A LODGING-HOUSE.
The Passage de la Brasserie, a dark street, narrow, and but little
known, although situated in the centre of Paris, runs at one end into
the Rue Traversiere St. Honore, and at the other into the Cour St.
Guillaume.
Towards the middle of this damp thoroughfare, muddy, dark, and
unwholesome, and where the sun but rarely penetrates, there was a
furnished house (commonly called a _garni_, lodging-house, in
consequence of the low price of the apartments). On a miserable piece of
paper might be read, "Chambers and small rooms furnished." To the right
hand, in a dark alley, was the door of a store, not less obscure, in
which constantly resided the principal tenant of this _garni_.
Father Micou was ostensibly a dealer in old metal ("marine stores"), but
secretly purchased and received stolen metal, iron, lead, brass, and
tin. When we mention that Father Micou was connected in business and
friendship with the Martial family, we give a tolerable idea of his
morality. The tie that binds--the sort of affiliation, the mysterious
communion, which connects--the malefactors of Paris, is at once curious
and fearful. The common prisons are the great centres whence flow, and
to which reflow, incessantly those waves of corruption which gradually
gain on the capital, and leave there such pernicious waifs and strays.
Father Micou was a stout man, about fifty years of age, with a mean and
cunning countenance, a mulberry nose, and wine-flushed cheeks. He wore
a fur cap and an old green long-skirted coat. Over his small stove, near
which he was standing, there was a board fastened to the wall, and
bearing a row of figures, to which were affixed the keys of the chambers
of the absent lodgers. The panes of glass in the door which opened on to
the street were so painted that from the outside no one could see what
was going on within.
The whole of this extensive store was very dark. From the damp walls
there hung rusty chains of all sizes; and the floor was strewed with
iron and other metals. Three blows struck at the door in a particular
way attracted the attention of the landlord, huckster, receiver.
"Come in!" he cried.
It was Nicholas, the son of the felon's widow. He was very pale, his
features looked even more evil than they did on the previous evening,
and yet he feigned a kind of overgaiety during the following
conversation. (This scene takes place on the day after his quarrel with.
Martial.)
"Ah, is it you, my fine fellow?" said Micou, cordially.
"Yes, Father Micou, I have come to see you on a trifle of business."
"Then shut the door,--shut the door."
"My dog and cart are there outside with the stuff."
"What do you bring me, double tripe (sheet lead)?"
"No, Father Micou."
"What is it, scrapings? but no, you're too downy now, you've left off
work. Perhaps it is a bit of hard (iron)?"
"No, Daddy Micou, it's some flap (sheet copper). There must be, at
least, a hundred and fifty pounds weight, as much as my dog could
stagger along with."
"Go and fetch the flap, and let's weigh it."
"You must lend a hand, daddy, for I've hurt my arm."
And, at the recollection of his contest with his brother Martial, the
ruffian's features expressed, at once, the resentment of hatred and
savage joy, as if his vengeance were already satisfied.
"What's the matter with your arm, my man?"
"Nothing,--only a sprain."
"You must heat an iron in the fire, and plunge it red-hot into the
water, then put your arm in the water as hot as you can bear it. It is
an iron-dealer's remedy, but none the worse for that."
"Thank ye, Father Micou."
"Go and fetch the flap, and I'll come and help you, idle-bones."
At twice the copper was brought out of the cart, drawn by an enormous
dog, and conveyed into the shop.
"That cart of yours is a good idea," said the worthy Micou, as he
adjusted the wooden frames of an enormous pair of scales that hung from
a beam in the ceiling.
"Yes; when I've anything to bring, I put my dog and cart into the punt,
and harness them as we come along. A hackney-coach might, perhaps, tell
a tale, but my dog never chatters."
"And they're all pretty well at home,--eh?" inquired the receiver,
weighing the copper; "mother and sister, both pretty bobbish?"
"Yes, Father Micou."
"And the little uns?"
"Yes, the little uns, too. And your nephew, Andre, where is he?"
"Don't mention him; he was out on a spree yesterday. Barbillon and
Gros-Boiteux brought him back this morning. He is out for a walk now
towards the General Post-office in the Rue St. Jacques Rousseau. And
your brother, Martial, is he just such a rum un as ever?"
"_Ma foi!_ I don't know."
"Don't know?"
