r LIBRARY A UNIVERSITY OF CALIPORNIA SAN DIEeO presented to the UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO by Mrs. Townsend UNIVERSITY OF CALiFOBNl/V. SAN D.EOy ';S2 02237 5109 r^ V.'\ ; ^ \ ffH' Cije WovkQ of Eugene Sue ILLUSTRATED WITH ORIGINAL ETCHINGS In Twenty Volumes Volume IF. ^/^" PUBLISHED BY FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO. LONDON AND BOSTON ■'^¥^i^" ^r .Ji ^ Limited to 1000 copies of which this is NoMS:..^.. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Rigolette's F1R8T Sorrow n. The Will TTT. L'Ile du Ravageur rV. The Freshwater Pirate V. The Mother and Son . VI. Francois and Amandine VII. A Lodging-house . Vni. The Victims of Misplaced IX. The Rue de Chaillot . X. The Comte de Saint-Remy XI. The Interview XII. The Search . XIII. The Adieux . XrV. Recollections XV. The Boats XVI. The Happiness of Meeting XVII. Doctor Griffon . XVIII. The Portrait XIX. The Agent of Safety. XX. The Chouette Confidence FAes 11 33 48 60 82 101 119 132 , 156 , 170 . 185 . 204 . 226 . 239 . 262 . 273 . 298 . 305 . 315 . 321 Vol. IV. ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE The abduction Frontispiece The brigand dashed at his brother ... 87 He exhibited such ferocious joy .... 168 Was about to embrace his father .... 199 Vol. rv. THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. CHAPTER I. eigolette's first sorrow. EiGOLETTE's apartment was still m all its extreme nicety the large silver watch placed over the mantel- ; n a small boxwood stand, denoted the ^om- of four The severe cold weather having ceased, the thrifty little needlewoman had not lighted her stove. From the window, a corner of blue sky ^^^^earcely perceptible over the masses of irregularly built roofs, garrets, and tall chimneys, which bounded the horizon on the other side of the street. Suddenly a sunbeam which, as it were, wandered for a moment between two high gables, came for an instant to purple with its bright rays the windows of the young girl's chamber Sigolette was at work, seated by her window ; and the soft shadow of her charming profile stood out from the transparent light of the glass as a cameo of rosy whiteness'on a silver ground, brilliant hues plaj^^^^^^^^^^ her jet black hair, twisted in a knot at the back of hei head, and shaded with a warm amber co our Jie i.ory of h^r industrious little fingers, which plied the needle with incomparable activity. The long folds o her brown gown, confined at the waist by the bands of ber green apron, half concealed her straw-seated chair, and her pretty feet rested on the edge of a stool before her. THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. Like a rich lord, who sometimes amuses himself in hiding the walls of a cottage beneath splendid hangings, the setting sun for a moment lighted up this little chamber with a thousand dazzling fires, throwing his golden tints on the curtains of gray and green stuif, and making the walnut-tree furniture glisten with bright- ness, and the dry-rubbed floor look like heated copper ; whilst it encircled in a wire-work of gold the grisette's bird-cage. But, alas ! in spite of the exciting splendour of this sun-ray, the two canaries (male and female) flitted about uneasily, and, contrary to their usual habit, did not sing a note. This was because, contrary to her usual habit, Rigolette did not sing. The three never warbled without one another ; almost invariably the cheerful and matin song of the latter called forth that of the birds, who, more lazy, did not leave their nests as early as their mistress. Then there were rivalries, — contentions of clear, sonorous, pearly, silvery notes, in which the birds had not always the advantage. Rigolette did not sing, because, for the first time in her life, she experienced a sorrow. Up to this time, the sight of the misery of the Morels had often affected her ; but such sights are too familiar to the poorer classes to cause them any very lasting melancholy. After having, almost every day, succoured these unfortunates as far as was in her power, sincerely wept with and for them, the young girl felt herself at the same time moved and sat- isfied, — moved by their misfortunes, and satisfied at hav- ing shown herself pitiful. But this was not a sorrow. Rigolette's natural gaiety soon regained its empire ; and then, without egotism, but by a simple fact of compari- son, she found herself so happy in her little chamber, after leaving the horrible den of the Morels, that her momentary sadness speedily disappeared. This lightness of impression was so little affected by personal feeling, that, by a mode of extremely delicate reasoning, the grisette considered it almost a duty to aid 12 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. those more unhappy than herself, that she might thus unscrupulously enjoy an existence so very precarious and entirely dependent on her labour, but which, compared with the fearful distress of the lapidary's family, appeared to her almost luxurious. " In order to sing without compunction, when we have near us persons so much to be pitied," she said, naively, " we must have been as charitable to them as possible." Before we inform our reader the cause of Rigolette's first sorrow, we are desirous to assure him, or her, com- pletely as to the virtue of this young girl. We are sorry to use the word virtue, — a serious, pompous, solemn word, which almost always brings with it ideas of pain- ful sacrifice, of painful struggle against the passions, of austere meditations on the final close of all things here below. Such was not the virtue of Rigolette. She had neither deeply struggled nor meditated ; she had worked, and laughed, and sung. Her prudence, as she called it, when speaking frankly and sincerely to Rodolph, was with her a question of time, — -'she had not the leisure to be in love. Particularly lively, industrious, and orderly, order, work, and gaiety had often, unknown to herself, defended, sustained, saved her. It may be deemed, perchance, that this morality is light, frivolous, casual ; but of what consequence is the cause, so that the effect endures ? Of what consequence are the directions of the roots of a plant, provided the flower blooms pure, expanded, and full of perfume ? Apropos of our utopianisms, as to the encouragement, help, and recompenses which society ought to grant to artisans remarkable for their eminent social qualities, we have alluded to that protection of virtue (one of the projects of the Emperor, by the way). Let us suppose this admirable idea realised. One of the real philan- thropists whom the Emperor proposed to employ in searching after worth has discovered Rigolette. Aban- doned without advice, witliout aid, exposed to all the 13 THE MYSTERIES OP PARIS. perils of poverty, to all the seductions with which youth and beauty are surrounded, this charming girl has remained pure ; her honest, hard-working life might serve for a model and example. Would not this young creature deserve, not a mere recompense, not succour only, but some impressive words of approbation and encouragement, which would give her a consciousness of her own worth, exalt her in her own eyes, and lay on her obligations for the future ? At least she would know that she was followed by eyes full of solicitude and protection in the difficult path in which she is progressing with so much courage and serenity; she would know that, if one day the want of work or sick- ness threatened to destroy the equilibrium of the poor and occupied life, which depends solely on work and health, a slight help, due to her former deserts, would be given to her. People, no doubt, will exclaim against the impossibility of this tutelary surveillance, which would surround per- sons particularly worthy of interest through their previ- ous excellent lives. It seems to us that society has already resolved this problem. Has it not already imag- ined the superintendence of the police, for life or for a period, for the most useful purpose of constantly con- trolling the conduct of dangerous persons, noted for the infamy of their former lives ? Why does not society exercise also a superintendence of moral charity ? But let us leave the lofty stilts of our utopianisms, and return to the cause of Rigolette's first sorrow. With the exception of Germain, a well-behaved, open- hearted young man, the grisette's neighbours had all, at first, begun on terms of familiarity, believing her offers of good neighbourship were little flirtations; but these gentlemen had been compelled to admit, with as much astonishment as annoyance, that they found in Rigolette an amiable and mirthful companion for their Sunday excursions, a pleasant neighbour, and a kind-hearted 14 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. creature, but not a mistress. Their surprise and their annoyance, at first very great, gradually gave way before the frank and even temper of the grisette ; and then, as she had sagaciously said to Rodolph, her neighbours were proud on Sundays to have on their arms a pretty girl, who was an honour to them in every way (Rigo- lette was quite regardless of appearances), and who only cost them the share of the moderate pleasures, whose value was doubled by her presence and nice appearance. Besides, the dear girl was so easily contented ! In her days of penury she dined well and gaily off a morsel of warm cake, which she nibbled with all the might of her little white teeth; after which, she amused herself so much with a walk on the boulevards or in the arcades. If our readers feel but little sympathy with Rigolette, they will at least confess that a person must be very absurd, or very cruel, to refuse once a week these simple amusements to so delightful a