very sorry to look at this paper. See--this is how much I care for it!"
And Passedix tossed the account into a tiny fire that burned in a huge
fireplace, whose feeble heat hardly changed the temperature, which was
very cold outside.
Dame Cadichard, marvelling at the noble indifference with which her
tenant paid his debts, said to him, with a respectful inclination of the
head:
"Monsieur le chevalier, would you accept a plate of this soup? That will
help you to wait for what you propose to send for to the wine shop."
"Oh, no! no, thanks!" cried Passedix, probably recalling the accident
that had befallen the soup. "I have no desire to taste it.--May I not
have Popelinette's services?"
"I beg pardon, monsieur le chevalier,--at once, instantly."
And Dame Cadichard, leaving her soup, left the room and went into the
hall to call her servant in such shrill, imperative tones that old
Popelinette soon came running in in dismay, crying:
"What's the matter? who's sick? where's the fire? Something must have
happened!"
"The matter is, Popelinette, that Monsieur le Chevalier de Passedix
wants to send you on an errand, and he must not be kept waiting."
"What! was it for that thing that madame was yelling as if she wanted to
sprain her throat?"
"That thing!--Popelinette, try to express yourself more respectfully
when you are talking about Monsieur de Passedix!"
The old servant stood with a dazed expression in the middle of the room,
unable to understand how it happened that her mistress spoke so kindly
now of a tenant whom she had abused so roundly only that morning.
Passedix put an end to the servant's conjectures by placing a gold piece
in her hand, with these words:
"Go to the nearest wine shop, Popelinette, and order a dainty breakfast;
let them bring everything for three. I feel capable of multiplying the
size of my mouthfuls by three. Order several bottles of the best wine,
also.--Go, and what money remains shall be yours!"
The sight of a fine gold doubloon instantly made the servant as polite
and zealous as her mistress. What a mighty influence has that metal,
which acts in the same way upon almost all temperaments! Physicians have
never found its like among all the drugs that they force us to take.
When Popelinette had gone, the chevalier resumed his seat at the table
and said to his hostess:
"Now, Dame Cadichard, let us talk a little. You will readily understand,
I think, that a man with two thousand crowns a year, to say nothing of
the lesser objects, cannot continue to live under the eaves, where he
has for fellow lodgers rats of all dimensions."
"Oh! of course, monsieur le chevalier, I realize that this lodging is
not worthy of you; and be sure that, if I put you up there, it was
because special circumstances forced me to do it.--It was very much
against my will."
"Enough! enough! Dame Cadichard, you should never recur to unpleasant
subjects.--Do you consider me wealthy enough now to resume my handsome
apartment on the first floor, which you let to that noble Spaniard, the
so-called Comte de Carvajal?"
"I wish that I had a much handsomer one to offer you, Monsieur de
Passedix; but my first floor is at your service."
"Very good.--Speaking of this Comte de Carvajal--have you never seen
him, dear hostess, since he left your house so abruptly?"
"Never.--One night, when you were absent, I was very much surprised when
Monsieur de Carvajal, who had not given me any notice, came in and said:
'Madame Cadichard, I must leave your house instantly; news just received
forces me to return at once to Spain.'--Thereupon he paid me what he
owed me, gave Popelinette a handsome _pourboire_, sent for a porter to
take his trunks, and disappeared, leaving me amazed at his abrupt
departure."
"Oh! the villain! the traitor! He did not start for Spain, for that same
night--I remember it only too well, because, when I asked about your
tenant the next morning, I was told that he had left the hotel the night
before--that same night following his departure, as I was walking with a
young lady to whom I was paying court, we met on the street a sort of
rustic, or vagabond,--I don't know what to call him,--who threw himself
between me and my fair.--As you can imagine, I unsheathed at once----"
"I do not doubt it, monsieur le chevalier."
"But that simpleton, that clown, had under his cloak a short, broad
sword, which he used like a hatchet.--That disconcerted me. I am
accustomed to fighting with people who know how to stand on guard. I
tried to thrust a little too far, and Roland slipped from my hand. While
I was looking for him, my knave disappeared with my belle, whom, by the
way, I have not seen since."
"But I fail to see what connection there is between that adventure and
the Comte de Carvajal."
"This is the connection: the rustic was not a rustic; I had met him
before, in the guise of an artisan. And again, the artisan was not an
artisan; I had previously had dealings with him, when he was dressed as
an old Bohemian. And finally, all these disguises concealed the Comte de
Carvajal, your magnificent tenant."
