enormous slices of omelet into his mouth, and pieces of bread of equal
dimensions. "Sandioux! who wouldn't be happy to drink with such a
venerable old man, who has the grip of a Hercules?--Come, comrade
Cédrille, sit you down there."
"Oh! I'll tell you what," replied Cédrille, as he seated himself; "I
don't feel a bit hungry, and that blow made me sick!"
"The idea of a man of your age paying any attention to that little tap!
you are strong enough to stand harder knocks than that!--Come! drink, as
you are not hungry, and we will eat for you."
"Well said, venerable Bohemian! He need have no fear, I will eat his
share; but let us drink; one can always drink, even when one is not
thirsty."
The Bohemian was careful not to leave the glasses of his guests empty;
and Cédrille, led on by the example set him, finally decided to partake
of the omelet.
"All the same," he muttered, "I haven't enjoyed myself much here!"
"Bigre! my boy, you are hard to please! You see before you a delicious
supper--with two jovial companions; this venerable Bohemian fills your
glass every instant; this wine is very good--and you are not satisfied.
Is it because we had a quarrel with two boors? But in Paris it rarely
happens that one passes a day without an affair, more or less serious.
Why, I myself, as you see me, when I return home at night without
having drawn my sword, am not content with my day; I feel that something
is lacking.--You must know, respected Bohemian, that this young man has
been in Paris only since this morning; he cannot as yet be acquainted
with our customs; but I have undertaken his education, and I will push
him!"
"Thanks!" said Cédrille to himself; "if he pushes me the way he has this
evening, I shall risk nothing by keeping on my guard."
"Yes, yes," said the old man, caressing his beard, "I know that this
young man arrived in Paris to-day, with his cousin, a very pretty young
woman--a fascinating brunette."
"I say! you know that?" exclaimed Cédrille, staring at the old man in
amazement. "You're a sorcerer, are you?"
"That is my profession."
"And I bow before your magic power!" cried Passedix, emptying his glass
at a draught.
"But they burn sorcerers!" muttered the peasant, moving his chair away
from the table and looking at the Bohemian with a distrustful
expression.
"And so I fully expect to be roasted some day! But meanwhile I must make
merry during the time I still have to pass on this earth.--Waiter,
eau-de-vie--a large measure!"
Passedix grasped the Bohemian's hand and shook it effusively, saying:
"If anyone should ever be so ill-advised as to touch a hair of your
head!--You know that I am devoted to you and that I am fearless?--I will
undertake to deliver you, even from the Bastille, if they should
imprison you there!"
Poussinet brought the eau-de-vie, for which the old man paid on the
spot.
Meanwhile, most of the drinkers and habitués of the establishment had
gone; and the proprietor, approaching our three friends, bowed to them,
very respectfully this time, and said:
"Messeigneurs, the curfew has rung; I must warn you that I shall soon be
obliged, to my regret, to send you away; for if the watch should see a
light in my shop, I----"
"Very good, very good, my man!" replied the Bohemian; "we are drinking
quietly, we are making no disturbance, and we have some time before us
still. Moreover, there are ways of arranging matters with the watch."
As he spoke, the old man slipped into the cabaretier's hand a piece of
silver which he took from his belt.
The proprietor of the Loup de Mer bowed again, saying:
"Well, messeigneurs, do as you please; my first duty is to satisfy my
customers."
"Sandis! let the watch come!" cried Passedix, drinking eau-de-vie as if
it were wine. "We will give them a warm reception; they'll find someone
to talk to, eh! friend Cédrille?--Let us take a drink! this young
new-comer hangs back!"
"No, I don't; but my eye pains me!"
"An additional reason for drinking! this eau-de-vie is nectar.--Here's
the health of the man who treats us so courteously! Our host is a sly
rascal! he pretends to be afraid of the watch, but the watch isn't so
strict, so severe, as formerly. It doesn't date from yesterday, you
know; as long ago as the time of Clotaire II, every large town in the
kingdom had a night watch. In 595, an edict was issued, of which the
principal provisions were:
"When a robbery is committed at night, those who are of the watch in the
quarter will be held responsible if they do not arrest the robber; if
the robber, fleeing from them, is seen in another quarter, and the guard
of that other quarter, being forthwith notified, fail to arrest him, the
loss occasioned by the robbery shall fall upon them, and they will be
condemned in addition to pay a fine of five sous; and in like manner
from quarter to quarter.--Peste! there was no joking about such matters
in those days!"