creature, who, besides having no right to be jealous, never prevented her cav- aliers from consoling themselves for her cruelty by flirtations with other damsels. Francois Germain alone never founded any vain hopes on the familiarity of the young girl, but, either from instinct of heart or delicacy of mind, he guessed from the first day how very agreeable the singular companion- ship of Rigolette might be made. What might be imagined happened, and Germain fell passionately in love with his neighbour, without daring to say a word to her of his love. Far from imitating his predecessors, who, convinced of the vanity of their pursuit, had consoled themselves with other loves, without being on that account the less on good terms with their neighbour, Germain had most supremely enjoyed his intimacy with the young girl, passing with her not only his Sunday but every evening when he was not engaged. During these long hours Rigolette was, as usual, merry and laughing; Germain 15 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. lender, attentive, serious, and often somewhat sad. This sadness was his only drawback, for his manners, natu- rally good, were not to be compared with the foppery of M. Girandeau, the commercial traveller, alias bag- man, or with the noisy eccentricities of Cabrion ; but M. Girandeau by his unending loquacity, and the painter by his equally interminable fun, took the lead of Ger- main, whose quiet composure rather astonished his little neighbour, the grisette. Rigolette then had not, as yet, testified any decided preference for any one of her beaux ; but as she was by no means deficient in judgment, she soon discovered that Germain alone imited all the qualities requisite for making a reasonable woman happy. Having stated all these facts, we will inquire why Rigolette was sad, and why neither she nor her birds sang. Her oval and fresh-looking face was rather pale ; her large black eyes, usually gay and brilliant, were slightly dulled and veiled ; whilst her whole look bespoke unusual fatigue. She had been working nearly all the night; from time to time she looked sorrowfully at a letter which lay open on a table near her. This letter had been addressed to her by Germain, and contained as follows : " Prison of the Conciergerie. "Mademoiselle: — The place from which I address you will sufficiently prove to you the extent of my misfortune, — I am locked up as a robber. I am guilty in the eyes of all the world, and yet I am bold enough to write to you ! It is because it would, indeed, be dreadful to me to believe that you consider me as a degraded criminal. I beseech you not to condemn me until you have perused this letter. If you discard me, that will be the final blow, and will indeed overwhelm me. I will tell you all that has passed. For some time I had left the Rue du Temple, but I knew through poor Louise that the Morel family, in whom you and I took such deep interest, were daily more and more wretched. Alas, my pity for these poor people has been my destruction ! I do not repent it, but my fate is very cruel. Last night I had 16 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. stayed very late at M. Ferrand's, occupied with business of importance. In the room in which I was at work was a bureau, in which my employer shut up every day the work I had done. This evening he appeared much disturbed and troubled, and said to me, ' Do not leave until these accounts are finished, and then put them in the bureau, the key of which I will leave with you ; ' and then he left the room. When my work was done I opened the drawer to put it away, when, mechanically, my eyes were attracted by an open letter, on which I read the name of Jerome Morel, the lapidary. I confess that, seeing that it referred to this unfortunate man, I had the indiscretion to read this letter; and I learnt that the artisan was to be arrested next day on an overdue bill of thirteen hundred francs, at the suit of M. Ferrand, who, under an assumed name, had imprisoned him. This infor- mation was from an agent employed by M. Ferrand. I knew enough of the situation of the Morel family to be aware of the terrible blow which the imprisonment of their only support must inflict upon them, and I was equally distressed and indignant. Unfortunately I saw in the same drawer an open box, with two thousand francs in gold in it. At this moment I heard Louise coming up the stairs, and without reflecting on the seriousness of my offence, but profiting by the opportunity which chance offered, I took thirteen hundred francs, went to her in the passage, and put the money in her hand, saying, ' They are going to arrest your father to-morrow at daybreak, for thirteen hundred francs, here they are. Save him, but do not say that the money comes from me. M. Ferrand is a bad man.' You see, mademoiselle, my intention was good, but my conduct culpable. I conceal nothing from you, but this is my excuse. By dint of saving for a long time I had realised, and placed with a banker, the sum of fifteen hundred francs, but the cashier of the banker never came to the oflice before noon. Morel was to be arrested at daybreak, and therefore it was necessary that she should have the money so as to pay it in good time ; if not, even if I could have gone in the day to release him from prison, still he would be arrested and carried off in presence of his wife, whom such a blow must have killed. Besides, the heavy costs of the writ would have been added to the expenses of the lapidary. You wiU under- stand, I dare say, that all these new misfortunes would not have befallen me if I had been able to restore the thirteen hundred francs I had taken back again to the bureau before M. Ferrand discovered anything ; unfortunately, I fell into that mistake. I left M. Ferrand's, and was no longer under the impression of indignation and pity which had impelled me to the step. I began to reflect upon all the dangers of my position. A thousand fears 17 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. then came to assail me. I knew the notary's severity, and he might come after I left and search in his bureau and discover the theft ; for in his eyes — in the eyes of the world — it is a theft. These thoughts overwhelmed me, and, late as it was, I ran to the banker's to supplicate him to give me my money instantl3^ I should have found an excuse for this urgent request, and then I should have returned to M. Ferrand and replaced the money I had taken. By an unlucky chance, the banker had gone to Belleville for two days, to his country-house, where he was engaged in some plantations. Everything seemed to conspire against me. I waited for daybreak with intense anxiety, and hastened to Belleville, — the banker had just left for Paris. I returned, saw him, obtained my money, hastened to M. Fer- rand ; everything was discovered. But this is only a portion of my misfortunes. The notaiy at once accused me of having robbed him of fifteen thousand francs in bank-notes, which, he declared, were in the drawer of the bureau, with the two thousand francs in gold. This was a base accusation, — an infamous lie I I confess myself guilty of the first abstraction, but, by all that is most sacred in the world, I swear to you, mademoiselle, that I am innocent of the second. I never saw a bank-note in the drawer. There were only two thousand francs in gold, from which I took the thirteen hundred francs I have mentioned. This is the truth, mademoiselle. I am under this terrible accusation, and yet I afiirm that you ought to know me incapable of a lie. But will you, — do you believe me ? Alas, as M. Ferrand said, ' he who has taken a small sum may equally have taken a large amount, and his word does not deserve belief.' I have always seen you so good and devoted to the unhappy, mademoiselle, and I know you are so frank and liberal-minded, that your heart will guide you in the just appreciation of the truth, I hope. I do not ask any more. Give credit to my words, and you will find in me as much to pity as to blame ; for, I repeat to you, my intention was good, and circumstances impossible to foresee have destroyed me. Oh, Mile. Kigolette, I am very unhappy ! If you knew in the midst of what a set of persons I am doomed to exist until my trial is over I Yesterday they took me to a place which they call the d^pot of the prefecture of police. I cannot tell you what I felt when, after having gone up a dark staircase, I reached a door with an iron wicket, which was opened and soon closed upon me. I was so troubled in my mind that I could not, at first, distinguish anything. A hot and fetid air came upon me, and I heard a loud noise of voices mingled with sinister laughs, angry exclamations, and depraved songs. I remained motionless at the door for awhile, looking at the stone flooring of the apartment, and neither 18 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. daring to advance nor lift up my eyes, thinking that everybody ■was looking at me. They were not, however, thinking of me ; for a prisoner more or less does not at all disturb these men. At last I ventured to look up, and, oh, what horrid countenances I What ragged wretches ! What dirty and bespattered garments 1 All the exterior marks of misery and vice ! There were forty or fifty seated, standing, or lying on benches secured to the wall, — var- grants, robbers, assassins, and all who had been apprehended during the night and day. When they perceived me I found a sad consolation in seeing that they did not recognise me as belonging or known to them. Some of them looked at me with an insulting and derisive air, and then began to talk amongst themselves in a low tone, and in some horrible jargon, not one word of which did I understand. After