fringed border, cut and worked by Rigolette, and hung in light rings of black iron, decorated the windows; and the bed was covered with a counterpane of the same make and material. Two closets, with glass doors, and painted white, were in each side of the recess, enclosing, no doubt, household utensils,—the portable stove, the fountain, brooms, etc.; for none of these things spoiled the neat appearance of the chamber. A chest of drawers of well veined and shining walnut-tree; four chairs of the same wood; a large table for ironing and working, covered with one of those green woollen coverings which we sometimes see in a peasant's cottage; a straw armchair, with a stool to match, the constant seat of the workwoman,—such was the unpretending furniture. There was, too, in one of the window-seats, a cage with two canary birds, the faithful companions of Rigolette. By one of those notable ideas which occur to the poor, this cage was placed in the middle of a large wooden chest, about a foot deep, placed on a table. This chest, which Rigolette called her bird's garden, was filled with mould, covered with moss during the winter, and in spring the young girl sowed grass seeds, and planted flowers there. Rodolph examined the place with interest, and entered fully into the cheerful disposition of the grisette. He pictured to himself this solitude, enlivened by the song of the birds and of Rigolette herself. In summer, no doubt, she worked at the open window, half veiled by a verdant curtain of sweet peas, roses, nasturtiums, and blue and white convolvulus. In winter she warmed herself near her small stove, by the soft light of her lamp.

Rodolph was thus reflecting, when, looking mechanically at the door, he saw there a large bolt,—a bolt which would not have been out of place on the door of a prison. This bolt made him reflect. It might have two meanings, two very distinct uses: to close the door on the lover within; to close the door on the lover without. Rodolph was aroused from his reflections by Rigolette, who, turning her head, saw him, and, without changing her attitude, said to him:

"What, neighbour, are you there?" Then the well-formed ankle instantly disappeared beneath the ample skirt of the plum-coloured gown, and Rigolette added, "Ah, Mr. Cunning!"

"I was here admiring in silence."

"Admiring what, neighbour?"

"This pretty little room; for, neighbour, you are lodged like a queen."

"Why, you must know that is my enjoyment. I never go out, and so I can do no less than make my home comfortable."

"But really I never saw anything half so nice. What pretty curtains! and the drawers as handsome as mahogany! You must have spent a great deal of money here."

"Oh, don't mention it! I had, of my own, four hundred and twenty-five francs when I left the prison, and almost all has been spent."

"When you left the prison!—you?"

"Yes, but it is a very long story. Of course, you do not suppose that I was in prison for anything wrong?"

"Of course not; but how was it?"

"After the cholera, I was quite alone in the world. I was then, I think, ten years of age."

"But who had taken care of you till then?"

"Ah, some excellent people! But they died of the cholera;" here Rigolette's large eyes became moistened. "They had sold the little they possessed to pay their small debts, and I remained without having any one who would take care of me. Not knowing what to do, I went to the guard-house, opposite to our house, and said to the sentinel: 'Sir, my relations are dead, and I do not know where to go to; what must I do?' Then the officer came, and he took me to the commissary, who put me in prison as a vagabond, and I did not go out until I was sixteen years old."

"But your relations?"

"I do not know who my father was, and I was six years old when I lost my mother, who had recovered me from the Enfants Trouvés (Foundling Hospital), where she had been compelled at first to place me. The kind people of whom I spoke to you lived in our house; they had no children, and, seeing me an orphan, they took care of me."

"And what were they? What was their business or pursuit?"

"Papa Crétu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and his wife worked at her needle."

"Then they were pretty well off?"

"Oh, like other people in their station, though they were not married; but they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and downs; to-day plenty, if there was work to be had; to-morrow short commons, if there was none; but that did not prevent the couple from being content and always cheerful;" at this remembrance Rigolette's face brightened up. "There was not such a household in the quarter,—always merry, always singing, and, with it all, as good as they could be. What they had any one was welcome to share. Mamma Crétu was a plump body, about thirty years old, as neat as a penny, as active as an eel, as merry as a lark. Her husband was a regular good-tempered fellow, with a large nose, a wide mouth, and always a paper cap on his head, and such a funny face,—oh, so funny,—you could not look at him without laughing. When he came home after work, he did nothing but sing, and make faces, and gambol like a child. He used to dance me on his knees, and play with me like a child of my own age; and his wife spoiled me, as if I had been a blessing to her. They both required only one thing from me, and that was to be in a good humour; and in that I never thwarted them, thank Heaven. So they called me Rigolette,[7] and the name has stuck to me. As to mirth, they set me the example, for I never saw them sorrowful. If ever there was a word, it was the wife who said to her husband, 'Crétu, you silly fellow, do be quiet, you make me laugh too much.' Then he said to her, 'Hold your foolish tongue, Ramonette,'—I don't know why he called her Ramonette,—'do be still, you really make my sides ache, you are so funny.' And then I laughed to see them laugh, and in this way I was brought up, and in this way they formed my disposition; and I hope I have profited by it."

