THE OGRESS.
The White Rabbit is situated in the centre of the Rue aux Fêves. This
tavern occupies the ground floor of a lofty house, the front of which is
formed by two windows, which are styled "a guillotine." Hanging from the
front of the door leading to a dark and arched passage, was an oblong
lamp, on the cracked panes of which were written, in red letters,
"Nightly Lodgings Here."
The Chourineur, the unknown, and the Goualeuse entered into a large but
low apartment, with the ceiling smoked, and crossed by black rafters,
just visible by the flickering light of a miserable suspended lamp. The
cracked walls, formerly covered with plaster, were now ornamented in
places with coarse drawings, or sentences of flash and obscenity.
The floor, composed of earth beaten together with saltpetre, was thick
with dirt; an armful of straw--an apology for a carpet--was placed at
the foot of the ogress's counter, which was at the right hand of the
door, just beneath the dim lantern.
On each side of this room there were six tables, one end of each of
which was nailed to the wall, as well as the benches on either side of
them. At the farther end was a door leading to a kitchen; on the right,
near the counter, was a passage which led into a den where persons slept
for the night at three halfpence a head.
A few words will describe the ogress and her guests. The lady was called
Mother Ponisse; her triple trade consisted in letting furnished
apartments, keeping a public-house, and _lending_ clothes to the
miserable creatures who infest these foul streets.
The ogress was about forty years of age, bulky, fat, and heavy. She had
a full colour, and strong symptoms of a beard. Her deep voice, her
enormous arms, and coarse hands betokened uncommon strength. She wore on
her cap a large red and yellow handkerchief; a shawl of rabbit-skin was
crossed over her bosom, and tied behind; her woollen gown fell upon
black wooden shoes, scorched almost black by the small stove at which
she warmed her feet; and, to crown her beauty, she had a copper
complexion, which the use of strong liquors had materially tended to
heighten.
The counter, covered with lead, was decked with jugs with iron hoops,
and various pewter measures. In an open cupboard, fastened to the wall,
there were several flasks of glass, so fashioned as to represent the
pedestrian figure of the Emperor. These bottles contained sundry
cordials, red and green in colour, and known by the names of "Drops for
the Brave," "Ratafia of the Column," etc., etc.
A large black cat, with green eyes, was sitting near the ogress, and
seemed the familiar demon of the place. Then, in strange contrast, a
holy branch of boxwood, bought at church by the ogress, was suspended at
the back of an old cuckoo clock.
Two marvellously ill-favoured fellows, with unshaven beards, and their
garb all in tatters, hardly tasted of the pitcher of wine before them,
and conversed together in low voices, and with uneasy aspect. One of the
two, very pale and livid, pulled, from time to time, his shabby
skull-cap over his brows, and concealed as much as possible his left
hand, and, even when compelled to use it, he did so with caution.
Further on there was a young man, hardly sixteen years of age, with
beardless chin, and a countenance wan, wrinkled, and heavy, his eye
dull, and his long black hair straggling down his neck. This youthful
rake, the emblem of precocious vice, was smoking a short black pipe. His
back was resting against the wall, and his two hands were in the pockets
of his blouse, and his legs stretched along the bench. He did not cease
smoking for a moment, unless it was to drink from a cannikin of brandy
placed before him.
The other inmates of the _tapis-franc_, men and women, presented no
remarkable characteristics. There was the ferocious or embruted
face,--the vulgar and licentious mirth; but from time to time there was
a deep and dull silence. Such were the guests of the _tapis-franc_ when
the unknown, the Chourineur, and the Goualeuse entered.
These three persons play such important parts in our recital, that we
must put them in relief.