a short time one of the most brutal amongst them came, and, slapping me on the shoul- der, asked me for money to pay my footing. I gave them some silver, hoping thus to purchase repose ; but it was not enough, and they demanded more, which I refused. Then several of them sur- rounded me and assailed me with threats and imprecations, and were proceeding to extremities, when, fortunately for me, a turn- key entered, who had been attracted by the noise. I complained to him, and he insisted on their restoring to me the money I had given them already, adding that, if I liked to pay a small fee, I should go to what is called the pistole ; that is, be in a cell to myself. I accepted the offer gratefully, and left these ruffians in the midst of their loud menaces for the future ; ' for,' said they, *we are sure to meet again, when I could not get away fi'om them.' The turnkey conducted me to a cell, where I passed the rest of the night. It is from here that I now write to you, Mile. Rigolette. Directly after my examination I shall be taken to another prison, called La Force, where I expect to meet many of my companions in the station-house. The turnkey, interested by my grief and tears, has promised me to forward this letter to you, although such kindnesses are strictly forbidden. I ask. Mile. Rigolette, a last service of your friendship, if, indeed, you do not blush now for such an intimacy. In case you will kindly grant my request, it is this : With this letter you will receive a small key, and a line for the porter of the house I live in. Bou- levard St. Denis, No. 11. I inform him that you will act as if it were myself with respect to everything that belongs to me, and that he is to attend to your instructions. He will take you to my room, and you will have the goodness to open my secretaire with the key I send you herewith. In this you will find a large packet containing different papers, which I beg of you to take care of for me. One of them was intended for you, as you will 19 THE MYSTERIES OF PARTS. see by the address ; others have been written of you, in happier days. Do not be angry. I did not think they would ever come to your knowledge. I beg you, also, to take the small sum of money which is in this drawer, as well as a satin bag, which con- tains a small orange silk handkerchief, which you wore when we used to go out on Sundays, and which you gave me on the day I quitted the Rue du Temple. I should wish that, excepting a little linen which you will be so good as send to me at La Force, you would sell the furniture and things I possess; for, whether acquitted or found guilty, I must of necessity be obliged to quit Paris. Where shall I go ? What are my resources ? God only knows. Madame Bouvard, the saleswoman of the Temple, who has already sold and bought for me many things, will per- haps take all the furniture, etc., at once. She is a very fair- dealing woman, and this would save you a great deal of trouble, for I know how precious your time is. I have paid my rent in advance, and I have, therefore, only to ask you to give a small present to the porter. Excuse, mademoiselle, the trouble of these details ; but you are the only person in the world to whom I dare and can address myself. I might, perhaps, have asked one of M. Ferrand's clerks to do this service for me, as we were on friendly terms, but I feared his curiosity as to certain papers. Several concern you, as I have said, and others relate to the sad events in my life. Ah, believe me. Mile. Rigolette, if you grant me this last favour, this last proof of former regard, it will be my only consolation under the great affliction in which I am plunged ; and, in spite of all, I hope you will not refuse me. I also beg of you to give me permission to write to you sometimes. It will be so consoling, so comforting to me, to be able to pour out my heavy sorrows into a kind heart. Alas, I am alone in the world, — no one takes the slightest interest in me 1 This isolation was before most painful to me. Think what it must be now I And yet I am honest, and have the consciousness of never having injured any one, and of always having, at the peril of my life, testified my aversion for what is wicked and wrong ; as you will see by the papers, which I pray of you to take care of, and which you may read. But when I say this, who will believe me ? M. Ferrand is respected by all the world ; his reputation for probity is long established ; he has a just cause of accusation against me, and he will crush me. I resign myself at once to my fate. Now, Mile. Rigolette, if you do believe me, you will not, I hope, feel any contempt for me, but pity me ; and you will, perhaps, carry your generosity so far as to come one day, — some Sunday (alas, what recollections that word brings up !) — some Sunday, to see me in the reception-room of my prison. But no, no ; I never 20 KIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. could dare to see you in such a place ! Yet you are so good, so kind, that — if — I am compelled to break off this letter and send it to you at once, with the key, and a line for the porter, "which I write in great haste. The turnkey has come to tell me that I am going directly before the magistrate. Adieu, adieu, Mile. Rigolette ! Do not discard me, for my hope is in you, and in you only! Francois Germain. " P. S. — If you reply, address your letter to me at the prison of La Force." We may now divine the cause of Rigolette's first sorrow. Her excellent heart was deeply wounded at a mis- fortune of which she had no suspicion until that moment. She believed unhesitatingly in the entire veracity of the statement of Germain, the unfortunate son of the Schoolmaster. Not very strait-laced, she thought her old neighbour exaggerated his fault immensely. To save the unhappy father of a family, he had momentarily appropriated a sum which he thought he could instantly refund. This action, in the grisette's eyes, was but generous. By one of those contradictions common to women, and especially to women of her class, this young girl, who until then had not felt for Germain more than her other neighbours, but a kind and mirthful friendship, now experienced for him a decided preference. As soon as she knew that he was unfortunate, unjustly accused, and a prisoner, his remembrance effaced that of all his former rivals. Yet Rigolette did not all at once feel intense love, but a warm and sincere affection, full of pity and determined devotion, — a sentiment which was the more new with her in consequence of the better sensations it brought with it. Such was the moral position of Rigolette when Rodolph entered her chamber, having first rapped very discreetly at the door. " Good morning, neighbour," said Rodolph to Rigo- lette ; " do not let me disturb you." 21 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIg. "Not at all, neighbour. On the contrary, I am de- lighted to see you, for I have had something to vex me dreadfully." " Why, in truth, you look very pale, and appear as though you had been weeping." " Indeed, I have been weeping, and for a good reason. Poor Germain ! There — read ! " And Rigolette handed the letter of the prisoner to Rodolph. " Is not that enough to break one's heart ? You told me you took an interest in him, — now's the time to prove it ! " she added, whilst Rodolph was attentively reading the letter. " Is that wicked old M. Ferrand at war with all the world ? First he attacked that poor Louise, and now he assails Germain. Oh, I am not ill-natured ; but if some great harm happened to this notary, I should really be glad ! To accuse such an honest young man of having stolen fifteen thousand francs from him ! Germain, too ! He who was honesty itself ! And such a steady, serious young man ; and so sad, too ! Oh, he is indeed to be pitied, in the midst of all these wretches in his prison ! Ah, M. Rodolph, from to-day I begin to see that life is not all couleur-de-rose.^^ " And what do you propose to do, my little neigh- bour ? " " What do I mean to do ? Wliy, of course, all that Germain asks of me, and as quickly as possible. I should have been gone before now, but for this work, which is required in great haste, and which I must take instantly to the Rue St. Honor^, on my way to Ger- main's room, where I am going to get the papers he speaks of. I have passed part of the night at work, that I might be forward. 1 shall have so many things to do besides my usual work that I must be excessively methodical. In the first place, Madame Morel is very anxious that I should see Louise in prison. That will be a hard task, but I shall try to do it. Unfortunately, I do not know to whom I should address myself." 