"The Comte de Carvajal! is it possible? But, in that case, he must be a
very mysterious personage. Disguise himself like that--what can be his
purpose?"
"I have no idea. The man was probably a political spy, sent here by his
government to observe, to discover the cardinal's projects; perhaps to
organize a conspiracy against him!"
"Oh! mon Dieu! why, if that's so, his stay in my house might have
compromised me!"
"Sandis! I should say so! They would have ended by razing your house. It
is great good fortune for you, Dame Cadichard, that that fine spark has
bade you adieu!"
"You make me shudder, monsieur le chevalier!"
"As he has decamped, you are no longer in any danger. But, by Roland, I
do not bid him adieu! If he is still in Paris, I will find him, and then
it will be war to the death between us!--But, with your permission, I
will at once install myself, or rather reinstall myself, in the first
floor lodging. I will take my repast there.--By the way, Dame Cadichard,
I expect a very agreeable young man--very small, but very agreeable for
his size. He is a clerk in my solicitor's office; and as I happened to
mention before him my desire to replenish my wardrobe entirely, and as
quickly as possible, he told me that he had a friend who knew a
second-hand dealer amply supplied with clothes of the latest cut. He is
to bring him to me here."
"Never fear, monsieur le chevalier, I will send him up to you."
"To the first floor, Dame Cadichard. Don't forget that I have come down.
I shall go up again some day, perhaps; it is not safe to swear to
anything."
"Oh! Monsieur de Passedix!"
"But that worries me very little.--Six thousand livres a year! Sandis! I
used to make conquests galore, but now I shall be overwhelmed with
them!"
The chevalier resumed possession of the apartment on the first floor; he
stretched himself out luxuriously in an enormous easy-chair that was
almost suitable for a bed, and glanced about the room, saying to
himself:
"Ah! Monsieur de Carvajal, so I am occupying your place now!--Who knows?
perhaps you would be very happy now to live in a little room under the
eaves; for in this world, when one goes up, we frequently see others
come down, and _vice versa_.--Oh! but I will find this mysterious
Spaniard! From all I have been able to judge, he knows that little
Miretta; I believe him to be my rival with the little brunette. A
grandee of Spain, in love with a chambermaid--that is rather
extraordinary! But, after all, I sigh for that girl, and I am the equal
of the grandest of Spanish grandees."
Popelinette returned with two waiters from the wine shop, bringing
dishes and bottles. In a short time, a dinner fit for Gargantua was
spread before Passedix; but the newly made heir seemed not at all
alarmed when he saw the contents of the dishes that were served him; and
from the way in which he attacked them one might fairly presume that he
would reach the end of them.
Passedix had already put away half of his repast, and was attacking the
second half, when Popelinette, the old servant, who had become as
courteous as her mistress, came in with repeated reverences and informed
him that Monsieur Bahuchet and his comrade, Monsieur Plumard, had
arrived, and wished to speak with him.
"Very good! I know what they are here for!" cried Passedix; "they have
brought new clothes, in the latest style.--Usher these young men into my
presence; I will choose such things as seem worthy of my person, and it
will not prevent my finishing my dinner!"
Before we introduce the solicitor's two clerks, let us see what had
happened between them as a result of the delicate commission which one
had intrusted to the other.
XXXIII
BAHUCHET'S POMADE
We have seen in what fashion Master Landry treated young Plumard, whom
he had taken for a lover of his daughter.
We know, too, that little Bahuchet, having betaken himself to a wine
shop with the purpose of regaling himself there, had found means to
obtain a thrashing from Master Hugonnet, to whom he had applied for some
pomade which would make the hair grow. As in those days hair dressers
employed neither bear's grease nor lion's flesh, the bath keeper had
taken the young clerk's request in very ill part. Bahuchet had returned
home sorely vexed because he had been beaten, but even more dissatisfied
because he had obtained no pomade; for he was most solicitous to recover
possession of the gold piece that he had given to his comrade Plumard,
and which the latter had promised to return to him on receipt of the
precious cosmetic that was to restore to the nape of his neck the shade
which it had lost.
"After all," said Bahuchet to himself, the next morning, "as that brute
of a barber would not give me any pomade, pardieu! I will make some
myself! And who knows! perhaps it will be better for the head than all
the infernal drugs that the wigmakers rub into our hair."