The Chourineur was a man of lofty stature and athletic make, with hair
of a pale brown, nearly white; thick eyebrows, and enormous whiskers of
deep red. The sun's rays, misery, and the severe toil of the galleys had
bronzed his skin to that deep and olive hue which is peculiar to
convicts. In spite of his horrible nickname, his features did not
express ferocity, but a sort of coarse familiarity and irrepressible
audacity. We have said already that the Chourineur was clothed in
trousers and frock of blue cotton, and on his head he had one of those
large straw hats usually worn by workmen in timber-yards, and
barge-emptiers.
The Goualeuse was, perhaps, about sixteen and a half years old. A
forehead, of the purest and whitest, surmounted a face of perfect oval
and angel-like expression; a fringe of eyelids, so long that they curled
slightly, half veiled her large blue eyes, which had a melancholy
expression. The down of early youth graced cheeks lightly coloured with
a scarlet tinge. Her small and rosy mouth, which hardly ever smiled, her
nose, straight, and delicately chiselled, her rounded chin, had, in
their combined expression, a nobility and a sweetness such as we can
only find in the most beautiful of Raphael's portraits. On each side of
her fair temples was a band of hair, of the most splendid auburn hue,
which descended in luxuriant ringlets half way down her cheeks, and was
then turned back behind the ear, a portion of which--ivory shaded with
carnation--was thus visible, and was then lost under the close folds of
a large cotton handkerchief, with blue checks, tied, as it is called,
_en marmotte_. Her graceful neck, of dazzling whiteness, was encircled
by a small necklace of grains of coral. Her gown, of brown stuff, though
much too large, could not conceal a charming form, supple and round as a
cane; a worn-out small orange-coloured shawl, with green fringe, was
crossed over her bosom.
The lovely voice of the Goualeuse had made a strong impression on her
unknown defender, and, in sooth, that voice, so gentle, so deliciously
modulated and harmonious, had an attraction so irresistible that the
horde of villains and abandoned women, in the midst of whom this
unfortunate girl lived, often begged her to sing, and listened to her
with rapture.
The Goualeuse had another name, given, doubtless, to the maiden
sweetness of her countenance,--she was also called Fleur-de-Marie.
The defender of La Goualeuse (we shall call the unknown Rodolph)
appeared about thirty-six years of age; his figure, tall, graceful, and
admirably proportioned, yet did not betoken the astonishing vigour which
he had displayed in his rencounter with the Chourineur.
It would have been difficult to assign a decided character to the
physiognomy of Rodolph. Certain wrinkles in his forehead betokened a man
of meditation; and yet the firm expression of his mouth, the dignified
and bold carriage of the head, assured us of the man of action, whose
physical strength and presence of mind would always command an
ascendancy over the multitude.
[Illustration: _The Chourineur, Rodolph, and La Goualeuse_
Etching by Adrian Marcel, after the drawing by Frank T. Merrill]
In his struggle with the Chourineur, Rodolph had neither betrayed anger
nor hatred. Confident in his own strength, his address, and agility, he
had only shown a contempt for the brute beast which he subdued.
We will finish this bodily picture of Rodolph by saying that his
features, regularly handsome, seemed too beautiful for a man. His eyes
were large, and of a deep hazel, his nose aquiline, his chin rather
projecting, his hair bright chestnut, of the same shade as his eyebrows,
which were strongly arched, and his small moustache, which was fine and
silky. Thanks to the manners and the language which he assumed with so
much ease, Rodolph was exactly like the other guests of the ogress.
Round his graceful neck, as elegantly modelled as that of the Indian
Bacchus, he wore a black cravat, carelessly tied, the ends of which fell
on the collar of his blue blouse. A double row of nails decorated his
heavy shoes, and, except that his hands were of most aristocratic shape,
nothing distinguished him from the other guests of the _tapis-franc_;
though, in a moral sense, his resolute air, and what we may term his
bold serenity, placed an immense distance between them.
On entering the _tapis-franc_, the Chourineur, laying one of his heavy
hands on the shoulders of Rodolph, cried, "Hail the conqueror of the
Chourineur! Yes, my boys, this springald has floored me; and if any
young gentleman wishes to have his ribs smashed, or his 'nob in
Chancery,' even including the Schoolmaster and the Skeleton, here is
their man; I will answer for him, and back him!"