22 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. " I had thought of that." " You, neighbour ? " " Here is an order." "How fortunate! Can't you procure me also an order for the prison of poor, unhappy Germain? He would be so delighted!" , ^^ " I will also find you the means of seemg Germam. " Oh, thank you, M. Rodolph." " You will not be afraid, then, of going to his prison ? "Certainly not; although my heart will beat very Yiolcntly the first time. But that's nothing. When Germain was free, was he not always ready to anticipate all my wishes, and take me to the theatre, for a walk, or read to me of an evening ? Well, and now he is in trouble, it is my turn. A poor little mouse like me can- not do much, I know that well enough ; but all I can do I will do, that he may rely upon. He shall find that I am a sincere friend. But, M. Rodolph, there is one thing which pains me, and that is that he should doubt me, — that he should suppose me capable of despising hii^i I 1 1 _ and for what, I should like to know ? That old notary accuses him of robbery. I know it is not true. Germain's letter has proved to me that he is innocent, even if I had thought him guilty. You have only to see him, and you would feel certain that he is incapable of a bad action. A person must be as wicked as M. Ferrand to assert such atrocious falsehoods." " Bravo, neighbour ; I like your indignation." " Oh, how I wish I were a man, that I might go to this notary and say to him, ' Oh, you say that Germain has robbed you, do you? Well, then, that's for you! And that he cannot steal from you, at all events? And thump — thump— thump, I would beat him till I couldn't stand over him." ^^ "You administer justice very expeditiously, said Rodolph, smiling. « Because it makes my blood boil. And, as Germain 23 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. says in his letter, all the world will side with his em- ployer, because he is rich and looked up to, whilst Germain is poor and unprotected, unless you will come to his assistance, M. Rodolph, — you who know such benevolent persons. Do not you think that something could be done ? " " He must await his sentence. Once acquitted, as I believe he will be, he will not want for proofs of the interest taken in him. But listen, neighbour ; for I know I may rely on your discretion." " Oh, yes, M. Rodolph, I never blab." "Well, then, no one must know — not even Germain himself — that he has friends who are watching over him, — for he has friends." " Really ! " " Very powerful and devoted." " It would give him much courage to know that." " Unquestionably ; but perhaps he might not keep it to himself. Then M. Ferrand, alarmed, would be on his guard, — his suspicions would be aroused ; and, as he is very cunning, it would become very difficult to catch him, which would be most annoying ; for not only must Germain's innocence be made clear, but his denouncer must be unmasked." " I understand, M. Rodolph." " It is the same with Louise ; and I bring you this order to see her, that you may beg of her not to tell any person what she disclosed to me. She will know what that means." " I understand, M. Rodolph." " In a word, let Louise beware of complaining in prison of her master's wickedness. This is most important. But she must conceal nothing from the barrister who will come from me to talk with her as to the grounds of her defence. Be sure you tell her all this." " Make yourself easy, neighbour, I will forget nothing; I have an excellent memory. But, when we talk of 24 EIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. goodness, it is you who are so good and^kind. If any nnp is in trouble, then you come directly. " i have told ;ou, my good little neighbour, that I am hnt a noor clerk; but when I meet with good persons who d^rve pro ection, I instantly tell a benevolent Tnd^vidual who has entire confidence in me, and they are helped at once. That's all I do m the matter. "And where are you lodging, now you have given up your chamber to the Morels ? " ^^ « I hve in a furnished lodging. u Oh, how I should hate that ! To be where all the world has been before you, it is as if everybody had been in your place." -, ^.i „„ " "I am only there at nights, and then—- "I understand, -it is less disagreeable. Yet 1 shouldn't hke it, M. Rodolph. My home made me so happy I had got into such a quiet way of living that I did not think it was possible I should ever know a sorrow And yet, you see - But no, I cannot describe o yoTthe blow which Germain's misfortune has brought upon me. I have seen the Morels, and others beside X were very much to be pitied -rtain ^ But at best, misery is misery ; and amongst poor folk, who look for it, it does not surprise them, and they help one anoth r as well as they can. To-day it is one, to-morrow it is another. As for oneself, what with courage and good s^i^ one extricates oneself. But to see a poor foung man honest and good, who has been JOur tend for a long time, -to see him accused of ^obbeiy and imprisoned and huddled up with ^^^"^"^^^^ ' ^ J'J'^^f M. Rodolph, I cannot get over that; it is a misfortmie I had never thought of, and it q^i^^^^.f ^^^Jj"^; .„^^ ^l,en "Courage, courage! ^Your spirits will return when your friend is acquitted." • ;i„o= Inve "Oh, yes, he must be acquitted. The judges ha^e only to read his letter to me, and that would be enough, — would it not, M. Rodolph ?" 25 THE MYSTERIES OE PARIS. " Really, this letter has all the appearance of truth. You must let me have a copy of it, for it will be neces- sary for Germain's defence." " Certainly, M. Rodolph. If I did not write such a scrawl, in spite of the lessons which good Germain gave me, I would offer to copy it myself ; but my writing is so large, so crooked, and has so many, many faults." " I will only ask you to trust the letter with me until to-morrow morning." "There it is; but you will take great care of it, I hope. I have burnt all the notes which M. Cabrion and M. Girandeau wrote me in the beginning of our acquain- tance, with flaming hearts and doves at the top of the paper, when they thought I was to be caught by their tricks and cajoleries ; but this poor letter of Germain's I will keep carefully, as well as the others, if he writes me any more ; for they, you know, M. Rodolph, will show in my favour that he has asked these small services, — won't they, M. Rodolph ? " " Most assuredly ; and they will prove that you are the best little friend any one can desire. But, now I think of it, instead of going alone to Germain's room, shall I accompany you ? " " With pleasure, neighbour. The night is coming on, and, in the evening, I do not like to be alone in the streets ; besides that, I have my work to carry nearly as far as the Palais Royal. But perhaps it will fatigue and annoy you to go so far ? " " Not at all. We will have a coach." " Really ! Oh, how pleased I should be to go in a coach if I had not so much to make me melancholy! And I really must be melancholy, for this is the first day since I have been here that I have not sung during the day. My birds are really quite astonished. Poor little dears ! They cannot make it out. Two or three times Papa Cr(5tu has piped a little to try me ; I endeav- oured to answer him, but, after a minute or two, I begaa 26 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. to cry. Ramonette then began ; but I could not answer one any better than the other." " What singular names you have given your birds : Papa Cr^tu and Ramonette ! " " Why, M. Rodolph, my birds are the joy of my solitude, — my best friends; and I have given them the names of the worthy couple who were the joy of my childhood, and were also my best friends, not forget- ting that, to complete the resemblance, Papa Cretu and Ramonette were gay, and sang like birds." " Ah, now, yes, I remember, your adopted parents were called so." " Yes, neighbour, they are ridiculous names for birds, I know ; but that concerns no one but myself. And besides, it was in this very point that Germain showed his good heart." " In what way ? " " Why, M. Girandeau and M. Cabrion — especially M. Cabrion — were always making their jokes on the names of my birds. To call a canary Papa Crdtu ! There never was such nonsense as M. Cabrion made of it, and his jests were endless. If it was a cock bird, he said, ' Why, that would be well enough to call him Cr^tu. As to Ramonette, that's well enough for a hen canary, for it resembles Ramona.' In fact, he quite wore my patience out, and for two Sundays I would not go out with him in order to teach him a lesson ; and I told him very seriously, that if he began his tricks, which annoyed me so much, we should never go out together again." " What a bold resolve ! " " Yes, it was really a sacrifice on my part, M. Ro- dolph, for I was always looking forward with delight to my Sundays, and I was very much tried by being kept in all alone in such beautiful weather. But that's noth- ing. I preferred sacrificing my Sundays to hearing M. Cabrion continue to make ridicule of those whom 27 THE MYSTERIES OF PAEIS. I respected. Certainly, after that, but for the idea I attached to them, I should have preferred giving my birds other names ; and, you must know, there is one name which I adore, — it is Colibri.^ I did not change, because I never will call those birds by any other name than Cr6t\i and Ramonette ; if I did, I should seem to make a sacrifice, that I forgot my good, adopted parents, — don't you think so, M. Rodolph ? " " You are right a thousand times over. And Germain did not turn these names into a jest, eh ? " " On the contrary, the first time he heard them he thought them droll, like every one else, and that was natural enough. But when I explained to him my rea- sons, as I had many times explained them to M. Cabrion, tears started to his eyes. From that time I said to myself, M. Germain is very kind-hearted, and there is nothing to be said against him, but his weeping so. And so, you see, M. Rodolph, my reproaching him with his sadness has made me unhappy now. Then I could not understand why any one was melancholy, but now I understand it but too well. But now my packet is completed, and my work is ready for delivery. Will you hand me my shawl, neighbour ? It is not cold enough to take a cloak, is it ? " " We shall go and return in a coach." " True ; we shall go and return very quickly, and that will be so much gained." " But, now I think of it, what are you to do ? Your work will suffer from your visits to the prison." " Oh, no, no ; I have made my calculations. In the first place, I have my Sundays to myself, so I shall go and see Louise and Germain on those days ; that will serve me for a walk and a change. Then, in the week, I shall go again to the prison once or twice. Each time will occupy me three good hours, won't it ? Well, to 1 Colibri is a celebrated chanson of Beranger, the especial poet of gri- settes. — English Translator. 