"What I admire most of all, monsieur le chevalier," said the Bohemian,
filling the glasses, "is your profound erudition; you know
everything--yes, everything! I will wager that you are able to quote the
_Capitulaires_ of Charlemagne."
"In truth, I am rather well informed; and but for this infernal vocation
for the sword and for fighting, I believe that I should have become a
troubadour, a trouvère, of the first rank; I should have contended for
the palm with Clémence Isaure and all her supporters!--Delicious
eau-de-vie! it is like whey!"
"Come, come, Seigneur Cédrille; you do not drink, you do not follow your
gallant companion's example!"
"Oh! you see, I am not empty, like the chevalier; I had a good lot to
drink at the hôtel."
"At the hôtel where you lodge?"
"No; at the Hôtel de Mongarcin, where I took my cousin Miretta and left
her."
"Ah! so your pretty cousin is at the Hôtel de Mongarcin?"
"Yes, on Rue Saint-Honoré--close by."
"On this same street, eh?"
"She has a fine place there with the young lady of the house; and
I--they are kind enough to keep me too, as long as I stay in Paris. But
I shall not stay long; I have no desire to enjoy myself every evening
the way I have this evening."
The Bohemian seemed to reflect; Passedix, whose eyes were beginning to
close and his utterance to thicken, heaved a profound sigh and muttered:
"Look you, comrade Cédrille, I am going to tell you something in
confidence: you can't be in love with your cousin, as you leave her here
in Paris and go back to your mountains!"
"You think I ain't in love with her, do you? Well, that is where you are
mistaken! On the contrary, I love Miretta with all my heart, and I'd
have liked right well to marry her! But she won't have me! So all I can
do is make the best of it! She refused me flat, and she's a girl with a
very strong will! When she says no, that's the end of it; she never
changes her mind."
"Since she has refused you, we are friends once more; for you are no
longer my rival."
"Your rival?"
"Sandis! yes! I do not choose to dissemble any longer. I am in love with
your enchanting cousin! Ah! so much in love that it would make me an
idiot if that were possible! And with me, I venture to think that she
will not say _no_!"
Cédrille rubbed his uninjured eye, and stared for several seconds at the
long, lank, yellow chevalier, who had declared his love for his pretty
cousin; then, without replying, he began to laugh heartily.
This outburst of hilarity seemed to displease Passedix, who said:
"What are you laughing at, young countryman? I am not fond of having
anyone laugh at me without telling me why, capédébious! I am your
friend, but you must not presume upon the rights which that title gives
you."
"Seigneur chevalier," said the Bohemian, "you seem to me to forget at
this moment that this young man is the kinsman of the woman you love."
"You are right, venerable old man.--Your hand, Cédrille; no quarrel
between us! I drink to your health!"
"Ah! jarni!" cried the Béarnais peasant, putting his hand to his brow.
"I remember now--and it had gone entirely out of my head!"
"What, my fine fellow?"
"My cousin told me that she would look for me this evening, at dusk, to
take her to Rue Saint-Jacques, to Master Hugonnet's bath keeper, whose
daughter came to our assistance this morning during that infernal
battle."
"What, little cousin! pretty Miretta makes an appointment with you, and
you forget it!--Mordioux! if she had said that to me! But perhaps it is
not too late; let us go there."
Passedix tried to rise, as did Cédrille, but neither of them was able to
stand on his legs, and they fell back heavily on their chairs.
Meanwhile, the Bohemian had taken from beneath his cloak a small phial
filled with a reddish liquid, from which he poured into his companions'
goblets, pretended to put some into his own glass, and took it up,
saying:
"Can you think of such a thing, _beaux sires_? it is too late now, a
young girl cannot go out at this time of night; the fair Miretta must
have abandoned her walk, and you will take her some other time.
