Poor Gérard could stand it no longer; the philter was working; colic and headache appeared. The maid brought Madame Dubelair her mirror. The coquette looked at herself and began to shriek horribly; she broke the mirror, she had an attack of hysterics, and her poor lover implored Fifine to give him the key to his mistress’s closet. The girl, who was mischievous and sly, like most soubrettes, roared with laughter when she saw Monsieur Gérard’s plight; and to make the confusion complete, Madame Rose rushed in, crying that she was betrayed, dishonored; that her husband was a monster who gave her no children but had just debauched his concierge. Our amorous philter had raised the deuce with Monsieur Rose; the poor man had gone home, hoping to find his wife there; she had hidden in order to make him jealous, and the dear husband, finding nobody but his concierge at hand, had made her the victim of the flames that consumed him.
The cries of Madame Rose, who was frantic with rage, of the concierge, who pretended to be, of Madame Dubelair, who was trying to tear off her nose, of Monsieur Gérard, who was holding his stomach, and of Monsieur Rose, who was weeping over his own perversity, soon attracted the whole quarter. The neighbors hurried to the spot, asked questions, pushed and crowded, gave Madame Rose orange-flower water, the concierge cologne, Madame Dubelair ether, Monsieur Gérard an enema, and Monsieur Rose extract of water lily.
When the first outcries had subsided, an attempt was made to ascertain the cause of so many untoward events. It was clear that there must be some witchcraft underneath. Madame Dubelair swore that she had never in her whole life had a pimple on her nose or anywhere else, Monsieur Gérard never ate too much, and Madame Rose, despite her wrath, admitted that her husband was not the man to pinch a woman’s knee unless he had been made tipsy. Thus these extraordinary events must have had some hidden cause. They remembered the philters; they confided in one another; and the result was that the little hunchback was voted a sorcerer, a magician, a charlatan, an impostor worthy of hell-fire. But, pending the time when he should go to hell, they considered that it was necessary to put him in prison, in order to prevent him from repeating his infamous incantations.
Rose, the deputy, went to the mayor and explained the affair to him; he obtained an order for the culprit’s arrest. On his side, the advocate assembled all the notables of the town; they shared his wrath and considered that the scoundrel who gave one of the long robe the colic could not be punished too severely. Madame Dubelair and Madame Rose stirred up all the women; Madame Dubelair especially had to say no more than this: “A man who can make the nose red and the complexion lead-color is a villain who deserves the halter!”—As for the philter of which Monsieur Rose had drunk, all the ladies begged for a few drops of it for their private use, thinking that, when thus divided, it could not fail to produce very pleasant results.
These events had taken time; it was daybreak when they started for our lodgings to arrest us. I say us, for I am quite sure that I should have shared my companion’s fate. But since the preceding day I had been on the alert, walking about the town, watching all that took place, listening to what people said; in short, I learned that they were coming to arrest us, and I did not deem it prudent to wait until that time. While my companion was asleep, I made a little bundle of everything belonging to me, and of the money I had earned with him, being careful to take no more than was really mine; then, wishing my little hunchback much good fortune, I left our lodgings, leaving him to get out of the scrape as he could.
I have no idea what happened to him, for I never saw him again; but as sorcerers are no longer hanged, since it has been discovered that there are no such things, I am very sure that my poor charlatan got off with a few months in prison.
XIV
END OF JACQUES’S ADVENTURES
I had about thirty louis in my purse; for selling pills made of bread is a very good business; you make few advances and never sell on credit, which proves that there is nothing that has not some value. You can imagine, my dear Sans-Souci, that my only idea was to enjoy myself thoroughly, and that is what I did in several towns where I stopped; but the adventure that happened to me in Brussels put an end to my enjoyment.
I had been living at an inn two days, and I passed my time like all idlers or strangers, eating much, drinking a great deal, and walking about without any definite object, but going into all the public places, and visiting everything that seemed likely to be at all interesting to me.
On the second day, having gone to the theatre, I found myself beside a young man of respectable exterior. He seemed to be three or four years older than myself and to be thoroughly acquainted with society. We talked together, and he told me at once that he was from Lyon, and was travelling for pleasure and to escape from a marriage which his parents wished to force upon him. His confidence invited mine; so I in my turn told him all my adventures, the narrative of which seemed to interest him greatly.