"No," replied Nicholas, assuming an indifferent air; "we have seen
nothing of him for the last two days. Perhaps he's gone poaching in the
woods again; unless his boat, which was very, very old, has sunk in the
river, with him in it."
"At which you would not be dreadfully affected, you bad lot, for you
can't bear your brother, I know."
"True; we have strange likes and dislikes. How many pounds of metal d'ye
make?"
"You're right to a hair, just a hundred and fifty pounds, my lad."
"And you owe me--"
"Just thirty francs."
"Thirty francs! when copper is twenty sous a pound? Thirty francs!"
"Say thirty-five francs, and there's an end of the matter, or go to the
devil with you! you, and your copper, and your dog, and your cart."
"But, Father Micou, you are really chiselling me down; that's not the
right thing by no means."
"If you'll tell me how you came by your copper, I'll give you fifteen
sous a pound for it."
"That's the old strain. You are all alike, a regular lot of cheats. How
can you bear to 'do' your friends in this way? But that's not all; if I
swap with you for some things, you ought to give me good measure."
"To a hair's turn. What do you want? Chains and hooks for your punts?"
"No, I want four or five sheets of stout iron, as if to line shutters
with."
"I've just the thing, a quarter of an inch thick; a pistol-ball wouldn't
go through it."
"Just what I want."
"What size?"
"Why, altogether about seven or eight feet square."
"Good, and what else?"
"Three bars of iron, from three to four feet long, and two inches
square."
"I have just broken up an iron wicket; nothing can be better for you.
What next?"
"Two strong hinges and a latch, so that I can open or shut an opening
two feet square when I wish."
"A trap, you mean?"
"No, a valve."
"I don't understand what you can want with a valve."
"Never you mind; I know what I want."
"That's all right; you have only to choose; there's a heap of hinges.
What's the next thing?"
"That's all."
"And not much, either."
"Get it all ready, Father Micou, and I'll take it as I come back; for
I've got some other places to call at."
"With your cart? Why, you dog, I saw a bundle underneath. What, some
little trifle you have taken from the world's wardrobe? Ah, you sly
rogue!"
"Just as you say, Father Micou; but you don't deal in such things. Don't
keep me waiting for the iron goods, for I must be back at the island
before noon."
"I'll be ready. It is only eight, and, if you are not going far, come
back in an hour, and you shall find everything prepared,--money and
goods. Won't you take a drain?"
"Thank ye, I won't say no, for I think you owe it me."
Father Micou took from an old closet a bottle of brandy, a cracked
glass, and a cup without a handle, and filled them.
"Here's to you, Daddy Micou!"
"And to you likewise, my boy, and the ladies at home!"
"Thank ye. And the lodging-house goes on well, eh?"
"Middling,--middling. I have always some lodgers for whom I am always
fearing a visit from the commissary; but they pay in proportion."
"How d'ye mean?"
"Why, are you stupid? I sometimes lodge as I buy, and don't ask them for
their passport, any more than I ask you for your bill of parcels."
"Good; but to them you let as dear as you have bought cheaply of me."
"I must look out. I have a cousin who has a handsome furnished house in
the Rue St. Honore. His wife is a milliner in a large way, and employs,
perhaps, twenty needlewomen, either in the house, or having the work at
home."
"I say, old boy, I dare say there's some pretty uns among 'em?"
"I believe you. There's two or three that I have seen bring home work
sometimes,--my eyes, ain't they pretty, though? One little one in
particular, who works at home, and is always a-laughing, and they calls
her Rigolette, oh, my pippin, what a pity one ain't twenty years old all
over again!"
"Halloa, daddy, how you are going it!"
"Oh, it's all right, my boy,--all right!"
"'Walker!' old boy. And you say your cousin--"
"Does uncommon well with his house, and, as it is the same number as
that of the little Rigolette--"
"What, again?"
"Oh, it's all right and proper."
"'Walker!'"
"He won't have any lodgers but those who have passports and papers; but
if any come who haven't got 'em, he sends me those customers."
"And they pays accordingly?"
"In course."
"But they are all in our line who haven't got their riglar papers?"
"By no manner of means! Why, very lately, my cousin sent me a
customer,--devil burn me if I can make him out! Another drain?"
"Just one; the liquor's good. Here's t'ye again, Daddy Micou!"