Meanwhile, taste this _rozolio_, of which my lucky star enabled me to
obtain a flask, and which I could not drink in better company!"
Passedix hastened to drink the liqueur which had been put before him,
not, however, without pausing now and then to smack his lips; Cédrille
did the same, stammering:
"Ah! jarnigué! that's good! That smacks of all sorts of things; I never
drank anything so sweet. What do you call this?"
"Our venerable friend has just told you," hiccoughed Passedix, resting
his arms on the table. "It's _ro--ro--rozo_----"
He was unable to finish the word. In a moment, his head sank on his arms
and he fell asleep; Cédrille soon followed his example.
Thereupon the Bohemian rose, left the table, and walked hastily from the
wine shop.
XVI
THE NIGHT
As soon as he was in the street, the pretended Bohemian walked at a gait
which did not resemble that of an old man; he went hastily along Rue
Saint-Honoré toward the Hôtel de Mongarcin. There he stopped, looked
about in all directions, and listened for sounds inside the house, where
some windows were still lighted; then he tried to pierce the darkness
that prevailed in the street; for at that time Paris was very poorly
lighted, or, rather, was not lighted at all.
Toward the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Parisians had been
ordered to place lighted lanterns in front of their houses, but the
order had never been strictly complied with. And even when a lantern was
placed before a door, it contained only a candle; so that you can judge
how much light it was likely to give and how long it would burn. From
time to time, one spied a bright light in the distance, but it did not
remain in one place; and when it happened to come toward you, you
discovered that it was a torchbearer. In most cases, that industry was
carried on by children; there was a bureau on the Estrapade, where boys
were supplied with torches to provide light for persons using the
streets at night.
After a few moments' reflection, our Bohemian suddenly walked on; he
continued up the street, and took what seemed to him the shortest road
to Rue Saint-Jacques. But, as he walked, he scrutinized carefully every
woman whom he met; to be sure, his curiosity found few subjects to
investigate, for it was nearly ten o'clock, which was very late at that
period; so that but few people were abroad; and a woman who appeared in
the street alone, at that time of night, might well expect that people
would form a very poor opinion of her and treat her accordingly.
But as he drew near the fortress called the Grand Châtelet, the Bohemian
stopped; he had espied a woman, alone, who was looking about her and
seemed not to know which way to turn.
She made up her mind at last, and was starting toward the Petit-Pont,
when a voice called to her:
"Where are you going, Miretta? You are wrong; that is not your road."
At the first sound of that voice, Miretta--for it was she--stopped as if
paralyzed by surprise; but it had no sooner ceased to speak than she
cried out, with a delight which she could not hold in check:
"That voice--oh! it is his! I cannot be mistaken! Where are you,
Giova----"
Before the girl could finish the name, the pretended Bohemian had taken
her in his arms and strained her to his heart, saying in an undertone:
"Hush! hush! never utter that name! for it would be my destruction! it
would be condemning me to death!"
"To death! Oh! forgive me, forgive me! but I am so happy, you see, at
this moment! I see you once more, I find you the very first day that I
am in Paris. Ah! I did not hope for so much good fortune! My dearest
friend, my only love! oh! tell me that you still love me, and I will
forget all the tears I have shed since you abandoned me. Tell me that
you are still my lover, my beloved, my Giova----"
"Again! Ah! Miretta, you will cause my ruin!"
"Oh! forgive me! but the pleasure, the joy of seeing you after such a
long separation---- I am mad, you see; I do not know what I say! Here,
feel how my heart beats! it is you, it is you, who are the cause! Oh!
speak to me, let me hear your loved voice again; let me be quite certain
that I am not the plaything of an illusion; for this costume, this gray
beard---- Oh! but it makes no difference! I see your eyes, I am sure
that I am not mistaken!"
"Come, come!" said Giovanni, passing the girl's arm through his; "let us
go away, first of all, from this fortress; the neighborhood of the Grand
Châtelet is not healthy for me."