At these words, all present, from the ogress to the lowest ruffian of
the _tapis-franc_, contemplated the victor of the Chourineur with
respect and fear. Some, moving their glasses and jugs to the end of the
table at which they were seated, offered Rodolph a seat, if he were
inclined to sit near them; others approached the Chourineur, and asked
him, in a low voice, for the particulars of this unknown, who had made
his entrance into their world in so striking a manner.
Then the ogress, accosting Rodolph with one of her most gracious
smiles,--a thing unheard of, and almost deemed fabulous, in the annals
of the White Rabbit,--rose from the bar to take the orders of her guest,
and know what he desired to have for the refreshment of his party,--an
attention which she did not evince either to the Schoolmaster or the
Skeleton, two fearful ruffians, who made even the Chourineur tremble.
One of the men with the villainous aspect, whom we have before described
as being very pale, hiding his left hand, and continually pulling his
cap over his brows, leaned towards the ogress, who was carefully wiping
the table where Rodolph had taken his seat, and said to her, in a hoarse
tone, "Hasn't the Gros-Boiteux been here to-day?"
"No," said Mother Ponisse.
"Nor yesterday?"
"Yes, he came yesterday."
"Was Calebasse with him,--the daughter of Martial, who was guillotined?
You know whom I mean,--the Martials of the Ile de Ravageur?"
"What! do you take me for a spy, with your questions? Do you think I
watch my customers?" said the ogress, in a brutal tone.
"I have an appointment to-night with the Gros-Boiteux and the
Schoolmaster," replied the fellow; "we have some business together."
"That's your affair,--a set of ruffians, as you are, altogether."
"Ruffians!" said the man, much incensed; "it is such ruffians you get
your living by."
"Will you hold your jaw?" said the Amazon, with a threatening gesture,
and lifting, as she spoke, the pitcher she held in her hand.
The man resumed his place, grumbling as he did so.
"The Gros-Boiteux has, perhaps, stayed to give that young fellow
Germain, who lives in the Rue du Temple, his gruel," said he, to his
companion.
"What, do they mean to _do_ for him?"
"No, not quite, but to make him more careful in future. It appears he
has 'blown the gaff' in the job at Nantes, so Bras Rouge declares."
"Why, that is Gros-Boiteux's affair; he has only just left prison, and
has his hands full already."
Fleur-de-Marie had followed the Chourineur into the tavern of the
ogress, and he, responding to a nod given to him by the young scamp with
the jaded aspect, said, "Ah, Barbillon! what, pulling away at the old
stuff?"
"Yes; I would rather fast, and go barefoot any day, than be without my
drops for my throttle, and the weed for my pipe," said the rapscallion,
in a thick, low, hoarse voice, without moving from his seat, and puffing
out volumes of tobacco-smoke.
"Good evening, Fleur-de-Marie," said the ogress, looking with a prying
eye on the clothes of the poor girl,--clothes which she had lent her.
After her scrutiny, she said, in a tone of coarse satisfaction, "It's
really a pleasure--so it is--to lend one's good clothes to you; you are
as clean as a kitten, or else I would never have trusted you with that
shawl. Such a beauty as that orange one is, I would never have trusted
it to such gals as Tourneuse and Boulotte; but I have taken every care
_on_ you ever since you came here six weeks ago; and, if the truth must
be said, there is not a tidier nor more nicer girl than you in all the
Cité; that there ain't; though you be al'ays so sad like, and too
particular."
The Goualeuse sighed, turned her head, and said nothing.
"Why, mother," said Rodolph to the old hag, "you have got some holy
boxwood, I see, over your cuckoo," and he pointed with his finger to the
consecrated bough behind the old clock.