28 RIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. manage this comfortably, I shall work an hour more rvery day, and go to bed at twelve o'clock mstead of eLven o'clock ; that will be a clear gam of seven or eight hours a week, which I can employ m gomg to see Louise and Germain. You see I am richer than I appear," added Rigolette, with a smile. "And you have no fear that you will be over- f 4-* rl 9 " ^ ""Bah ! Not at all ; I shall manage it. And, besides, it can't last for ever." ^^ « Here is your shawl, neighbour. ^^ « Fasten it ; and mind you don't prick me. « Ah, the pin is bent." "Well, then, clumsy, take another then, — from the pincushion. Ah, I forgot! Will you do me a great favour, neighbour ? " " Command me, neighbour.' " Mend me a good pen, with a broad nib, so that when I return I may write to poor Germain and tell him i have executed all his commissions. He will have my letter to-morrow morning m the prison, and that will give him pleasure." " Where are your pens ? " . . ,, ■■ « There, -on the table ; the knife is m the drawer. Wait until I light my taper, for it begins to grow dusk. " Yes, I shall see better how to mend the pen. "And I how to tie my cap." . ^^ ^.^. a ^ Rigolette lighted a lucifer-match, and lighted a wax-end in a small bright candlestick. "The deuce, -a wax-light! Why, neighbour, what '''" ol'^what'l burn costs but a very small trifle more than a candle, and it's so much cleaner ! " " Not much dearer?" ^ i „ +i.« " Indeed, they are not ! I buy these wax-ends by the pound, and a half a pound lasts nearly a year. " But," said Rodolph, who was mending the pen veiy 29 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. carefully, whilst the grisette was tying on her cap before the glass, "I do not see any preparations for your dinner." " I have not the least appetite. I took a cup of milk this morning, and I shall take another this evening, with a small piece of bread, and that will be enough for me." " Then you will not take a dinner with me quietly after we have been to Germain's ? " " Thank you, neighbour ; but I am not in spirits, — my heart is too heavy, — another time with pleasure. But the evening when poor Germain leaves his prison, I invite myself, and afterwards you shall take me to the theatre. Is that a bargain ? " " It is, neighbour ; and I assure you I will not forget the engagement. But you refuse me this to-day ?" " Yes, M. Rodolph. I should be a very dull com- panion, without saying a word about the time it would occupy me ; for, you see, at this moment, I really cannot afford to be idle, or waste one single quarter of an hour." " Then, for to-day I renounce the pleasure." "There is my parcel, neighbour. Now go out first, and I will lock the door." " Here's a capital pen for you ; and now for the parcel." " Mind you don't rumple it ; it is pout-de-soie^ and soon creases. Hold it in your hand, — carefully, — there, in that way ; that's it. Now go, and I will show you a light." And Rodolph descended the staircase, followed by Rigolette. At the moment when the two neighbours were passing by the door of the porter's lodge they saw M. Pipelet, who, with his arms hanging down, was advancing towards them from the bottom of the passage, holding in one hand the sign which announced his Partnership of Friendship with Cabrion, and in the other the portrait of the con- 30 BIGOLETTE'S FIRST SORROW. founded painter. Alfred's despair was so overwhelming that his chin touched his breast, so that the wide crown of his bell-shaped hat was easily seen. Seeing him thus, with his head lowered, coming towards Rodolph and Rigolette, he might have been compared to a ram, or a brave Breton, preparing for combat. Anastasie soon appeared on the threshold of the lodge, and exclaimed, at her husband's appearance : " Well, dearest old boy, here you are ! And what did the commissary say to you? Alfred, Alfred, mind what you're doing, or you'll poke your head against my king of lodgers. Excuse him, M. Rodolph. It is that vagabond of a Cabrion, who uses him worse and worse. He'll certainly turn my dear old darling into a donkey ! Alfred, love, speak to me ! " At this voice, so dear to his heart, M. Pipelet raised his head. His features were impressed with a bitter agony. " What did the commissary say to you ? " inquired Anastasie. " Anastasie, we must collect the few things we possess, embrace our friends, pack up our trunk, and expatriate ourselves from Paris, — from France, — from my beauti- ful France ; for now, assured of impunity, the monster is capable of pursuing me everywhere, throughout the length and breadth of the departments of the kingdom." " What, the commissary ? " " The commissary," exclaimed M. Pipelet, with fierce indignation, — " the commissary laughed in my teeth ! " "At you, — a man of mature age, with an air so respectable that you would appear as silly as a goose if one did not know your virtues ? " " Well, notwithstanding that, when I had respectfully deposed in his presence my mass of complaints and vexa- tions against that infernal Cabrion, the magistrate, after having looked and laughed — yes, laughed, and, I may add, laughed indecorously — at the sign and the portrait 31 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. which I brought with me as corroborative testimony, — the magistrate replied, ' My good fellow, this Cabrion is a wag, — a practical joker. But pay no attention to his pleasantries. I advise you to laugh at him, and heartily, too, for really there is ample cause to do so.' ' To laugh at it, sir-r-r ! ' I exclaimed, — ' to laugh at it, when grief consumes me, — when this scamp poisons my very exis- tence ; he placards me, and will drive me out of my wits. I demand that they imprison, exile the monster, — at least from my street ! ' At these words the commissary smiled, and politely pointed to the door. I understood the magistrate, sighed, and — and — here I am ! " " Good-for-nothing magistrate ! " exclaimed Madame Pipelet. " It is all over, Anastasie, — all is ended, — hope ceases. There's no justice in France ; I am really atrociously sacrificed." And, by way of peroration, M. Pipelet dashed the sign and portrait to the farther end of the passage with all his force. Rodolph and Rigolette had in the shade smiled at M. Pipelet's despair. After having said a few words of consolation to Alfred, whom Anastasie was trying to calm as well as she could, the king of lodgers left the house in the Rue du Temple with Rigolette, and they both got into a coach to go to Fran9ois Germain's. 82 CHAPTER II. THE WILL. Francois Germain resided No. 11 Boulevard St. Denis. It may not be amiss to recall to the reader, who has probably forgotten the circumstance, that Ma- dame Mathieu, the diamond-matcher, whose name has been already mentioned as the person for whom Morel the lapidary worked, lodged in the same house as Ger- main. During the long ride from the Rue du Temple to the Rue St. Honore, where dwelt the dressmaker for whom Rigolette worked, Rodolph had ample oppor- tunities of more fully appreciating the fine natural dis- position of his companion. Like all instinctively noble and devoted characters, she appeared utterly unconscious of the delicacy and generosity of her conduct, all she said and did seeming to her as the most simple and matter-of-course thing possible. Nothing would have been more easy than for Rodolph to provide liberally both for Rigolette's present and future wants, and thus to have enabled her to carry her consoling attentions to Louise and Germain, without grieving over the loss of that time which was necessarily taken from her work, — her sole dependence ; but the prince was unwilling to diminish the value of the gri- sette's devotion by removing all the difficulties, and, although firmly resolved to bestow a rich reward on the rare and beautiful qualities he hourly discovered in her, he determined to follow her to the termination of this new and interesting trial. It is scarcely necessary to say that, had the health of the young girl appeared to 33 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. suffer in the smallest degree from the increase of labour she so courageously imposed on herself, in order to ded- icate a portion of each week to the unhappy daughter of the lapidary and the son of the Schoolmaster, Rodolph would instantaneously have stepped forward to her aid ; and he continued to study with equal pleasure and emo- tion the workings of a nature so naturally disposed to view everything on its sunny side, so full of internal happiness, and so little accustomed to sorrow that oc- casionally she would smile, and seem the mirthful crea- ture nature had made her, spite of all the grief by which she was surrounded. At the end of about an hour, the fiacre, returning from the Rue St. Honor^, stopped before a modest, unpretending sort of house, situated No. 11 Boulevard St. Denis. Rodolph assisted Rigolette to alight. The young sempstress then proceeded to the porter's lodge, where she communicated Germain's intentions, without forgetting the promised gratuity. Owing to the extreme amenity of his disposition, the son of the Schoolmaster was unusually beloved, and the confrere of M. Pipelet was deeply grieved to learn that so quiet and well-conducted a lodger was about to quit the house, and to that purpose the worthy porter warmly expressed himself. Having obtained a light, Rigolette proceeded to rejoin her companion, having first arranged with the porter that he should not follow her up-stairs till a time she indicated should have elapsed, and then merely to receive his final orders. The chamber occu- pied by Germain was situated on the fourth floor. When they reached the door, Rigolette handed the key to Rodolph, saying : " Here, will you open the door ? My hand trembles so violently, I cannot do it. I fear you will laugh at me. But, when I think that poor Germain will never more enter this room, I seem as though I were about to pass the threshold of a chamber of death." 