"Here's to you again, my covey! I was saying that the other day my
cousin sent me a customer whom I can't make out. Imagine a mother and
daughter, who looked very queer and uncommon seedy; they had their whole
kit in a pocket-handkerchief. Well, there warn't much to be expected out
of this, for they had no papers, and they lodge by the fortnight; yet,
since they've been here, they haven't moved any more than a dormouse. No
men come to see them; and yet they're not bad-looking, if they weren't
so thin and pale, particularly the daughter, about sixteen,--with such a
pair of black eyes,--oh, such eyes!"
"Halloa, dad! You're off again. What do these women do?"
"I tell you I don't know; they must be respectable, and yet, as they
receive letters without any address, it looks queer."
"What do you mean?"
"They sent, this morning, my nephew Andre to the _Poste-Restante_ to
inquire for a letter addressed to 'Madame X. Z.' The letter was expected
from Normandy, from a town called Aubiers. They wrote that down on
paper, so that Andre might get the letter by giving these particulars.
You see, it does not look quite the thing for women to take the name of
'X.' and 'Z.' And yet they never have any male visitors."
"They won't pay you."
"Oh, my fine fellow, they don't catch an old bird like me with chaff.
They took a room without a fireplace, and I made them pay the twenty
francs down for the fortnight. They are, perhaps, ill, for they have not
been down for the last two days. It is not indigestion that ails them,
for I don't think they have cooked anything since they came here."
"If you had all such customers, Father Micou--"
"Oh, they go and come. If I lodge people without passports, why, I also
have different people. I have now two travelling gents, a postman, the
leader of the band at the Cafe des Aveugles, and a lady of fortune,--all
most respectable persons, such as save the reputation of a house, if the
commissary is inclined to look a little too closely into things; they
are not night-lodgers, but tenants of the broad sunshine."
"When it comes into your alley, Father Micou."
"You're a wag. Another drain, yes, just one more."
"Well, it must be my last, for then I must cut. By the way, doesn't
Robin, the Gros-Boiteux, lodge here still?"
"Yes, up-stairs, on the same landing as the mother and daughter. He's
pretty nearly run through his money he earned in gaol."
"I say, mind your eye,--he's outlawed."
"I know it, but I can't get rid of him. I think he's got something in
hand, for little Tortillard came here the other night along with
Barbillon. I'm afraid he'll do something to my lodgers, so, when his
fortnight is up, I shall bundle him, telling him his room is taken for
an ambassador, or the husband of Madame Saint-Ildefonse, my independent
lady."
"An independent lady?"
"I believe you! Three rooms and a cabinet in the front,--nothing
less,--newly furnished, to say nothing of an attic for her servant.
Eighty francs a month, and paid in advance by her uncle, to whom she
gives one of her spare rooms when he comes up from the country. But I
believe his country-house is about the Rue Vivienne, or the Rue St.
Honore."
"I twig! She's independent because the old fellow pays."
"Hush! Here's her maid."
A middle-aged woman, wearing a white apron of very doubtful cleanliness,
entered the dealer's warehouse.
"What can I do for you, Madame Charles?"
"Father Micou, is your nephew within?"
"He has gone to the post-office; but I expect him in immediately."
"M. Badinot wishes him to take this letter to its address instantly.
There's no answer, but it is in great haste."
"In a quarter of an hour he will be on his way thither, madame."
"He must make great haste."
"He shall, be assured."
The servant went away.
"Is she the maid of one of your lodgers, Father Micou?"
"She is the _bonne_ of my independent lady, Madame Saint-Ildefonse. But
M. Badinot is her uncle; he came from the country yesterday," said the
respectable Micou, who was looking at the letter, and then added,
reading the address, "Look, now, what grand acquaintances! Why, I told
you they were high folks; he writes to a viscount."
"Oh, bah!"
"See here, then, 'To Monsieur the Vicomte de Saint-Remy, Rue de
Chaillot. In great haste. Private.' I hope, when we lodge independent
persons who have uncles who write to viscounts, we may allow some few of
our other lodgers higher up in the house to be without passports, eh?"
"I believe you. Well, then, Father Micou, we shall soon be back. I shall
fasten my dog and cart to your door, and carry what I have; so be ready
with the goods and the money, so that I may cut at once."
"I'll be ready. Four good iron plates, each two feet square, three bars
of iron two feet long, and two hinges for your valve. This valve seems
very odd to me; but it's no affair of mine. Is that all?"
"Yes, and my money?"
