You will not be sorry, reader, to know where that square was situated,
for you would seek in vain for the slightest trace of it to-day. We will
proceed to enlighten you upon that subject.
In the year 1634, Place aux Chats was near Rue de la Ferronnerie, close
by the Impasse des Bourdonnais, where Rue de la Limace had recently been
cut through.
The Cemetery of the Innocents was on one side, and had one entrance on
the square, another on Rue de la Ferronnerie, and a third on Rue aux
Fers. Before it was christened Place aux Chats, it was called Place aux
Pourceaux; and in 1575 Rue de la Limace bore the name of Vieille Place
aux Pourceaux.
Do not imagine one of those spacious, airy squares, such as you are
familiar with in our day. What was called a square [_place_] in those
days was often nothing more than the junction of two streets.
The houses which surrounded Place aux Chats bore no resemblance to one
another. One had four stories, its next neighbor only two; but in all
alike the heavy framework, the enormous beams, were visible, as it was
not then thought worth while to cover them with plaster.
The roof of each of the houses hung over far beyond the gable end, thus
diminishing the air and light; the windows were small, irregular, and
loosely set, the panes of glass were tiny and dirty; the doors were low
and narrow; the halls dark and begrimed with dirt; the staircases, which
were gloomy, dirty, and slippery, had huge posts of stone or wood for
rails; and there were absolutely no lights.
Let us not regret the disappearance of Place aux Chats.
Over the door of one of the tallest houses on this square, which stood
opposite the Cemetery of the Innocents, there was a long, wide board,
painted yellow, bearing these words written in red on the yellow
background:
HÔTEL DU SANGLIER. FURNISHED LODGINGS FOR MAN,
BUT NOT FOR BEAST
The Hôtel du Sanglier had three windows on the square; that was almost
luxurious; and it boasted five stories, counting the attics nestled in
the roof.
It was one of the largest houses on Place aux Chats; and although the
sign stated that horses would not be entertained, it was no infrequent
occurrence for a mounted man to stop and take up his quarters there; in
such cases, his nag was taken to an ass keeper's, on the same square,
who did not entertain horsemen, but was glad to take care of their
beasts, and he almost always had tenants.
The Hôtel du Sanglier was kept by a widow, already past middle age,
named Dame Cadichard. She was a short, fat woman, who had been rather
piquant and alluring in her springtime and even during her summer; her
great fault was that she was determined to be piquant and alluring
still, and to forget that her hair was no longer black, her waist no
longer slender, and her complexion no longer fresh. She still had the
flashing glance, the merry laugh, and the sly jest; and from time to
time she talked of remarrying, of giving the late Cadichard a successor.
But at such times the neighbors of the Hôtel du Sanglier asked one
another where the future spouse could be, for, among the guests of the
house or the strangers who frequented it, no one ever had been observed
to pay court to the Widow Cadichard.
Chaudoreille's godson had lived at the Hôtel du Sanglier for more than a
year; he occupied a very modest little chamber under the eaves, above
the fourth floor. His room was lighted only by a little round window
looking on the square, which, however, he could not see on account of
the overhanging roof; the window, moreover, was so small that only one
person could possibly have looked out at one time.
The furniture of the apartment was extremely modest; it consisted of a
white wooden bedstead, of the simplest construction, the headboard and
footboard being so insecure that when, in a moment of forgetfulness, the
long, lank chevalier tried to stretch his legs, he instantly started
all the screws from their holes, the bed fell apart and vanished, and
the man who was lying upon it found himself stretched on the floor.
Two straw beds, a mattress as flat as a pancake, and a bolster of hay
composed the bed furnishings. Beside that far from luxurious couch were
a small oak table, two stools, and an enormous chest without a cover, in
which the tenant was entitled to keep his effects; it was probably
intended to serve as a commode.
A few boards nailed to the wall served the purpose of a wardrobe, and
were embellished by those articles which the tenant found indispensable.
This was called a furnished lodging.
It is probable, however, that all the rooms in the Hôtel du Sanglier
were not furnished so shabbily; and the Chevalier Passedix knew
something about it; for when he first became a tenant of Dame Cadichard,
he occupied a room on the first floor; at the next quarter day, the
Gascon had gone up to the second floor; three months later, he had been
consigned to the third; the following term, he had occupied the fourth;
and the fifth term, which was now running, he had been relegated to the
eaves. In case the chevalier should prolong his residence at Madame
Cadichard's, he could be sure, at all events, that they would send him
no higher.