34 THE WILL. " Come, come, my good neighbour, try and exert your- self ; you must not indulge such thoughts as these." " I know it is wrong ; but, indeed, I cannot help it," And here Rigolette tried to dry up the tears with which her eyes were filled. Without being equally affected as his companion, Rodolph still experienced a deep and painful emotion as he penetrated into this humble abode. Well aware of the detestable pertinacity with which the accomplices of the Schoolmaster pursued, and were possibly still pur- suing, Germain, he pictured to himself the many hours the unfortunate youth was constrained to pass in this cheerless solitude. Rigolette placed the light on the table. Nothing could possibly be more simple than the fittings-up of the apartment itself. Its sole furni- ture consisted of a small bed, a chest of drawers, a wal- nut-tree bureau, four rush-bottomed chairs, and a table ; white calico curtains hung from the windows and around the bed. The only ornament the mantelpiece presented was a water-bottle and glass. The bed was made ; but, by the impression left on it, it would seem that Germain had thrown himself on it without undressing on the night previous to his arrest. " Poor fellow ! " said Rigolette, sadly, as she examined each minute detail of the interior of the apartment ; " it is very easy to see I was not near him. His room is tidy, to be sure, but not as neat as it ought to be. Every- thing is covered with dust. The curtains are smoke- dried, the windows want cleaning, and the floor is not kept as it should be. Oh, dear, what a difference ! The Rue du Temple was not a better room, but it had a much more cheerful look, because everything was kept so bright and clean, — like in my apartment ! " " Because in the Rue du Temple he had the benefit of your advice and assistance." " Oh, pray look here ! " cried Rigolette, pointing to the bed. " Only see, — the poor fellow never went 35 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. to bed at all the last night he was here ! How uneasy he must have been ! See, he has left his handkerchief on his pillow, quite wet with his tears ! I can see that plainly enough." Then, taking up the handkerchief, she added, " Germain has kept a small, orange-coloured silk cravat I gave him once during our happy days. I have a great mind to keep this handkerchief in remembrance of his misfortune. Do you think he would be angry ? " " On the contrary, he would but be too much de- lighted with such a mark of your affection." " Ah, but we must not indulge in such thoughts now ; let us attend to more serious matters. I will make up a parcel of linen from the contents of those drawers, ready to take to the prison, and Mother Bouvard, whom 1 will send to-morrow, will see to the rest ; but first of all I will open the bureau, in order to get out the papers au'l money Germain wished me to take charge of." " But, now I think of it, Louise Morel gave me back yesterday the thirteen hundred francs in gold she received from Germain, to pay the lapidary's debt, which I had already discharged. I have this money about me ; it justly belongs to Germain, since he repaid the notary what he withdrew from the cash-box. I will place it in your hands, in order that you may add it to the sum entrusted to your care." " Just as you like, M. Rodolph, although really I should prefer not having so large a sum in my posses- sion, really there are so many dishonest people nowa- days ! As for papers, that's quite another thing ; I'll willingly take charge of as many papers as you please, but money is such a dangerous thing ! " " Perhaps you are right ; then I tell you what we will do — eh, neighbour ? I will be banker, and undertake the responsibility of guarding this money. Should Ger- main require anything, you can let me know ; I will leave you my address, and whatever you send for shall be punctually and faithfully sent." 36 THE WILL. " Oh, dear, yes, that will be very much better ! Ho-w good of you to offer, for I could not have ventured to propose such a thing to you ! So that is settled ; I will beg of you, also, to take whatever this furniture sells for. And now let us see about the papers," continued Rigolette, opening the bureau and pulling out several drawers. " Ah, I dare say this is it ! See what a large packet ! But, oh, good gracious, M. Rodolph, do pray look what mournful words these are written on the outside ! " And here Rigolette, in a faltering voice, read as follows : " ' In the event of my dying by either a violent or natural death, I request whoever may open this bureau to carry these papers to Mile. Rigolette, dressmaker, No. 17 Rue du Temple.' Do you think, M. Rodolph, that I may break the seals of the envelope ? " " Undoubtedly ; does not Germain expressly say that among the papers you will find a letter particularly addressed to yourself ? " The agitated girl broke the seals which secured the outward cover, and from it fell a quantity of papers, one of which, bearing the superscription of Mile. Rigolette, contained these words : "Mademoiselle: — "When this letter reaches your hands, I shall be no more, if, as I fear, I should perish by a violent death, through falling into a snare similar to that from "which I lately escaped. A few particulars herein enclosed, and entitled < Xotes on My Life,' may serve to discover my murderers." " Ah, M. Rodolph," cried Rigolette, interrupting her- self, " I am no longer astonished poor Germain was so melancholy ! How very dreadful to be continually pursued by such ideas ! " " He must, indeed, have suffered deeply ; but, trust me, his worst misfortunes are over." 37 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. " Alas, M. Rodolph, I trust it may prove so ! Still, to be in prison, and accused of theft ! " " Make yourself quite easy about him ; his innocence once proved, instead of returning to his former seclusion and loneliness, he will regain his friends. You, first £Lnd foremost, and then a dearly loved mother, from whom he has been separated from his childhood." " His mother ! Has he, then, still a mother ? " *' He has, but she has long believed him lost to her for ever. Imagine her delight at seeing him again, cleared from the unworthy charge now brought against him. You see I was right in saying that his greatest troubles were over ; do not mention his mother to him. I entrust you with the secret, because you take so gen- erous an interest in the fate of Germain that it is but due to your devotedness that you should be tranquillised as to his future fate." " Oh, thank you, M. Rodolph ! I promise you to guard the secret as carefully as you could do." Rigolette then proceeded with the perusal of Ger- main's letter ; it continued thus : " < Should you deign, mademoiselle, to cast your eyes over these notes, you will find that I have been unfortunate all my Life, always unhappy, except during the hours I have passed with you ; you will find sentiments I should never have ventured to express by words fully revealed in a sort of memorandum, entitled " My Only Days of Happiness." Nearly every evening, after quitting you, I thus poured forth the cheering thoughts with which your affection inspired me, and which only sweetened the bitterness of a cup full even to ovei-flowing. That which was but friendship in you, was, in my breast, the purest, the sincerest love ; but of that love I have never spoken. No, I reserved its full disclosure till the moment should arrive when I could be but as an object of your sorrowing recollection. No, never would I have sought to involve you in a destiny as thoroughly miserable as my own. But, when your eye peruses these pages, there will be nothing to fear from the power of my ill-starred fate. I shall have been your faithful friend, your adoring lover, but I shall no longer be dangerous to your future happiness in either sense. I have but 38 THE WILL. one last wish and desire, and I trust that you wiU kindly accom- Xh t I have witnessed the noble courage with which you Lbour day by day, as well as the care and management requisite to make you J hard-earned gain suthce for your moderate wants Oft" n have I shuddered at the bare idea of your being reduced by illness (brought on, probably, by overattention to your work) to a state too frfghtf ul to dwell upon. And it is no small cons(> lation to me to believe it in my power to spare you, not only a cSeraSe share of personal iLonvenience, but also to preserve you from evils youi- unsuspicious nature dieams not ot. " What does that last part mean, M. Rodolph ? " asked Eigolette, much surprised. " Proceed with the letter ; we shall see by and by. Rigolette thus resumed : «.I know upon how little you can live, and of what service even a small sum would be to you in any case of emergenc}-. i am veryToor myself, but still, by dint of rigid economy, I have m^nSto save fifteen hundred francs, which are placed in the hands of a banker; it is all I am worth in the wor d but by my ^n which you wi 1 find with this, I have ventured to bequeath TtoCu Lid I trust vou will not refuse to accept this last proof Slhe sincere affection of a fi-iend and brother, from whom death will have separated you when this meets your eye. «0h M. Rodolph," cried Rigolette, bursting into tears, "this is too much! Kind, good Germam, thus to consider my future welfare! What an excellent