"Oh, you shall have your money. But now I look at you in the light--now
I get a good view of you--"
"Well?"
"I don't know--but you seem as if something was the matter."
"I do?"
"Yes."
"Oh, nonsense! If anything ails me it is that I'm hungry."
"You're hungry? Like enough; but it rather looks as if you wanted to
appear very lively, whilst all the while there's something that worries
you; and it must be _something_, for it ain't a trifle that puts you
out."
"I tell you you're mistaken, Father Micou," said Nicholas, shuddering.
"Why, you quite tremble!"
"It's my arm that pains me."
"Well, don't forget my prescription, that will cure you."
"Thank ye, I'll soon be back." And the ruffian went on his way.
The receiver, after having concealed the lumps of copper behind his
counter, occupied himself in collecting the various things which
Nicholas had requested, when another individual entered his shop. It was
a man about fifty years of age, with a keen, sagacious face, a thick
pair of gray whiskers, and gold spectacles. He was extremely well
dressed; the wide sleeves of his brown paletot, with black velvet cuffs,
showing his hands covered with thin coloured kid gloves, and his boots
bore evidence of having been on the previous evening highly polished.
It was M. Badinot, the independent lady's uncle, that Madame
Saint-Ildefonse, whose social position formed the pride and security of
Pere Micou. The reader may, perchance, recollect that M. Badinot, the
former attorney, struck off that respectable list, then a Chevalier
d'Industrie, and agent in equivocal matters, was the spy of Baron de
Grauen, and had given that diplomatist many and very precise particulars
as to many personages connected with this tale.
"Madame Charles has just given you a letter to send?" said M. Badinot,
to the dealer in _et ceteras_.
"Yes, sir; my nephew I expect every moment, and he shall go directly."
"No, give me the letter again, I have changed my mind. I shall go myself
to the Comte de Saint-Remy," said M. Badinot, pronouncing this
aristocratic name very emphatically, and with much importance.
"Here's the letter, sir; have you any other commission?"
"No, Pere Micou," said M. Badinot, with a protecting air, "but I have
something to scold you about."
"Me, sir?"
"Very much, indeed."
"About what, sir?"
"Why, Madame de Saint-Ildefonse pays very expensively for your first
floor. My niece is a lodger to whom the greatest respect ought to be
paid; she came highly recommended to your house, and, having a great
aversion to the noise of carriages, she hoped she should be here as if
she were in the country."
"So she is; it is quite like a village here. You ought to know,
sir,--you who live in the country,--this is a real village."
"A village! Very like, indeed! Why, there is always such an infernal din
in the house."
"Still, it is impossible to find a quieter house. Above the lady, there
is the leader of the band at the Cafe des Aveugles, and a gentleman
traveller; over that, another traveller; over that--"
"I am not alluding to those persons; they are very quiet, and appear
very respectable. My niece has no fault to find with them; but in the
fourth, there is a stout lame man, whom Madame de Saint-Ildefonse met
yesterday tipsy on the stairs; he was shrieking like a savage, and she
nearly had a fit, she was so much alarmed. If you think that, with such
lodgers, your house resembles a village--"
"Sir, I assure you I only wait the opportunity to turn this stout lame
man out-of-doors; he has paid his last fortnight in advance, otherwise I
should already have turned him out."
"You should not have taken in such a lodger."
"But, except him, I hope madame has nothing to complain of. There is a
twopenny postman, who is the cream of honest fellows, and overhead,
beside the chamber of the stout lame man, a lady and daughter, who do
not move any more than dormice."
"I repeat, Madame de Saint-Ildefonse only complains of this stout lame
man, who is the nightmare of the house; and I warn you that, if you keep
such a fellow in your house, you will find all your respectable lodgers
leave you."
"I will send him away, you may be assured. I have no wish to keep him."
"You will only do what's right, for else your house will be forsaken."
"Which will not answer my purpose at all; so, sir, consider the stout
lame man as gone, for he has only four more days to stay here."
"Which is four days too many; but it is your affair. At the first
outbreak, my niece leaves your house."
"Be assured, sir--"
"It is all for your own interest,--and look to it, for I am not a man
of many words," said M. Badinot, with a patronising air, and he went
out.
Need we say that this female and her young daughter, who lived so
lonely, were the two victims of the notary's cupidity? We will now
conduct the reader to the miserable retreat in which they lived.