The Wandering Jew, Complete

E >> Eugene Sue >> The Wandering Jew, Complete


Notwithstanding the general gayety, these words made a gloomy impression;
a sort of electric shudder ran through the assemblage, and nearly every
countenance became suddenly serious.

"Oh, Cephyse!" said Jacques, in a tone of reproach.

"Luck to the Cholera," repeated the Queen, fearlessly. "Let him spare
those who wish to live, and kill together those who dread to part!"

Jacques and Cephyse exchanged a rapid glance, unnoticed by their joyous
companions, and for some time the Bacchanal Queen remained silent and
thoughtful.

"If you put it that way, it is different," cried Rose-Pompon, boldly. "To
the Cholera! may none but good fellows be left on earth!"

In spite of this variation, the impression was still painfully
impressive. Dumoulin, wishing to cut short this gloomy subject,
exclaimed: "Devil take the dead, and long live the living! And, talking
of chaps who both live and live well, I ask you to drink a health most
dear to our joyous queen, the health of our Amphitryon. Unfortunately, I
do not know his respectable name, having only had the advantage of making
his acquaintance this night; he will excuse me, then, if I confine myself
to proposing the health of Sleepinbuff--a name by no means offensive to
my modesty, as Adam never slept in any other manner. I drink to
Sleepinbuff."

"Thanks, old son!" said Jacques, gayly; "were I to forget your name, I
should call you 'Have-a-sip?' and I am sure that you would answer: 'I
will.'"

"I will directly!" said Dumoulin, making the military salute with one
hand, and holding out the bowl with the other.

"As we have drunk together," resumed Sleepinbuff, cordially, "we ought to
know each other thoroughly. I am Jacques Rennepont?"

"Rennepont!" cried Dumoulin, who appeared struck by the name, in spite of
his half-drunkenness; "you are Rennepont?"

"Rennepont in the fullest sense of the word. Does that astonish you?"

"There is a very ancient family of that name--the Counts of Rennepont."

"The deuce there is!" said the other, laughing.

"The Counts of Rennepont are also Dukes of Cardoville," added Dumoulin.

"Now, come, old fellow! do I look as if I belonged to such a family?--I,
a workman out for a spree?"

"You a workman? why, we are getting into the Arabian Nights!" cried
Dumoulin, more and more surprised. "You give us a Belshazzar's banquet,
with accompaniment of carriages and four, and yet are a workman? Only
tell me your trade, and I will join you, leaving the Vine of the Divine
to take care of itself."

"Come, I say! don't think that I am a printer of flimsies, and a
smasher!" replied Jacques, laughing.

"Oh, comrade! no such suspicion--"

"It would be excusable, seeing the rigs I run. But I'll make you easy on
that point. I am spending an inheritance."

"Eating and drinking an uncle, no doubt?" said Dumoulin, benevolently.

"Faith, I don't know."

"What! you don't know whom you are eating and drinking?"

"Why, you see, in the first place, my father was a bone-grubber."

"The devil he was!" said Dumoulin, somewhat out of countenance, though in
general not over-scrupulous in the choice of his bottle-companions: but,
after the first surprise, he resumed, with the most charming amenity:
"There are some rag-pickers very high by scent--I mean descent!"

"To be sure! you may think to laugh at me," said Jacques, "but you are
right in this respect, for my father was a man of very great merit. He
spoke Greek and Latin like a scholar, and often told me that he had not
his equal in mathematics; besides, he had travelled a good deal."

"Well, then," resumed Dumoulin, whom surprise had partly sobered, "you
may belong to the family of the Counts of Rennepont, after all."

"In which case," said Rose-Pompon, laughing, "your father was not a
gutter-snipe by trade, but only for the honor of the thing."

"No, no--worse luck! it was to earn his living," replied Jacques; "but,
in his youth, he had been well off. By what appeared, or rather by what
did not appear, he had applied to some rich relation, and the rich
relation had said to him: 'Much obliged! try the work'us.' Then he wished
to make use of his Greek, and Latin, and mathematics. Impossible to do
anything--Paris, it seems, being choke-full of learned men--so my father
had to look for his bread at the end of a hooked stick, and there, too,
he must have found it, for I ate of it during two years, when I came to
live with him after the death of an aunt, with whom I had been staying in
the country."

"Your respectable father must have been a sort of philosopher," said
Dumoulin; "but, unless he found an inheritance in a dustbin, I don't see
how you came into your property."