Why these peregrinations of the gallant Passedix on each succeeding
quarter day? That we shall probably learn in the sequel.
On leaving Master Hugonnet's house, the Gascon returned with long
strides to Place aux Chats, his mind engrossed by the pretty foreigner
with whom he had fallen in love so suddenly. He was already meditating
the means to which he might resort in order to see her; and from time to
time he put his hand to his belt, in which he usually carried his purse;
but the little leather bag in which he kept his money contained at that
moment only a few copper coins.
"Sandioux! my family is very dilatory about sending me money!" muttered
Passedix, shaking his head angrily. "And without money it is very
difficult to corrupt servants, to procure the delivery of a billet-doux.
I know that my genius will supply the lack, but it would go more quickly
with the help of funds.--But, no matter! first of all, I must put on an
entirely clean ruff. I must also have those two buttons sewn on my
doublet; then I will take my stand as a sentinel in front of the Hôtel
de Mongarcin, and I will observe what goes on there, and what persons
come from and go to the citadel."
Passedix, arrived at his hotel, entered by the low door, then, turning
to the right, passed into a room where the mistress of the house was
usually to be found, and where each tenant's keys hung on the wall, with
the numbers attached.
Widow Cadichard was seated in a capacious armchair, before a table; she
was in the act of eating a vegetable soup so thick that one could eat it
with a fork; beside the soup tureen, which exhaled a vapor by no means
disagreeable to a keen appetite, four very fine eggs lay on a napkin in
a plate. An egg glass and a bountiful supply of small squares of toast,
which were beside the plate, indicated in what manner the eggs were to
be eaten.
When her tenant entered the room, the short, stout dame flashed a glance
at him in which there was vexation and anger; but in an instant she
resumed her sprightly manner and went on eating her soup.
The chevalier bowed to the widow and walked toward the place where the
keys were hanging.
"Well, well!" he cried; "what does this mean, cadédis! my key is not on
its nail! Have you it in your possession, Madame Cadichard?"
"I! On my word! Why should I have the key to your room, I should like to
know? Do I go to your room? Do I have any occasion to go there?"
"Then it must be Popelinette, the servant, who has it?"
"Apparently!"
"So she is doing my housework, is she? That happens very conveniently,
for I will ask her to sew two buttons on my doublet. I suppose that she
is supplied with needles and thread, as every good servant should be."
"I don't know whether Popelinette has needles and thread with her; but
what I can tell you is this--that she isn't in your room now."
"Then she must be here; do me the favor to call her, Dame Cadichard; I
am in haste to go up and make a bit of a toilet."
"I am distressed to be unable to gratify you, monsieur le chevalier, but
Popelinette is not in the house; she has gone out; she has gone to do an
errand for the new tenant who came a week ago, and who occupies my fine
apartment on the first floor."
"Ah! your first floor is let, is it? I am very glad for you, my
respected hostess, although I might be justified in complaining of the
rather harsh manner in which you have behaved toward me! Capédébious!
every quarter day, you make me move--go up one flight--on the pretext
that my last lodging is let; whereas only the mice take my place. Do you
know, Widow Cadichard, that I should be fully justified in complaining
of such treatment?"
"You would be justified also in paying me your rent each quarter, and
that is what you haven't done, monsieur le chevalier; for I don't know
the color of your money, and you have been living in my house more than
a year!"
"It is true, my family is very dilatory; I haven't received my allowance
for a long time; but they will send it all to me in a lump!--After all,
how have I injured you? You never have a cat in your Hôtel du Sanglier!
You ought to thank me for brightening up this old house a bit!"
"Thank you! yes, if you had been agreeable, gallant, attentive to me, I
might not have made you go up so high, perhaps; but you never passed an
evening here chatting with me! Monsieur always has to go running about
the city! Monsieur has so many intrigues!"
Passedix turned his face away, biting his lips, and hastened to change
the subject.
"Sandioux! how good that soup smells!" he cried. "I don't know what it's
made of, but, judging from the odor, it must be a most delicious
compound!"