After having considered some time what he could make it of, the little
clerk took some gum, mustard, pitch, starch, and molasses, and with all
of these he compounded a solid paste which gave forth a not very sweet
odor, but which clung so persistently to the hands that it was extremely
difficult to free them from it. He filled a small jar with this
substance, wrapped it in a paper, put his seal upon it, and walked
proudly to the office, saying to himself:
"Plumard shall have his pomade, and I my gold piece."
The two clerks accosted each other, each with a most amusing expression.
"Well, friend Plumard, did you do my errand? did you deliver the white
plume?"
"Yes, to be sure; I put it into Master Landry's own hands."
"How did he take the thing?"
"In very bad part, and at one time I thought he was going to treat me
shamefully; luckily, I ran away in time.--But I would not undertake such
a commission again! it was too dangerous!"
"And for that reason you shall be handsomely paid!" said Bahuchet,
taking from his pocket the little jar in which he had placed his vile
mixture.
Plumard's face beamed; his hand was already put forth to grasp the
little jar, but Bahuchet pushed it away, saying:
"One minute; how about my gold piece?"
"Oh! of course, I will return it to you; I ask nothing better; I much
prefer this jar!"
"I should think so! a wonderful invention like this! I ought to have
made you pay me its weight in gold; but between friends, you know.
Besides, a promise is a sacred thing! Here, take your stuff!"
And Bahuchet, having received his money, handed his comrade the little
jar.
Plumard was in such a hurry to experiment with his pomade, that he
instantly tore off the paper and looked at and smelt the contents of the
jar.
"It is black," he said.
"I suppose that it has to be black."
"It has a strange smell."
"Probably because the old sibyl uses plants that are unknown to us."
"How hard it is!"
"You must warm it a little before using; then it becomes more ductile."
"No matter; I mean to put some of it on my head at once."
"What! here, in the office? You had better put it on at home."
"No! there are only we two in the office as yet, and I do not want to
postpone making use of it."
"You don't imagine, I suppose, that your hair will grow instantly? You
must give the stuff time to act on the capillary tissues."
"Very good; but the sooner I put some of it on my head, the sooner the
hair will grow.--By the way, is there any particular way of using it?"
Bahuchet reflected a few moments, then replied:
"Yes; wait till I recall the old witch's instructions.--Ah! now I have
it: first heat the pomade, then rub your skull with it, put on a good
lot; then you must cover it with a small round piece of linen, cotton,
or woollen stuff--the material is not important; you must simply be sure
that the pomaded part is well covered. Then, in a few days you will see
your hair!"
"Very well! I will follow your instructions to the letter; I will warm
it on the stove. But what in the devil shall I put on my head to cover
the pomade?"
"See--there's an old black woollen stocking that Maître Bourdinard's
servant must have left here by mistake; you can cut a cap out of that."
"Faith! you are right; I shall look like a little abbé. Come, let us set
to work!"
Bahuchet cut from the stocking a round piece large enough to cover the
top of Plumard's head; meanwhile, the latter daubed his head with the
mixture, which the heat had melted; he noticed with surprise that he
could not free his fingers from the pomade after he had used it; but
Bahuchet told him that that was a proof of the virtue of the cosmetic.
At last, the clerk's head being sufficiently pomaded, the piece of
woollen stocking was applied, and the operation was at an end. The clerk
then covered his head with the cap which he hardly ever laid aside.
The next morning, young Plumard put his hand to his head to make sure
that his plaster was still firm. As he passed his fingers over it, he
felt a sort of crust, but the woollen covering did not stir, and the
clerk was convinced that the process of growing was under way.
A week passed.
Plumard had tried, but to no purpose, to remove the piece of woollen
stocking that covered his head.
"Let it alone, for heaven's sake!" said Bahuchet; "if it sticks, it must
be that the work is going on; when the hair has grown a little, your
skullcap will fall off of itself."
Another week elapsed, and Plumard made another attempt to remove the
piece of stocking, but obtained no better result.
At last, after a month, he could stand it no longer; he determined to
find out what was under the skullcap, and he said to Bahuchet one
morning:
"Take off this piece of woollen, which is beginning to be a nuisance; it
is high time to see if my hair is growing."