[7] The French verb rigoler is "to be merry."—E. T.

"Most assuredly you have, neighbour. So there never were any disputes between them?"

"Never, oh, never! Sunday, Monday, and sometimes on Tuesday, they made holiday, or kept wedding-day, as they called it, and always took me with them. Papa Crétu was an excellent workman, and, when he chose to work, he could earn what he pleased, and so could his wife, too. If they had got enough to do for Sunday and Monday, and live on pretty comfortably, they were perfectly satisfied. If, after this, they were on short allowance for a time, they didn't mind it. I remember, when we had only bread and water, Papa Crétu took from his library—"

"He had a library, then?"

"Oh, he used to call a little box so, in which he put his collection of new songs; for he bought all the new ones, and knew them every one. When, then, there was nothing but bread in the house, he used to take an old cookery book from his library, and say to us, 'Well, now, let us see, what shall we eat to-day? This, or that?' And then he used to read out a long list of good things. Each of us chose a dish, and then Papa Crétu took an empty saucepan, and, with the funniest airs and gestures in the world, pretended to put into the saucepan all the ingredients requisite for making a capital stew; and then he used to pretend to pour it all out into a dish—also empty—which he placed on the table, with still the same drolleries, which almost split our sides. Then he took up his book again, and, whilst he was reading to us, for instance, the recipe of a good fricassée of chicken, which we had chosen, and which made our mouths water, we ate our bread, all laughing like so many mad people."

"And, in this happy household, were there any debts to trouble them?"

"None whatever. So long as the money lasted, they ate, drank, and made merry, and, when it was all gone, they lived upon 'make believe,' as before."

"And did they never think of the future?"

"Oh, yes, they thought of it, of course; but what is the future to such as we? Present and future are like Sunday and Monday; the one we spend gaily and happily outside the barriers, the other is got over in the faubourgs."

"And why, since this couple seemed so well assorted, did they never marry?"

"A friend of theirs once put that very question in my presence."

"Well, and what did they say?"

"'Oh,' said they, 'if ever we have any children, it may be all very well to marry, but as far as we are concerned, we do very well as we are. And why should we make an obligation of that which we now perform willingly? Besides, getting married costs money, and we have none to spare in unnecessary expenses.' But, my goodness," added Rigolette, "how I am running on. But, really, when once I begin to talk of these kind people, who were so good to me, I never know when to leave off. Here, neighbour, will you give me my shawl off the bed, and put it nicely over my shoulders, then pin it underneath the collar of my habit-shirt with this large pin, and then we will set off, for it will take us some time to select the different things you wish to buy for the poor Morels."

Rodolph readily obeyed the directions of Rigolette. First he took from the bed a large plaid shawl, which he placed with all imaginable care on the well-formed shoulders of Rigolette.

"That will do, neighbour. Now, lift up my collar, and press the shawl and dress together; then stick in the pin; but pray try not to prick me with it."

The prince executed the orders given with zealous accuracy; then observed, smilingly, to the grisette:

"Ah, Mlle. Rigolette, I should not like to be your femme de chambre; there is danger in it!"

"Yes, I know," answered Rigolette gaily; "there is great danger for me of having a pin run in by your awkwardness. But now," added she, after they had left the room, and carefully locked the door after them, "take my key; it is so large, I always expect it will burst my pocket; it is as large as a pistol," and here the light-hearted girl laughed merrily at her own conceit.

Rodolph accordingly "took charge" (that is the prescribed form of speech) of an enormous key, which might well have figured in one of those allegorical devices in which the vanquished are represented as humbly offering the keys of their lost cities to the conquerors. Although Rodolph believed himself too much changed by years to run any risk of being recognised by Polidori, he still deemed it prudent to draw up the collar of his paletot as he passed by the door of the apartments belonging to the quack, Bradamanti.

"Neighbour," said Rigolette, "don't forget to tell M. Pipelet that you are about to send in some things which are to be carried at once up to your chamber."

"You are right, my good friend; let us step into the porter's lodge for an instant."