The stout hostess refused to be melted by this exclamation; she
continued to eat and talk:
"But luckily all my tenants do not resemble Monsieur de Passedix! There
are some who pay, and who are very amiable with me besides. For
instance, this new-comer, this foreigner who has been here a week--he
paid a fortnight in advance, he didn't haggle at all over the price, and
yet he pays me forty crowns a month for my first floor!"
"Bigre! that's rather good!"
"But I am sure that that man is a grand seigneur--but that doesn't
prevent him from often talking with me; he isn't a bit proud!--Yesterday
I dined alone--well! he sat down here and kept me company. He's a very
good-looking fellow, and quite young still--thirty at most!"
"What do you call this fascinating cavalier?"
"The Comte de Carvajal; he's a Spaniard."
"The deuce! the Comte de Carvajal!--Yes, I believe that is a great
Spanish family.--Sandis! but I must confess, lovely hostess, that it
seems to me rather strange that this grand seigneur, instead of
occupying a handsome mansion in the neighborhood of the Palais-Cardinal
or the Arsenal, comes to Place aux Chats to nest--with the Cemetery of
the Innocents opposite! It is not absolutely cheerful--and a hotel where
his horses and carriages cannot be accommodated!"
"What does this mean, Monsieur Passedix? you are crying down my hotel
now! You call this a bad quarter--then why did you come here to lodge?
And why have you lodged more than a year on this Place aux Chats, which
you despise?"
"I, despise Place aux Chats! God forbid, dear Madame Cadichard! On the
contrary, I consider it most romantic; and then I, being afraid of
nothing, not even of ghosts and phantoms, am not at all sorry to live
just opposite a cemetery; for if it should happen to occur to some dead
man to come to say a word to me at night, I swear to you that I should
be overjoyed to have news from the other world."
"Hush--impious man!--He makes me shudder over my soup!--You know
perfectly well that the dead don't return!"
"I know that there are a great many things that don't return, unhappily;
and you know it, too, plump Cadichard!"
"What do you mean by that, monsieur le chevalier?"
"Mon Dieu! how time flies with us all!--But let us return to your
Spanish grandee, who has chosen the Hôtel du Sanglier for his abode; he
must have a numerous suite of servants and horses and carriages?"
"Not at all; he has none of those things. He is alone; it seems that he
is at Paris incognito!"
"What! not an esquire, not a valet, not even a single little mule to
prance along the Fossés Jaunes?"
"Nothing, I tell you; for he doesn't go to court, so that the grands
seigneurs of his acquaintance need not know that he is in Paris."
Passedix shook his head and muttered:
"Hum! a Spanish grandee who hasn't one poor lackey in his service--that
seems suspicious to me! Where does this noble cavalier pass his time,
pray, if he doesn't frequent good society, the agreeable rakes of the
court, and dandies like myself."
"Monsieur de Carvajal doesn't often go out during the day. In the first
place, he rises very late; but, to tell the truth, he comes home very
late, too. As he doesn't want to disturb anyone, he has told Popelinette
not to sit up for him; he asked me to give him a duplicate key to the
street door, so that he can come in at whatever hour of the night he
pleases; and he takes pains not to make any noise, for we never hear him
coming and going; it seems that in Spain people are in the habit of
walking about at night."
"In Spain, perhaps, because it's warm there and the nights are fine; but
here, where it still freezes in the morning--for our spring is
devilishly behindhand! I believe that your gallant stranger is a blade
who does his work under the rose. There must be some love intrigue on
the carpet--some husband to be deceived.--Sandioux! I don't blame your
Spaniard for that. Love is such a delicious thing--and when it attacks
us--ah!"
Here Passedix heaved a sigh which lasted so long that his hostess
dropped her spoon and stared at him, as if trying to make out whether
she had anything to do with that prolonged groan. But the Gascon,
instead of responding to the Widow Cadichard's alluring glance, turned
away abruptly and began to pace the floor, crying:
"Cadédis! Popelinette does not return! it is insufferable! I want to
dress!"
"Dress? I didn't know that you had any other doublet than that."
"Possibly not; but there are different ways of wearing it; besides, I
want to put on a clean ruff, and I need to have two buttons sewn on."