heart he must have ! " , „ • • „ j "Worthy and noble-minded young man! rejomed Rodolph, with deep emotion. " But calm yourself, my good girl. Thank God, Germain is still Imng! And, by anticipating the perusal of his last wishes, you will at least have learned how sincerely he loved you, — nay, still loves you ! " , , . -u^, "And only to think," said Rigolette, drying up her tears, "that I should never once have suspected it. When first I knew M. Girandeau and M. Cabrion, they were always talking to me of their violent love, and 39 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. flames, and darts, and such stuff ; but finding I took no notice of them, they left off wearying me with such non- sense. Now, on the contrary, Germain never named love to me. When I proposed to him that we should be good friends, he accepted the offer as frankly as it was made, and ever after that we were always excellent companions and neighbours ; but — now I don't mind telling you, M. Rodolph, that I was not sorry Germain never talked to me in the same silly strain." " But still it astonished you, did it not ? " " Why, M. Rodolph, I ascribed it to his melancholy, and I fancied his low spirits prevented his joking like the others." " And you felt angry with him, did you not, for always being so sad ? " " No," said the grisette, ingenuously ; " no, I excused him, because it was the only fault he had. But now that I have read his kind and feeling letter, I cannot forgive myself for ever having blamed him even for that one thing." " In the first place," said Rodolph, smiling, " you find that he had many and just causes for his sadness ; and secondly, that, spite of his melancholy, he did love you deeply and sincerely." " To be sure ; and it seems a thing to be proud of, to be loved by so excellent a young man ! " " Whose love you will, no doubt, return one of these days?" " I don't know about that, M. Rodolph, though it is very likely, for poor Germain is so much to be pitied. I can imagine myself in his place. Suppose, just when I fancied myself despised and forsaken by all the world, some one whom I loved very dearly should evince for me more regard than I had ventured to hope for, don't you think it would make me very happy ? " Then, after a short silence, Rigolette continued, with a sigh, " On the other hand, we are both so poor that, perhaps, it would 40 THE WILL. be very imprudent. Ah, well, M. Rodolph, I must not think of such things. Perhaps, too, I deceive myself. One thing, however, is quite sure, and that is, that so long as Germain remains in prison I will do all in my power for him. It will be time enough when he has regained his liberty for me to determine whether 'tis love or friendship I feel for him. Until then it would only torment me needlessly to try to make up my mind what I had better do. But it is getting late, M. Rodolph. Will you have the goodness to collect all those papers, while I make up a parcel of linen ? Ah, I forgot the little bag containing the little orange-coloured cravat I gave him. No doubt it is here — in this drawer. Oh, yes, this is it. Oh, see, what a pretty bag ! How nicely embroidered ! Poor Germain ! I declare he has kept such a trifle as this little handkerchief with as much care as though it had been some holy relic. I well remember the last time I had it around my throat; and when I gave it to him, poor fellow, how very pleased he was ! " At this moment some one knocked at the door. " Who's there ? " inquired Podolph. " Want to speak to Ma'am Mathieu," replied a harsh, hoarse voice, and in a tone which is peculiar to the lowest orders. (Madame Mathieu was the matcher of precious stones to whom we have before referred.) This voice, whose accent was peculiar, awoke some vague recollections in Rodolph's breast ; and, desirous of elucidating them, he took the light, and went himself to open the door. He found himself confronted by a man who was one of the frequenters of the tapis-frano of the ogress, and recognised him instantly, so deeply was the print of vice stamped upon him, so completely marked on his beardless and youthful features. It was Barbillon. Barbillon, the pretended hackney-coachman, who had driven the Schoolmaster and the Chouette to the hol- low way of Bouqueval, — Barbillon, the assassin of the 41 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. husband of the unhappy milkwoman, who had set the labourers of the farm at Arnouville on. against La Goualeuse. Whether this wretch had forgotten Ro- dolph's face, which he had never seen but once at the tapis-franc of the ogress, or that the change of dress prevented him from recognising the Chourineur's con- queror, he did not evince the slightest surprise at his appearance. " What do you want ? " inquired Rodolph. " Here's a letter for Ma'am Mathieu, and I must give it to her myself," was Barbillon's reply. "She does not live here, — it's opposite," said Rodolph. " Thank ye, master. They told me the left-hand door ; but I've mistook." Rodolph did not recollect the name of the diamond- matcher, which Morel the lapidary had only mentioned once or twice, and thus had no motive for interesting himself in the female to whom Barbillon came with his message ; but yet, although ignorant of the ruffian's crimes, his face was so decidedly repulsive that he remained at the threshold of the door, curious to see the person to whom Barbillon brought the letter. Barbillon had scarcely knocked at the door opposite to Germain's, than it opened, and the jewel-matcher, a stout woman of about fifty, appeared with a candle in her hand. " Ma'am Mathieu ? " inquired Barbillon. " That's me, my man." " Here's a letter, and I waits for an answer." And Barbillon made a step forward to enter the door- way, but the woman made him a sign to remain where he was, and unsealed the letter, which she read by the light of the candle she held, and then replied with an air of satisfaction : " Say it's all right, my man, and I will bring what is required. I will be there at the same hour as usual. My respects to the lady." 42 THE WILL. . - « Yes missus. Please to remember the porter ! " « Oh, you must ask them as sent you ; they are richer than I am." And she shut the door. ^ , ^ Xdolph returned to Gern^un's room when he^a- Barbillon run quickly down the ^taircase^ The ruffian found on the boulevard a man ^^/^-^^J^' ^^^^^ appearance, waiting for him in front of a ^^^P' Althouo-h the passers-by could hear (it is tiue they tuid n°ot comprehend), Barbillon appeared so delighted that he could not help saying to his companion : « Come and 'lush a drain of red tape, Nicho as tiie old mot swallows the bait, hook and all. She 11 show a the Chouette's. Old Mother Martial will lend a hand to peel her of the swag, and a;terwards we can box the ' cold meat' in your ' barkey.' " ,„;^vp^ " Let's mizzle,^ then ; for I must get back to Asnieies early, or else my brother Martial will smell summut And the two robbers, after having exchanged these words in their own slang, went towards the Rue .t. Denis. Some minutes afterwards Rigolette and Eodolph left Germain's, got into the hackney-coach, and reached the Rue du Temple. The coach stopped. -o^^i^ir^i. At the moment when the door opened Rodolph recognised by the light of the d^am-shop lamps his faitiSul Murphy, who was waiting for him at tne door ''Si?s" presence always announced some senous and sudden event, for it was he alone who knew at all times where to find the prince. ^ ^ -, , , nnioklv "What's the matter?" inqmred Rodolph, qmckl}, . .. come and let's have some ^r.n^J^'Xf^.Tcllt^^^^^ ; Mother Manfa" the dead bodv away in your boat. « " Let's be quick, then. 43 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. whilst Rigolette was collecting several things out of the vehicle. " A terrible circumstance, monseigneur ! '* " Speak, in heaven's name ! " " M. the Marquis d'Harville — " " You alarm me ! " " Had several friends to breakfast with him this morn- ing. He was in high spirits, had never been more joy- ous, when a fatal imprudence — " " Pray come to the point — pray ! " " And playing with a pistol, which he did not believe to be loaded — " " Wounded himself seriously." " Monseigneur ! " " Well ? " " Something dreadful ! " " What do you mean ? " " He is dead ! " " D'Harville ! Ah, how horrible ! " exclaimed Rodolph, in a tone so agonised that Rigolette, who was at the moment quitting the coach with the parcels, said : " Alas ! what ails you, M. Rodolph ? " " Some very distressing information I have just told my friend, mademoiselle," said Murphy to the young girl, for the prince was so overcome that he could not reply. "Is it, then, some dreadful misfortune?" said Rigolette, trembling all over. " Very dreadful, indeed ! " replied the squire. " Yes, most awful ! " said Rodolph, after a few moment's silence ; then recollecting Rigolette, he said to her, " Excuse me, my dear neighbour, if I do not go up to your room with you. To-morrow I will send you my address, and an order to go to see Germain in his prison. I will soon see you again." "Ah, M. Rodolph, 1 assure you that I share in the grief you now experience ! I thank you very much for 44 THE WILL. having accompanied me ; but I shall soon see you again, sha'n't I?" " Yes, my child, very soon." " Good evening, M. Rodolph," added Rigolette, and then disappeared down the passage with the various things she had brought away from Germain's room. The prince and Murphy got into the liackney-coach, which took them to the Rue Plumet. Rodolph imme- diately wrote the following note to Cldmence : " Madame : — I have this instant learned the sudden blow which has struck you, and deprived me of one of my best friends. I forbear any attempt to portray my horror and my