"Wait for the end of the song. At twelve years of age I was an apprentice
at the factory of M. Tripeaud; two years afterwards, my father died of an
accident, leaving me the furniture of our garret--a mattress, a chair,
and a table--and, moreover, in an old Eau de Cologne box, some papers
(written, it seems, in English), and a bronze medal, worth about ten
sous, chain and all. He had never spoken to me of these papers, so, not
knowing if they were good for anything, I left them at the bottom of an
old trunk, instead of burning them--which was well for me, since it is
upon these papers that I have had money advanced."

"What a godsend!" said Dumoulin. "But somebody must have known that you
had them?"

"Yes; one of those people that are always looking out for old debts came
to Cephyse, who told me all about it; and, after he had read the papers,
he said that the affair was doubtful, but that he would lend me ten
thousand francs on it, if I liked. Ten thousand francs was a large sum,
so I snapped him up!"

"But you must have supposed that these old papers were of great value."

"Faith, no! since my father, who ought to have known their value, had
never realized on them--and then, you see, ten thousand francs in good,
bright coin, falling as it were from the clouds, are not to be sneezed
at--so I took them--only the man made me do a bit of stiff as guarantee,
or something of that kind."

"Did you sign it?"

"Of course--what did I care about it? The man told me it was only a
matter of form. He spoke the truth, for the bill fell due a fortnight
ago, and I have heard nothing of it. I have still about a thousand francs
in his hands, for I have taken him for my banker. And that's the way, old
pal, that I'm able to flourish and be jolly all day long, as pleased as
Punch to have left my old grinder of a master, M. Tripeaud."

As he pronounced this name, the joyous countenance of Jacques became
suddenly overcast. Cephyse, no longer under the influence of the painful
impression she had felt for a moment, looked uneasily at Jacques, for she
knew the irritation which the name of M. Tripeaud produced within him.

"M. Tripeaud," resumed Sleepinbuff, "is one that would make the good bad,
and the bad worse. They say that a good rider makes a good horse; they
ought to say that a good master makes a good workman. Zounds! when I
think of that fellow!" cried Sleepinbuff, striking his hand violently on
the table.

"Come, Jacques--think of something else!" said the Bacchanal Queen. "Make
him laugh, Rose-Pompon."

"I am not in a humor to laugh," replied Jacques, abruptly, for he was
getting excited from the effects of the wine; "it is more than I can bear
to think of that man. It exasperates me! it drives me mad! You should
have heard him saying: 'Beggarly workmen! rascally workmen! they grumble
that they have no food in their bellies; well, then, we'll give them
bayonets to stop their hunger.'[11] And there's the children in his
factory--you should see them, poor little creatures!--working as long as
the men--wasting away, and dying by the dozen--what odds? as soon as they
were dead plenty of others came to take their places--not like horses,
which can only be replaced with money."

"Well, it is clear, that you do not like your old master," said Dumoulin,
more and more surprised at his Amphitryon's gloomy and thoughtful air,
and, regretting that the conversation had taken this serious turn, he
whispered a few words in the ear of the Bacchanal Queen, who answered by
a sign of intelligence.

"I don't like M. Tripeaud!" exclaimed Jacques. "I hate him--and shall I
tell you why? Because it is as much his fault as mine, that I have become
a good-for-nothing loafer. I don't say it to screen myself; but it is the
truth. When I was 'prenticed to him as a lad, I was all heart and ardor,
and so bent upon work, that I used to take my shirt off to my task,
which, by the way, was the reason that I was first called Sleepinbuff.
Well! I might have toiled myself to death; not one word of encouragement
did I receive. I came first to my work, and was the last to leave off;
what matter? it was not even noticed. One day, I was injured by the
machinery. I was taken to the hospital. When I came out, weak as I was, I
went straight to my work; I was not to be frightened; the others, who
knew their master well, would often say to me: 'What a muff you must be,
little one! What good will you get by working so hard?'--still I went on.
But, one day, a worthy old man, called Father Arsene, who had worked in
the house many years, and was a model of good conduct, was suddenly
turned away, because he was getting too feeble. It was a death-blow to
him; his wife was infirm, and, at his age, he could not get another
place. When the foreman told him he was dismissed, he could not believe
it, and he began to cry for grief. At that moment, M. Tripeaud passes;
Father Arsene begs him with clasped hands to keep him at half-wages.
'What!' says M. Tripeaud, shrugging his shoulders; 'do you think that I
will turn my factory into a house of invalids? You are no longer able to
work--so be off!' 'But I have worked forty years of my life; what is to
become of me?' cried poor Father Arsene. 'That is not my business,'
answered M. Tripeaud; and, addressing his clerk, he added: 'Pay what is
due for the week, and let him cut his stick.' Father Arsene did cut his
stick; that evening, he and his old wife suffocated themselves with
charcoal. Now, you see, I was then a lad; but that story of Father Arsene
taught me, that, however hard you might work, it would only profit your
master, who would not even thank you for it, and leave you to die on the
flags in your old age. So all my fire was damped, and I said to myself:
'What's the use of doing more than I just need? If I gain heaps of gold
for M. Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?' Therefore, finding neither
pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgust for it--just did barely
enough to earn my wages--became an idler and a rake--and said to myself:
'When I get too tired of labor, I can always follow the example of Father
Arsene and his wife."'

Whilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts,
the other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin and the
Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal from the
Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles and glasses
with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompaniment of Ninny
Moulin's rattle "The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of the Storm-blown
Tulip!"

At these joyous cries, which burst suddenly, like shell, Jacques started;
then gazing with astonishment at his guests, he drew his hand across his
brow, as if to chase away the painful ideas that oppressed him, and
exclaimed: "You are right. Forward the first couple! Let us be merry!"

In a moment, the table, lifted by vigorous arms, was removed to the
extremity of the banqueting-room; the spectators, mounted upon chairs,
benches, and window-ledges, began to sing in chorus the well-known air of
les Etudiants, so as to serve instead of orchestra, and accompany the
quadrille formed by Sleepinbuff, the Queen, Ninny Moulin, and Rose
Pompon.

Dumoulin, having entrusted his rattle to one of the guests, resumed his
extravagant Roman helmet and plume; he had taken off his great-coat at
the commencement of the feast, so that he now appeared in all the
splendor of his costume. His cuirass of bright scales ended in a tunic of
feathers, not unlike those worn by the savages, who form the oxen's
escort on Mardi Gras. Ninny Moulin had a huge paunch and thin legs, so
that the latter moved about at pleasure in the gaping mouths of his large
top boots.

Little Rose-Pompon, with her pinched-up cocked-hat stuck on one side, her
hands in the pockets of her trousers, her bust a little inclined forward,
and undulating from right to left, advanced to meet Ninny-Moulin; the
latter danced, or rather leaped towards her, his left leg bent under him,
his right leg stretched forward, with the toe raised, and the heel
gliding on the floor; moreover, he struck his neck with his left hand,
and by a simultaneous movement, stretched forth his right, as if he would
have thrown dust in the eyes of his opposite partner.

This first figure met with great success, and the applause was
vociferous, though it was only the innocent prelude to the step of the
Storm-blown Tulip--when suddenly the door opened, and one of the waiters,
after looking about for an instant, in search of Sleepinbuff, ran to him,
and whispered some words in his ear.

"Me!" cried Jacques, laughing; "here's a go!"

The waiter added a few more words, when Sleepinbuff's face assumed an
expression of uneasiness, as he answered. "Very well! I come
directly,"--and he made a step towards the door.

"What's the matter, Jacques?" asked the Bacchanal Queen, in some
surprise.

"I'll be back immediately. Some one take my place. Go on with the dance,"
said Sleepinbuff, as he hastily left the room.

"Something, that was not put down in the bill," said Dumoulin; "he will
soon be back."

"That's it," said Cephyse. "Now cavalier suel!" she added, as she took
Jacques's place, and the dance continued.

Ninny Moulin had just taken hold of Rose Pompon with his right hand, and
of the Queen with his left, in order to advance between the two, in which
figure he showed off his buffoonery to the utmost extent, when the door
again opened, and the same waiter, who had called out Jacques, approached
Cephyse with an air of consternation, and whispered in her ear, as he had
before done to Sleepinbuff.

The Bacchanal Queen grew pale, uttered a piercing scream, and rushed out
of the room without a word, leaving her guests in stupefaction.

[11] These atrocious words were actually spoken during the Lyons Riots.




CHAPTER IV.

THE FAREWELL

The Bacchanal Queen, following the waiter, arrived at the bottom of the
staircase. A coach was standing before the door of the house. In it she
saw Sleepinbuff, with one of the men who, two hours before, had been
waiting on the Place du Chatelet.

On the arrival of Cephyse, the man got down, and said to Jacques, as he
drew out his watch: "I give you a quarter of an hour; it is all that I
can do for you, my good fellow; after that we must start. Do not try to
escape, for we'll be watching at the coach doors."