The girl allowed her lover to lead her away; it mattered little to her
whither he took her; she was with the man to whom she had given her
heart and had sworn to devote her life. That great city which she did
not know, the darkness that encompassed her, the distant outcries that
reached her ears from time to time--thenceforth none of those things
frightened her, for she held Giovanni's arm.
The false Bohemian kept the girl walking for some time, pressing her arm
as soon as she attempted to speak, and motioning to her to maintain the
most profound silence. But Miretta's conductor seemed to know Paris
perfectly, and its most crooked, most deserted streets. After leading
her through several dark and narrow lanes, he came out on a small
square, stopped in front of a house, took a key from his pocket, opened
the door, and led his companion into the hall, saying:
"This is the hôtel where I live; give me your hand and let me lead you.
Don't be afraid; in a moment we shall be able to see; make no noise."
"Afraid! afraid! when I am with you! ah! you know me very little! See,
here is my hand! does it tremble? I am with you; what does it matter to
me where you take me? I shall always be happy with you."
A slight pressure of the hand replied to these words from Miretta; then
her guide led her up a staircase, stopped on the first floor, softly
opened a door, and ushered the girl into an apartment, where, by means
of a lamp burning at the back of the hearth, he speedily lighted several
candles. Giovanni then laid aside his cap, his wig, his great cloak, and
revealed a young man with a refined Italian face, whom we have already
seen in the plumed hat of the _soi-disant_ Comte de Carvajal, a guest at
the Hôtel du Sanglier, to which he had taken Miretta.
When she saw her lover stripped of all that paraphernalia which
disguised him, the girl ran to him and threw herself into his arms,
crying:
"Ah! now you are as I knew you at Milan; as you were when you invited me
to dance, the first time we met at the Balestrino. How gladly I
accepted! How happy I felt even then to be dancing with you! for, you
know, I fell in love with you on the spot. That sentiment which was
destined to bind me to you struck me to the heart like thought, like
lightning. It is always like that when love is genuine, when it is
destined to last forever. Isn't it so, my beloved? And you loved me at
once, too, did you not?"
As Giovanni listened to Miretta, his eyes assumed an expression of
tender melancholy. He had thrown himself on a sofa; he drew the young
girl to a seat by his side, took one of her hands, which he put to his
lips from time to time, and said in an undertone:
"Speak, speak on; you recall a very happy time!"
"Very happy, do you say? But in that case, my love, why not have
prolonged it? I was free, my own mistress, and, listening only to my
heart, I gave myself to you; Giovanni was my idol, my god! How
impatiently I awaited your coming at night, under the shade of the
orange trees where you used to meet me! I asked nothing of you but to
love me and to tell me so. Ah! you know, Giovanni, how little I envied
the jewels and fine dresses of other girls! I had no desire for those
costly pleasures which one enjoys in cities! I wanted only you--only
your love! But after a few short months of that happiness, which I
believed was to last forever, you grew sad and anxious, you began to
fail frequently to keep our appointments. When I reproached you, you
lost your temper instead of apologizing. At last, one evening you told
me that you were going to start for Paris. 'With me?' I instantly asked.
But you turned your head away. All my entreaties were useless. I wept a
long while at your feet; you said to me simply: 'I will return!'"
"Yes," Giovanni replied, looking the girl in the face; "and I forbade
you to follow me."
"And so I did not follow you."
"But why have you come to Paris, then?"
"And why have you not returned? It is six months since you went
away--six months! Cannot you understand that that is a fearfully long
time when one loves, when one is waiting, when one lives only on hope?"
"I would have returned."
"Oh! don't tell me that, Giovanni! No, you would not have returned--or
else you would have come too late and would have found me dead! Clearly,
you do not understand how much I love you; you know not that to me this
love is above and beyond the whole world, that it makes me capable of
defying everything, of undertaking any enterprise.--But why do I disturb
the happiness that is mine now that I have found you?--Why these clouds
on your brow? I will not utter one word of reproach--I will not ask a
question. Let me live in the same city with you, let me see you, speak
to you sometimes, and I shall be happy; and I will not even ask you what
you are doing in Paris, or why you are afraid to have me mention your
name!"