"Mon Dieu! have you an assignation for this afternoon?"
"If that were so, it seems to me, Widow Cadichard, that it is my
business!--Will you sew on my buttons?"
"I! I should think not! Go to your mistress!"
Passedix stamped the floor in vexation. At that moment the door of the
room was suddenly thrown open, and the Gascon uttered an exclamation of
satisfaction, for he expected to see the maid-servant of the hotel; but
he was speedily undeceived. Instead of Popelinette, it was the foreigner
who appeared in the doorway.
XI
THE FOREIGNER
The new tenant of the Hôtel du Sanglier paused on the threshold when he
saw that there was someone with his hostess; he even took a step
backward, as if he did not intend to enter. But in a moment, changing
his mind, he walked into the room with a certain gravity of demeanor
which was not without distinction.
The Gascon chevalier scrutinized the new arrival with interest, for he
suspected that it was the foreigner whom Dame Cadichard was so proud to
have under her roof, and he was curious to see whether he deserved the
high-flown praise which his hostess had lavished on him.
A single glance was sufficient to satisfy Passedix that the sprightly
widow had not exaggerated at all. The gentleman who had just entered the
room was still young, tall and well built; his features were handsome
and refined, his eyes slightly veiled, but full of fire and expression;
he wore no beard on his chin, but only small moustaches curled a little
upward at the ends.
He wore with easy grace a rich velvet cloak, over an elegant pale-blue
doublet; a beautiful white plume lay along the broad brim of his hat,
and the sword at his side was suspended from a belt trimmed with rich
lace.
The stranger bowed most courteously as he walked into the room. Passedix
made haste to return his salutation, saying to himself:
"He is a good-looking fellow, sandioux! I am too just to deny it. Almost
as handsome a man as myself, and that is no small thing to say!"
Widow Cadichard had risen hastily on the entrance of her tenant, to whom
she made a low reverence.
"Monsieur de Carvajal, your servant," she exclaimed; "I have the honor
to salute you! Pray be kind enough to take a seat, monsieur le comte; do
you wish for anything? Perhaps you are looking for Popelinette? She
hasn't returned yet, and that annoys you. She is not very quick when she
has an errand to do. Would you like me to go to meet her, monseigneur?"
The stranger waited till this torrent of words had ceased, then replied,
with a smile:
"What I wish first of all, my dear hostess, is that you will not put
yourself out and that you will continue your repast."
"Oh! indeed I will do nothing of the sort, monsieur le comte; I know too
well what I owe to you."
"In that case, madame, you will compel me to withdraw, for I do not like
ceremony."
"Oh! monsieur le comte, since you insist, since you command me, I will
do it to obey you. But allow me first to offer you a chair."
While Madame Cadichard bustled about the room, looking for her best
easy-chair and the best place in the room to put it, Passedix approached
the new-comer and addressed him, trying all the while to hide with his
cloak that part of his doublet from which the buttons were missing.
"I presume that I have the honor to salute one of my neighbors? I say
_neighbors_, because we both live in the same hotel; only I am at the
top and monsieur le comte is at the bottom. But men of honor are always
on the same level."
"Ah! does monsieur live in this hotel?" rejoined the stranger, bowing to
the Gascon.
"With your kind permission."
"What, monsieur! why, I can only be flattered to have monsieur for my
neighbor."
"Castor Pyrrhus de Passedix, godson of the most honorable Chaudoreille,
who left me only this sword, his trusty Roland, a finely tempered blade,
which I dare to say that I use in an honorable way! My reputation in
that regard is made!--And monsieur is the Comte de Carvajal, the noble
Spaniard whom Dame Cadichard is so fortunate as to have as her tenant in
the Hôtel du Sanglier?"
"Madame Cadichard would do well, then, to be a little more discreet, and
to respect the incognito which her guests desire to maintain."
The stout landlady blushed when she heard that; she realized that she
deserved the rebuke, and in her despair dropped the spoon which she was
about to raise to her mouth, and which remained standing upright in the
soup.
But the stranger, as he lay back in the easy-chair she had offered him,
continued, with something very like a smile:
"However, I do not feel that I have the courage to bear any ill will to
our excellent hostess, since I owe to her the acquaintance of so
illustrious a knight as Monsieur de Passedix, who, I am convinced, will
not betray the incognito which important considerations compel me to
adopt at this moment, in Paris."