regret. Yet I must mention to you certain circumstances unconnected with tliis cruel event. I have just learned that your stepmother, who has been, no doubt, in Paris for several days, returns this evening to Normandy, taking with her Polidori. No doubt but this fact will convince you of the peril which threatens your father ; and pray allow me to give you some advice, which I think requisite. After the appalling event of this morning, every one must but too easily conceive your anxiety to quit Paris for some time ; go, therefore, go at once, to Aubiers, so that you may arrive there before your stepmother, or, at least, as soon as she. Make your- self easy, madame, for I shall watch at a distance, as well as close, the abominable projects of your stepmother. Adieu, madame ; I write these few lines to you in great haste. My heart is lacerated when I remember yesterday evening, when I left him, — him, — more tranquil and more happy than he had been for a veiy long time. " Believe, madame, in my deep and lasting devotion, " Rodolph." Following the prince's advice, three hours after she had received this letter, Madame d'Harville, accompanied by her daughter, was on the road to Normandy. A post- chaise, despatched from Rodolph's mansion, followed in the same route. Unfortunately, in the troubled state into which this complication of events and the hurry of her departure had driven her, Cl^mence had forgotten to inform the prince that she had met Fleur-de-Marie at St. Lazare. 45 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. Our readers may, perhaps, remember that, on the previous evening, the Chouette had been menacing Madame Sdraphin, and threatening to unfold the whole history of La Goualeuse's existence, affirming that she knew (and she spoke truth) where the young girl then was. The reader may also recollect that, after this con- versation, the notary, Jacques Ferrand, dreading the disclosure of his criminal course, believed that he had a strong motive for effecting the disappearance of La Goualeuse, whose existence, once known, would com- promise him fatally. He had, in consequence, written to Bradamanti, one of his accomplices, to come to him that they might together arrange a fresh plot, of which Fleur-de-Marie was to be the victim. Bradamanti, occu- pied by the no less pressing interests of Madame d'Har- ville's stepmother, who had her own sinister motives for taking the charlatan with her to M. d'Orbigny, finding it, no doubt, more profitable to serve his ancient female ally, did not attend to the notary's appointment, but set out for Normandy without seeing Madame Sdraphin. The storm was gathering over the head of Jacques Ferrand. During the day the Chouette had returned to reiterate her threats ; and to prove that they were not vain, she declared to the notary that the little girl, formerly abandoned by Madame Sdraphin, was then a prisoner in St. Lazare, under the name of La Goualeuse ; and that if he did not give ten thousand francs (400^.) in three days, this young girl would receive the papers which belonged to her, and which would instruct her that she had been confided in her infancy to the care of Jacques Ferrand. According to his custom, the notary denied all boldly, and drove the Chouette away as an impudent liar, although he was perfectly convinced, and greatly alarmed at the dangerous drift of her threats. Thanks to his numerous connections, the notary found means to ascertain that very day (during the conversa- tion of Fleur-de-Marie and Madame d'Harville) that La 46 THE WILL. Goualeuse was actually a prisoner m St. Lazare, and so marked for her good conduct that they were expecting her discharge every moment. Thus informed, Jacques Ferrand, having determined on his deadly scheme, felt that, in order to carry it into execution, Bradamanti's help was more than ever indispensable ; and thereon came Madame S^raphin's vain attempts to see the doctor. Having at length heard, in the evening, of the departure of the charlatan, the notary, driven to act by the imminence of his fears and danger, recalled to mind the Martial family, those freshwater pirates established near the bridge of Asni^res, with whom Bradamanti had proposed to place Louise, in order to get rid of her undetected. Having absolutely need of an accomplice te carry out his deadly purposes against Fleur-de-Marie, the notary took every precaution not to be compromised in case a fresh crime should be com- mitted ; and, the day after Bradamanti's departure for Normandy, Madame Sdraphin went with all speed to the Martials. 47 CHAPTER III. l'ile du ravageur. The following scenes took place during the evening of the day in which Madame S^raphin, in compliance with Jacques Ferrand the notary's orders, went to the Mar- tials, the freshwater pirates established at the point of a small islet of the Seine, not far from the bridge of Asni^res. The Father Martial had died, like his own father, on the scaffold, leaving a widow, four sons, and two daugh- ters. The second of these sons was already condemned to the galleys for life, and of the rest of this numerous family there remained in the He du Ravageur (a name which was popularly given to this place ; why, we will hereafter explain) the Mother Martial ; three sons, the eldest (La Louve's lover) twenty-five years of age, the next twenty, and the youngest twelve ; two girls, one eighteen years of age, the second nine. The examples of such families, in whom there is perpetuated a sort of fearful inheritance of crime, are but too frequent. And this must be so. Let us repeat, unceasingly, society thinks of punishing, but never of preventing, crime. A criminal is sentenced to the galleys for life ; another is executed. These felons will leave young families ; does society take any care or heed of these orphans, — these orphans, whom it has made so, by visiting their father with a civil death, or cutting off his head ? Does it substitute any careful or preserving guardianship after the removal of him 48 L'lLE DU RAVAGEUR. whom the law has declared to be unworthy, infamous, — • after the removal of him whom the law has put to death ? No ; " the poison dies with the beast," says society. It is deceived ; the poison of corruption is so subtle, so corrosive, so contagious, that it becomes almost invariably hereditary ; but, if counteracted in time, it would never be incurable. Strange contradiction ! Dis- section proves that a man dies of a malady that may be transmitted, and then, by precautionary measures, his descendants are preserved from the affection of which he has been the victim. Let the same facts be produced in the moral order of things ; let it be demon- strated that a criminal almost always bequeaths to his son the germ of a precocious depravity. Will society do for the safety of this young soul what the doctor does for the body, when it is a question of contending against hereditary vitiation ? No ; instead of curing this unhappy creature, we leave him to be gangrened, even to death ; and then, in the same way as the people believe the son of the executioner to be an executioner, perforce, also, they will believe the son of a criminal also a criminal. And then we consider that the result of an inheritance inexorably fatal, which is really a corruption caused by the egotistical neglect of society. Thus, if, in spite of the evil mark on his name, the orphan, whom the law has made so, remains, by chance, industrious and honest, a barbarous prejudice will still reflect on him his father's offences ; and thus subjected to undeserved reprobation, he will scarcely find employ- ment. And, instead of coming to his aid, to save him from discouragement, despair, and, above all, the dan- gerous resentments of injustice, which sometimes drive the most generous disposition to revolt to ill, society will say : " Let him go wrong if he will, — we shall watch him. Have we not gaolers, turnkeys, and executioners ? " Thus for him who (and it is as rare as it is meritori- 49 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS. ous) preserves himself pure in spite of the worst ex- amples, is there any support, any encouragement ? Thus for him who, plunged from his birth in a focus of domestic depravity, is vitiated quite young, what hope is there of cure ? " Yes, yes, I will cure him, the orphan I have made,'* replies society; "but in my own way, — by and by. To extirpate the smallpox, to cut out the imposthume, it must come to a head." A criminal desires to speak. " Prisons and galleys, they are my hospitals. In incurable cases there is the executioner. As to the cure of my orphan," adds society, "I will reflect upon it. Let the germ of hereditary corruption ripen; let it increase ; let it extend its ravages far and wide. When our man shall be rotten to the heart, when crime oozes out of him at every pore, when a robbery or desperate murder shall have placed him at the same bar of infamy at which his father stood, then we will cure this inheritor of crime, — as we cured his progenitor. At the galleys or on the scaffold the son will find his father's seat still warm." Society thus reasons ; and it is astonished, and indig- nant, and frightened, to see how robberies and murders are handed down so fatally from generation to generation. The dark picture which is now to follow — The Freshwater Pirates — is intended to display what the inheritance of evil in a family may be when society does not come legally or officially to preserve the unfortunate victims of the law from the terrible consequences of the sentence executed against the father. ^ 1 In proportion as -we advance in this work, its moral aim is attacked with so much bitterness, and, as we think, with so much injustice, that we ask permission t