M. Pipelet, with his everlasting bell-shaped hat on his head, dressed, as usual, in the accustomed green coat, and seated before a table covered with scraps of leather and fragments of boots and shoes, was occupied in fixing a new sole on a boot, his whole look and manner impressed with the same deeply meditative air which characterised his usual proceedings. Anastasie was just then absent from the lodge.

"Well, M. Pipelet," said Rigolette, "I hope you will be pleased to hear the good news. Thanks to my good neighbour here, the poor Morels have got out of trouble. La! when one thinks of that poor man being taken off to prison—oh, those bailiffs have no hearts!"

"Nor manners either, mademoiselle," rejoined M. Pipelet, in an angry tone, wrathfully brandishing the boot then in progress of repair, and into which he had inserted his left hand and arm. "No! I have no hesitation in declaring, in the face of all mankind, that they are a set of mannerless scoundrels. Why, taking advantage of the darkness of our stairs, they actually carried their indecent violence so far as to lay their audacious fingers upon the waist of my wife. When I first heard the cries of her insulted modesty, I could not restrain myself, and, spite of all efforts to restrain myself, I yielded to the natural impetuosity of my disposition. Yes, I will frankly confess, my first impulse was to remain perfectly motionless."

"But, I suppose, afterwards," said Rigolette, who had much ado to preserve a serious air, "afterwards, M. Pipelet, you pursued them, and bestowed the punishment they so well deserved?"

"I'll tell you, mademoiselle," answered Pipelet, deliberately; "when these shameless ruffians passed before my lodge, my blood boiled, and I could not prevent myself from hastily covering my face, that I might not be shocked by the sight of these luxurious malefactors; but, afterwards, I ceased to be astonished; for well I knew I might expect some sight or sound to shock my senses; full well I was prepared for some direful misfortune ere the day had passed, for I dreamed last night of Cabrion."

Rigolette smiled, while the heavy groans which broke from the oppressed mind of the porter were mingled with blows of his hammer, as he vigorously applied it to the sole of the boot he was mending.

"You wisely chose the wisest part, my dear M. Pipelet, that of despising offences, and holding it beneath you to revenge them; but try to forget these ill-conducted bailiffs, and oblige me by doing me a great favour."

"Man is born to help his fellow man," drawled out Pipelet, in a melancholy and sententious tone; "and he is still further called upon so to do when a good and worthy gentleman, moreover, a lodger in one's house, is concerned."

"What I have to request of you is to carry up to my apartments for me several things I am about to send in, and which are for the Morels."

"Make yourself easy upon that point, monsieur," replied Pipelet. "I will faithfully perform your wishes."

"And afterwards," said Rodolph, mournfully, "you must obtain a priest to watch by a little girl the Morels have lost in the night. Go and give the requisite notification of the death, and bespeak a suitable funeral."

"Make your mind easy, monsieur," replied Pipelet, more gravely even than before; "directly my wife returns, I will go to the mayor, the church, and the traiteur's: to the church, for the soul of the dead; to the traiteur's, for the body of the living," added M. Pipelet, philosophically and poetically. "Consider it done in both cases; my good sir, consider it done."

At the entrance to the alley, Rodolph and Rigolette encountered Anastasie returning from market with a huge basket of provisions.

"That's right! That's right!" cried the porteress, looking at the pair with a knowing and significant air; "there you go, arm in arm already. To be sure, look and love, love and look. Young people will be young people, no doubt on't. Me and Alfred was just the same. Whoever heard of a pretty girl without a beau? So, go along, my dears, and make yourselves happy while you can." Then, after gazing after them some minutes, the old woman disappeared in the depths of the alley, crying out, "Alfred, my old darling! Don't worry yourself; 'Stasie's coming to bring you something nice,—oh, so nice!"

END OF VOLUME II.

Transcriber's Notes:

This e-text was prepared from numbered edition 505 of the 1000 printed.

In the original text the title "The Mysteries of Paris" is printed in Bold Gothic Font.

Minor punctuation and capitalization corrections have been made without comment.

Minor typographical errors of single words, otherwise spelled correctly throughout the text have been made without comment.

Word Variations appearing in the original text which have been retained:

"box-wood" and "boxwood"
"court-yard" and "courtyard"
"dairy-maid" and "dairymaid"
"incumber" and "encumber"
"milk-woman" and "milkwoman"
"out-building" and "outbuilding"
"Saint-Remy" (16) and "Saint-Rémy" (6)
"stew-pan" and "stewpan"

Throughout the text, illustrations and their captions were placed on facing pages. For the purpose of this e-text these pages have been combined into one entry.

Footnotes, originally at the bottom of a printed page, have been placed directly below the paragraph in which their anchor symbol appears.