The Gascon bowed again, taking care not to relax his hold of the corners
of his cloak, and replied:
"You may rely on my discretion, monsieur le comte; the secrets that are
intrusted to me will go down with me into the darkness of the grave,
unless I am released from my oath."
Thereupon the chevalier seized a chair and placed it at the table,
opposite Madame Cadichard, who had taken one of the eggs from the plate
and was trying to devise some refined method of breaking the shell and
dipping her pieces of toast into the egg, in her illustrious tenant's
presence.
"I will not presume to ask monsieur le comte how he passes his time in
Paris; that is his business, and I never meddle in other people's
affairs! But I venture to say that I should be an invaluable guide for a
stranger who wished to become acquainted with the pleasures, the merry
gatherings, of the capital. I go about a great deal in the best society.
I am a jovial companion, a sturdy toper; all the dandies, all the young
noblemen who love to fight and drink and make love to the fair, are my
friends. Does anyone need a second for a duel, a fourth for a party of
four, Passedix is always there! I do not like to boast, but I could
mention exploits of my own which the Amadises and Renauds would not have
disavowed!"
"One needs only to see you, chevalier, to entertain no manner of doubt
that you would be successful in whatever you might undertake!"
"Monsieur le comte is too kind! But it is quite true that I count only
victories, sandioux!"
"If I remember aright," murmured the little widow, carefully placing a
bit of toast in her egg, "you were on your back a fortnight as a result
of the blows you received the last time that you tried to rob several
bourgeois on Rue Mauconseil of their sleep!"
Passedix cast a savage glance at his landlady, as he cried:
"No, no! you are wrong, Dame Cadichard. I covered myself with glory in
that affair; and if I did keep my bed for some time after, it was only
because, in the heat of the affray, I gave myself a strain which kept me
from going to my usual resorts for a few days. Your eggs are too hard,
_belle dame_, you will never be able to dip your toast in them. I advise
you to eat them as a salad."
"They are all right, monsieur le chevalier; I like them this way.--Mon
Dieu! how sorry I am, monsieur le comte, that my servant keeps you
waiting like this!"
"There is no harm done, madame, I am in no hurry."
"If only I had something to offer monsieur le comte; but this breakfast
is not worthy of him."
"I should think it very nice, if I had not already eaten mine."
"In any case," observed Passedix, "you wouldn't offer your tenants
boiled eggs, I trust; for these are as hard as rocks--like Easter eggs."
"Oh! what a tease you are, monsieur le chevalier! But I think that you
know very little about cooking!"
"Sandioux! Dame Cadichard--on the contrary, I know a great deal about
it. My godfather Chaudoreille used to give his friends banquets that
lasted a whole week; I remember that he used to have delicacies from the
four quarters of the globe, and he was not satisfied unless his guests
had indigestion.--If Monsieur de Carvajal has no restaurant to which he
is attached, I could take him to a cabaret where they serve the most
delicious calves' heads, and stewed rabbits _en crapaudine_--you would
swear they were hares."
"I thank you, chevalier; but I do not take my meals at wine shops."
"I understand--I understand. You prefer darkness and mystery, with some
fair lady who awaits you in her _petite maison_; for we have ladies who
have them, as well as men; I know something about it, for I have supped
in more than one of those enchanting retreats--near Porte Saint-Antoine,
on the other side of the Fossés Jaunes. I am not inquisitive, I do not
mean to ask you indiscreet questions; but, between us, monsieur le
comte, I will take the liberty to give you a piece of advice; it is
this: it is not very safe in certain quarters of Paris at night; people
are attacked, robbed, and sometimes murdered, without anyone interfering
to prevent it. I warn you of this, because our landlady told me that you
went out very late, and returned at very advanced hours of the night.
That is imprudent! extremely imprudent!"
"Ah! madame told you that, did she?" rejoined the stranger, with a
glance at Widow Cadichard that arrested one of the pieces of toast on
its way to her mouth.
"I," murmured the little woman--"I said--that is--no, I said nothing. I
don't know why monsieur le chevalier brings me into all the fables he
invents. He would do better to pay the rent he owes me!"