With one spring, Cephyse was in the coach. Too much overcome to speak
before, she now exclaimed, as she took her seat by Jacques, and remarked
the paleness of his countenance: "What is it? What do they want with
you?"

"I am arrested for debt," said Jacques, in a mournful voice.

"You!" exclaimed Cephyse, with a heart-rending sob.

"Yes, for that bill, or guarantee, they made me sign. And yet the man
said it was only a form--the rascal!"

"But you have money in his hands; let him take that on account."

"I have not a copper; he sends me word by the bailiff, that not having
paid the bill, I shall not have the last thousand francs."

"Then let us go to him, and entreat him to leave you at liberty. It was
he who came to propose to lend you this money. I know it well, as he
first addressed himself to me. He will have pity on you."

"Pity?--a money broker pity? No! no!"

"Is there then no hope? none?" cried Cephyse clasping her hands in
anguish. "But there must be something done," she resumed. "He promised
you!"

"You can see how he keeps his promises," answered Jacques, with
bitterness. "I signed, without even knowing what I signed. The bill is
over-due; everything is in order, it would be vain to resist. They have
just explained all that to me."

"But they cannot keep you long in prison. It is impossible."

"Five years, if I do not pay. As I'll never be able to do so, my fate is
certain."

"Oh! what a misfortune! and not to be able to do anything!" said Cephyse,
hiding her face in her hands.

"Listen to me, Cephyse," resumed Jacques, in a voice of mournful emotion;
"since I am here, I have thought only of one thing--what is to become of
you?"

"Never mind me!"

"Not mind you?--art mad? What will you do? The furniture of our two rooms
is not worth two hundred francs. We have squandered our money so
foolishly, that we have not even paid our rent. We owe three quarters,
and we must not therefore count upon the furniture. I leave you without a
coin. At least I shall be fed in prison--but how will you manage to live?

"What is the use of grieving beforehand?"

"I ask you how you will live to-morrow?" cried Jacques.

"I will sell my costume, and some other clothes. I will send you half the
money, and keep the rest. That will last some days."

"And afterwards?--afterwards?"

"Afterwards?--why, then--I don't know--how can I tell you!
Afterwards--I'll look about me."

"Hear me, Cephyse," resumed Jacques, with bitter agony. "It is now that I
first know how mach I love you. My heart is pressed as in a vise at the
thought of leaving you and I shudder to thinly what is to become of you."
Then--drawing his hand across his forehead, Jacques added: "You see we
have been ruined by saying--'To-morrow will never come!'--for to morrow
has come. When I am no longer with you, and you have spent the last penny
of the money gained by the sale of your clothes--unfit for work as you
have become--what will you do next? Must I tell you what you will
do!--you will forget me and--" Then, as if he recoiled from his own
thoughts, Jacques exclaimed, with a burst of rage and despair--"Great
Heaven! if that were to happen, I should dash my brains out against the
stones!"

Cephyse guessed the half-told meaning of Jacques, and throwing her arms
around his neck, she said to him: "I take another lover?--never! I am
like you, for I now first know how much I love you."

"But, my poor Cephyse--how will you live?"

"Well, I shall take courage. I will go back and dwell, with my sister, as
in old times; we will work together, and so earn our bread. I'll never go
out, except to visit you. In a few days your creditor will reflect, that,
as you can't pay him ten thousand francs, he may as well set you free. By
that time I shall have once more acquired the habit of working. You shall
see, you shall see!--and you also will again acquire this habit. We shall
live poor, but content. After all, we have had plenty of amusement for
six month, while so many others have never known pleasure all their
lives. And believe me, my dear Jacques, when I say to you--I shall profit
by this lesson. If you love me, do not feel the least uneasiness; I tell
you, that I would rather die a hundred times, than have another lover."

"Kiss me," said Jacques, with eyes full of tears. "I believe you--yes, I
believe you--and you give me back my courage, both for now and hereafter.
You are right; we must try and get to work again, or else nothing remains
but Father Arsene's bushel of charcoal; for, my girl," added Jacques, in
a low and trembling voice, "I have been like a drunken man these six
months, and now I am getting sober, and see whither we are going. Our
means once exhausted, I might perhaps have become a robber, and you--"

"Oh, Jacques! don't talk so--it is frightful," interrupted Cephyse; "I
swear to you that I will return to my sister--that I will work--that I
will have courage!"