Bahuchet no longer dared to deny his friend's entreaty. He pinched up
the edge of the stocking, and tried to pull it off; but Plumard uttered
a piercing shriek.
"Stop!" he cried; "you are tearing off my skin!"
Bahuchet's pomade, being composed largely of pitch, had, when it dried,
become firmly glued to the scalp, while the piece of stocking was so
stuck to the pitch that it was utterly impossible to detach it. To pull
off even a small fragment, it would be necessary to pull off a bit of
the pitch, and the skin would inevitably come with it. We can
understand, therefore, why Plumard screamed aloud when Bahuchet tried to
remove his skullcap.
"Don't you want me to try again?" inquired Bahuchet.
"Why, can't you see that you are tearing the skin off my head? I don't
want to be trepanned!--What infernal kind of pomade did you give me?"
"Probably you are in too great a hurry; the work is not done yet; you
must keep the covering on a while longer."
"Alas! I am beginning to think I shall keep it on forever; I don't want
to have my skin torn off!"
"After all, that black cap is not bad-looking; you look as if you had on
a wig, or, rather, as if your hair was cut too short. I assure you that
it is preferable to your bald head."
Several weeks had passed since this conversation between the two clerks.
Plumard was still wearing his woollen skullcap glued to his head; he
tried to make the best of it, but there were times when a fit of anger
seized him, and then he vented his fury upon Bahuchet, accusing him of
having given him a pomade which, instead of accelerating the growth of
his hair, must necessarily prevent the growth of anything whatever on
his head.
To appease his comrade and restore their friendly relations, Bahuchet
lost no time in taking him aside after the Chevalier de Passedix paid
his first visit to the solicitor's office.
"There is a chance for a good windfall," he said; "this Gascon has
inherited a lot of money; he wants to replenish his wardrobe. You have
an uncle in the old clothes trade; let us go to his shop and select an
outfit--we can make a hundred per cent on it with the Chevalier de
Passedix. And then, I have an idea that he will be a profitable
acquaintance for us; the newly made capitalist seems inclined to spend
his inheritance merrily, and it is quite as well that he should run
through it with us as with somebody else; don't you think so, Plumard?"
Plumard, having scratched his black woollen patch, with a wry face,
pulled his other cap over his eyes and left the office with his comrade,
saying:
"All right! let us go to see my uncle the old clothes man."
Having made a selection from the second-hand garments, which the uncle
had intrusted to his nephew with the greatest hesitation, the two clerks
bent their steps toward Place aux Chats, and entered the Hôtel du
Sanglier, where they were speedily ushered into the presence of the
Gascon chevalier, who was discussing the second part of his repast.
Bahuchet and Plumard bowed low to the newly made heir, like Turks before
a pasha. Passedix bestowed a gracious smile upon them and pointed to two
chairs.
"Be seated, young men," he said; "with your permission, I will finish my
dinner."
"With our permission!--We are at monsieur le chevalier's service; and we
are in no hurry--are we, Plumard?"
"Not at all," replied Plumard, who, as courtesy demanded, had removed
his cap; and he passed his hand from time to time over the piece of
stocking, which he still hoped to detach.
"Are you both employed in Maître Bourdinard's office?"
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier; we are the two chief clerks."
"Is it a good office?"
"Excellent; the result is that we have too much work."
"And you are not handsomely paid?"
"In a solicitor's office! Bah! there is no grease except on the backs of
the chairs."[A]
[A] The chevalier asked: "Et l'on n'est _grassement_
payé?"--The adverb literally means _fatly_, hence _greasily_.
"Will you drink a glass with me, young Basochians?"
"It is a very great honor to us, monsieur le chevalier; we will drink as
long as you choose."
"That is what I call talking, sandis!--Goblets, Popelinette!--and go to
the wine shop again and order some more bottles of different brands;
meanwhile, we will finish these. Here, servant; take this other gold
piece; and above all, do not haggle; nay, nay! to haggle is bourgeois,
it is foolish! Say: 'It is for the noble and gallant Chevalier de
Passedix,' and pay without a word."
The old servant went away, and Bahuchet whispered to his comrade:
"You hear--he doesn't haggle. He will pay for these duds whatever we
ask."
Passedix filled the goblets; the two clerks respectfully touched the
chevalier's with theirs, and he exclaimed as he looked at Plumard:
"Why, my poor boy! you don't seem to be in very good condition!"