"Why, you heathen, would you have us live like dogs?" replied the
ogress. Then addressing Fleur-de-Marie, she added, "Come, now,
Goualeuse, tip us one of your pretty little ditties" (_goualantes_).
"Supper, supper first, Mother Ponisse," said the Chourineur.
"Well, my lad of wax, what can I do for you?" said the ogress to
Rodolph, whose good-will she was desirous to conciliate, and whose
support she might, perchance, require.
"Ask the Chourineur; he orders, I pay."
"Well, then," said the ogress, turning to the bandit, "what will you
have for supper, you 'bad lot?'"
"Two quarts of the best wine, at twelve sous, three crusts of wheaten
bread, and a harlequin,"[5] said the Chourineur, after considering for a
few moments what he should order.
[5] A "harlequin" is a collection of odds and ends of fish,
flesh, and fowl, after they come from table, which the Parisian,
providing for the class to which the Chourineur belongs, finds a
profitable and popular composition.
"Ah! you are a dainty dog, I know, and as fond as ever of them
harlequins."
"Well, now, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur, "are you hungry?"
"No, Chourineur."
"Would you like anything better than a harlequin, my lass?" said
Rodolph.
"No, I thank you; I have no appetite."
"Come, now," said the Chourineur, with a brutal grin, "look my master in
the face like a jolly wench. You have no objection, I suppose?"
The poor girl blushed, and did not look at Rodolph. A few moments
afterwards, and the ogress herself placed on the table a pitcher of
wine, bread, and a harlequin, of which we will not attempt to give an
idea to the reader, but which appeared most relishing to the Chourineur;
for he exclaimed, "_Dieu de Dieu!_ what a dish! What a glorious dish! It
is a regular omnibus; there is something in it to everybody's taste.
Those who like fat can have it; so can they who like lean; as well as
those who prefer sugar, and those who choose pepper. There's tender bits
of chicken, biscuit, sausage, tarts, mutton-bones, pastry crust, fried
fish, vegetables, woodcock's heads, cheese, and salad. Come, eat,
Goualeuse, eat; it is so capital! You have been to a wedding breakfast
somewhere this morning."
"No more than on other mornings. I ate this morning, as usual, my
ha'porth of milk, and my ha'porth of bread."
The entrance of another personage into the cabaret interrupted all
conversation for a moment, and everybody turned his head in the
direction of the newcomer, who was a middle-aged man, active and
powerful, wearing a loose coat and cap. He was evidently quite at home
in the _tapis-franc_, and, in language familiar to all the guests,
requested to be supplied with supper. He was so placed that he could
observe the two ill-looking scoundrels who had asked after Gros-Boiteux
and the Schoolmaster. He did not take his eyes off them; but in
consequence of their position, they could not see that they were the
objects of such marked and constant attention.
The conversation, momentarily interrupted, was resumed. In spite of his
natural audacity, the Chourineur showed a deference for Rodolph, and
abstained from familiarity.
"By Jove," said he to Rodolph, "although I have smarted for it, yet I am
very glad to have met with you."
"What! because you relish the harlequin?"
"Why, may be so; but more because I am all on the fret to see you
'serve out' the Schoolmaster. To see him who has always crowed over me,
crowed over in his turn would do me good."
"Do you suppose, then, that for your amusement I mean to spring at the
Schoolmaster, and pin him like a bull-dog?"
"No, but he'll have at you in a moment, when he learns that you are a
better man than he," replied the Chourineur, rubbing his hands.
"Well, I have coin enough left to pay him in full," said Rodolph, in a
careless tone; "but it is horrible weather: what say you to a cup of
brandy with sugar in it?"
"That's the ticket!" said the Chourineur.
"And, that we may be better acquainted, we will tell each other who we
are," added Rodolph.