Thus saying, the Bacchanal Queen was very sincere; she fully intended to
keep her word, for her heart was not yet completely corrupted. Misery and
want had been with her, as with so many others, the cause and the excuse
of her worst errors. Until now, she had at least followed the instincts
of her heart, without regard to any base or venal motive. The cruel
position in which she beheld Jacques had so far exalted her love, that
she believed herself capable of resuming, along with Mother Bunch, that
life of sterile and incessant toil, full of painful sacrifices and
privations, which once had been impossible for her to bear, and which the
habits of a life of leisure and dissipation would now render still more
difficult.

Still, the assurances which she had just given Jacques calmed his grief
and anxiety a little; he had sense and feeling enough to perceive that
the fatal track which he had hitherto so blindly followed was leading
both him and Cephyse directly to infamy.

One of the bailiffs, having knocked at the coach-door, said to Jacques:
"My lad, you have only five minutes left--so make haste."

"So, courage, my girl--courage!" said Jacques.

"I will; you may rely upon me."

"Are you going upstairs again?"

"No--oh no!" said Cephyse. "I have now a horror of this festivity."

"Everything is paid for, and the waiter will tell them not to expect us
back. They will be much astonished," continued Jacques, "but it's all the
same now."

"If you could only go with me to our lodging," said Cephyse, "this man
would perhaps permit it, so as not to enter Sainte-Pelagie in that
dress."

"Oh! he will not forbid you to accompany me; but, as he will be with us
in the coach, we shall not be able to talk freely in his presence.
Therefore, let me speak reason to you for the first time in my life.
Remember what I say, my dear Cephyse--and the counsel will apply to me as
well as to yourself," continued Jacques, in a grave and feeling
tone--"resume from to-day the habit of labor. It may be painful,
unprofitable--never mind--do not hesitate, for too soon will the
influence of this lesson be forgotten. By-and-bye it will be too late,
and then you will end like so many unfortunate creatures--"

"I understand," said Cephyse, blushing; "but I will rather die than lead
such a life."

"And there you will do well--for in that case," added Jacques, in a deep
and hollow voice, "I will myself show you how to die."

"I count upon you, Jacques," answered Cephyse, embracing her lover with
excited feeling; then she added, sorrowfully: "It was a kind of
presentiment, when just now I felt so sad, without knowing why, in the
midst of all our gayety--and drank to the Cholera, so that we might die
together."

"Well! perhaps the Cholera will come," resumed Jacques, with a gloomy
air; "that would save us the charcoal, which we may not even be able to
buy."

"I can only tell you one thing, Jacques, that to live and die together,
you will always find me ready."

"Come, dry your eyes," said he, with profound emotion. "Do not let us
play the children before these men."

Some minutes after, the coach took the direction to Jacques's lodging,
where he was to change his clothes, before proceeding to the debtors'
prison.

Let us repeat, with regard to the hunchback's sister--for there are
things which cannot be too often repeated--that one of the most fatal
consequences of the Inorganization of Labor is the Insufficiency of
Wages.

The insufficiency of wages forces inevitably the greater number of young
girls, thus badly paid, to seek their means of subsistence in connections
which deprave them.

Sometimes they receive a small allowance from their lovers, which, joined
to the produce of their labor, enables them to live. Sometimes like the
sempstress's sister, they throw aside their work altogether, and take up
their abode with the man of their choice, should he be able to support
the expense. It is during this season of pleasure and idleness that the
incurable leprosy of sloth takes lasting possession of these unfortunate
creatures.

This is the first phase of degradation that the guilty carelessness of
Society imposes on an immense number of workwomen, born with instincts of
modesty, and honesty, and uprightness.

After a certain time they are deserted by their seducers--perhaps when
they are mothers. Or, it may be, that foolish extravagance consigns the
imprudent lover to prison, and the young girl finds herself alone,
abandoned, without the means of subsistence.

Those who have still preserved courage and energy go back to their
work--but the examples are very rare. The others, impelled by misery, and
by habits of indolence, fall into the lowest depths.

And yet we must pity, rather than blame them, for the first and virtual
cause of their fall has been the insufficient remuneration of labor and
sudden reduction of pay.

Another deplorable consequence of this inorganization is the disgust
which workmen feel for their employment, in addition to the insufficiency
of their wages. And this is quite conceivable, for nothing is done to
render their labor attractive, either by variety of occupations, or by
honorary rewards, or by proper care, or by remuneration proportionate to
the benefits which their toil provides, or by the hope of rest after long
years of industry. No--the country thinks not, cares not, either for
their wants or their rights.