"How so, seigneur chevalier?" rejoined the clerk, drawing himself up.
"Because I see that you have a plaster on your head, such as they put on
sick dogs."
Plumard turned purple, while Bahuchet made haste to say:
"That's nothing, he has a cold in his head, and it's a blister he's
trying.--But while monsieur le chevalier is finishing his repast, we
might show him the superb costume we have brought.--Open your bundle,
Plumard."
"You are right, little clerks; show me the clothes."
First of all, Plumard took from the bundle a pair of orange silk
knee-breeches, slashed with lemon-colored satin.
Passedix was overjoyed with the short-clothes; he took them in his hand,
examined them closely, and cried:
"Charming! delicious! they are in the best taste--they are dainty and
elegant! The breeches please me exceedingly, and I have an idea that the
orange color will be very becoming to me.--Let us see the doublet."
The doublet was of the same material and embellished with slashes of
lemon-colored satin, like the short-clothes.
Passedix was enchanted.
"This harmonizes perfectly with the breeches!" he said; "it is
perfect.--And the girdle?"
"Here it is," said Plumard, producing one of orange silk with fringe of
the same color.
"Oh! how pretty it is, and how well they all go together!" said
Passedix. "Now let us see the cloak."
Bahuchet smilingly presented the cloak, which was orange velvet, faced
with lemon-colored silk.
"Admirable! magnificent!" cried Passedix. "Still, if the cloak had been
of another color, to form a contrast with the rest----"
"Oh! monsieur le chevalier, it is much richer, much more stylish, like
this. Look at our king, Louis XIII--does he wear several colors? is he
not almost always dressed in black throughout: short-clothes, doublet,
and cloak?"
"Sandioux! he is right! and I could not choose a nobler model!--Yes, all
of one color--that is more harmonious, it is pleasanter to the eye. On
my honor, I am enraptured with this costume! Let us drink, messieurs; I
long to try it on."
"We shall have the honor to serve you as valets de chambre, monsieur le
chevalier."
"You are too obliging! Drink, I say, young clerks!"
Passedix, who was as impatient as a child over the prospect of putting
on a new garment, hastily finished his dinner, then proceeded to his
toilet. With the assistance of the two clerks, he speedily donned
short-clothes, doublet, girdle, and cloak. Then he strode about the
room, looked at himself in the great mirror that adorned the
mantelpiece, and seemed not to tire of viewing himself both before and
behind.
"How do you find me?" he asked the young men; "tell me, without
flattery."
Every part of the costume was much too large for the Gascon, whose thin,
lank body danced about in his new clothes. But Bahuchet assumed an
expression of admiration as he gazed at him, and exclaimed:
"It suits you magnificently, seigneur chevalier! One would swear that
the costume was made for you; it makes you stouter.--Egad! how handsome
you are now!"
"The short-clothes are perhaps a little full, are they not?"
"That will be all right; you are superb!"
"In truth, I believe that I am not to be despised in this garb; and if
the little one should see me now, it is probable that she would be less
surly; but she shall see me--I must meet her somewhere. I propose to
exhibit myself to the whole city."
"You will find no cruel fair, seigneur."
"He is very agreeable, this little clerk!--It's a pity that your friend
has that plaster on his head--it makes him look too much like a poodle;
if I were in his place, I would rather sneeze than wear that.--By the
way, messieurs, I forgot the most essential article--the price of these
clothes."
"Thirty pistoles for the whole outfit," said Plumard, curtly, for he was
not pleased to be thought to resemble a poodle.
"Thirty pistoles it is! we will draw on the little bag. Money is made to
keep moving, sandis!"
While Passedix counted out the thirty pistoles to Plumard, for a costume
which his uncle the second-hand dealer had said that he would sell for
fifteen, Popelinette returned with a basket containing divers bottles.
The old servant was dumfounded at sight of Passedix, whom she did not
recognize.
"Who in the world is this person?" she murmured.
"This person, Popelinette, is your tenant, whom you have never seen in
such gorgeous attire, and whom you did not deem capable of becoming so
charming, I fear; there are so many people who notice only the clothes,
and do not choose to take the trouble to look deeper! I was as handsome
a man this morning, but I did not wear this magnificent costume, so that
I was less admired!"
"I am inclined to think that he was not admired at all!" said Plumard to
his comrade.
"Oh! monsieur le chevalier--why, you look like an orange now!" replied
the old servant.