"The Albinos called the Chourineur a freed convict, worker at the wood
that floats at St. Paul's Quay; frozen in the winter, scorched in the
summer, from twelve to fifteen hours a day in the water; half man, half
frog; that's my description," said Rodolph's companion, making him a
military salute with his left hand. "Well, now, and you, my master, this
is your first appearance in the Cité. I don't mean anything to offend;
but you entered head foremost against my skull, and beating the drum on
my carcass. By all that's ugly, what a rattling you made, especially
with these blows with which you doubled me up! I never can forget
them--thick as buttons--what a torrent! But you have some trade besides
'polishing off' the Chourineur?"
"I am a fan-painter, and my name is Rodolph."
"A fan-painter! Ah! that's the reason, then, that your hands are so
white," added the Chourineur. "If all your fellow workmen are like you,
there must be a tidy lot of you. But, as you are a workman, what brings
you to a _tapis-franc_ in the Cité, where there are only prigs,
cracksmen or freed convicts like myself, and who only come here because
we cannot go elsewhere? This is no place for you. Honest mechanics have
their coffee-shops, and don't talk slang."
"I come here because I like good company."
"Gammon!" said the Chourineur, shaking his head with an air of doubt. "I
found you in the passage of Bras Rouge. Well, man, never mind. You say
you don't know him?"
"What do you mean with all your nonsense about your Bras Rouge? Let him
go to the--"
"Stay, master of mine. You, perhaps, distrust me; but you are wrong, and
if you like I will tell you my history; but that is on condition that
you teach me how to give those precious thumps which settled my business
so quickly. What say you?"
"I agree, Chourineur; tell me your story, and Goualeuse will also tell
hers."
"Very well," replied the Chourineur; "it is not weather to turn a mangy
cur out-of-doors, and it will be an amusement. Do you agree, Goualeuse?"
"Oh, certainly; but my story is a very short one," said Fleur-de-Marie.
"And you will have to tell us your history, comrade Rodolph," added the
Chourineur.
"Well, then, I'll begin."
"Fan-painter!" said Goualeuse, "what a very pretty trade!"
"And how much can you earn if you stick close to work?" inquired the
Chourineur.
"I work by the piece," responded Rodolph; "my good days are worth three
francs, sometimes four, in summer, when the days are long."
"And you are idle sometimes, you rascal?"
"Yes, as long as I have money, though I do not waste it. First, I pay
ten sous for my night's lodging."
"Your pardon, monseigneur; you sleep, then, at ten sous, do you?" said
the Chourineur, raising his hand to his cap.
The word monseigneur, spoken ironically by the Chourineur, caused an
almost imperceptible smile on the lips of Rodolph, who replied, "Oh, I
like to be clean and comfortable."
"Here's a peer of the realm for you! a man with mines of wealth!"
exclaimed the Chourineur; "he pays ten sous for his bed!"
"Well, then," continued Rodolph, "four sous for tobacco; that makes
fourteen sous; four sous for breakfast, eighteen; fifteen sous for
dinner; one or two sous for brandy; that all comes to about thirty-four
or thirty-five sous a day. I have no occasion to work all the week, and
so the rest of the time I amuse myself."
"And your family?" said the Goualeuse.
"Dead," replied Rodolph.
"Who were your friends?" asked the Goualeuse.
"Dealers in old clothes and marine stores under the pillars of the
market-place."
"How did you spend what they left you?" inquired the Chourineur.
"I was very young, and my guardian sold the stock; and, when I came of
age, he brought me in his debtor for thirty francs; that was my
inheritance."
"And who is now your employer?" the Chourineur demanded.
"His name is Gauthier, in the Rue des Bourdonnais, a
beast--brute--thief--miser! He would almost as soon lose the sight of an
eye as pay his workmen. Now this is as true a description as I can give
you of him; so let's have done with him. I learned my trade under him
from the time when I was fifteen years of age; I have a good number in
the Conscription, and my name is Rodolph Durand. My history is told."
"Now it's your turn, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur; "I keep my history
till last, as a _bonne bouche_."