"But I propose to tell you!" muttered Giovanni, in a gloomy voice,
dropping the girl's hand, so that she shuddered, although she did not
yet know why her heart was turned to ice. "Since you have chosen to come
to Paris despite my prohibition, you must know what your lover is doing;
otherwise, you might unsuspectingly compromise his safety every day."
The young man rose and walked about the room, with a sinister
expression, saying:
"Ah! why did you come to Paris, Miretta?"
"Mon Dieu! in what a tone you say that! You would make me tremble if I
did not love you so dearly!"
"Your love will not resist, I will swear, the confidence I am about to
make to you."
"My love is stronger than everything! You may put it to the test!"
"But if your lover were--a man banished from society--a--a criminal, in
short?"
Miretta ran to Giovanni and threw herself into his arms, crying in a
tone of savage joy:
"Ah! I was afraid that you were going to say that you loved someone
else! I breathe again, since it is not that."
Giovanni kept his eyes fixed for some moments on the girl's, then said,
shaking his head:
"Ah! it is the truth! she loves me truly!"
Thereupon he resumed his seat and continued, but more calmly:
"Listen, Miretta: there has been in Paris, for several months past, a
man who spreads terror through all classes of society, but especially
among the wealthiest; this man--this robber, for I am talking of a
robber--attacks every night those people whose purses he knows to be
well lined. Adroit, active, fearless, he intimidates his victims by his
audacity, he inspires terror by his mere presence, and never, up to the
present moment, has he been obliged to shed blood in order to accomplish
his ends. When--which rarely happens--he falls in with a gentleman who
is brave enough to defend himself, he easily disarms him, and then
contents himself with taking his gold. You may imagine that the police
are straining every nerve to capture this brigand; but thus far all
their efforts have been fruitless. And yet his description, or rather
his costume, is known everywhere; for the robber always wears the same
dress when he performs his exploits. An ample olive-green cloak envelops
his body, a red cap with a fringe of boar's hair covers his head and
comes down to his eyes, and a long black beard conceals the lower part
of his face."
"Mon Dieu!" said Miretta; "the man must present a terrifying appearance,
in very truth! But what have I to do with this robber? I am not afraid
that he will take my gold. And why do you tell me of all his doughty
deeds?"
Giovanni rose without replying; he went to an old chest secured by a
stout padlock, opened it, and took out the olive-green cloak, the cap
with the boar's hair, and the enormous black beard. He threw them all at
the girl's feet, saying:
"See! here is the costume that this redoubtable brigand assumes every
night; for this man whom the police seek and pursue to no purpose, this
man who spreads terror and dismay throughout Paris--is I--your
lover--Giovanni!"
Miretta covered her face with her hands.
"You!" she murmured; "you! Oh! it is impossible!"
"I have told you the truth, Miretta; indeed, why should I tell you this
story, if it were untrue?"
"O mon Dieu! But what can have induced you to take up this horrible
trade?"
"Oh! it goes back a long way! Alas! in life, one thing leads to another,
all things are connected. The child who refuses to study, the youth who
leads a vagabond life, the young man who seeks only to enjoy himself and
to gratify his passions--all these are insensibly marching on to the
goal which I have reached. They approach it less openly, perhaps! Some
become swindlers, others Greeks--that is to say, they cheat at cards in
fashionable society. I consider myself as good as they are; I run
greater risks, that is all the difference! Yes, the man who seeks
nothing but pleasure comes to this, unless he has the strength, the
common sense, to stop in time. But I did not stop. I determined to
indulge myself with all the forms of pleasure which the favorites of
fortune enjoy--or those men whose talents raise them to the highest
positions, to the greatest honors. But I had neither fortune nor talent.
I might tell you that it was the decree of fate, that my destiny was
written in advance, that I could not avoid it. I will not say that,
because I do not believe it; because, on the contrary, everything tends
to prove that men make themselves what they are.--Besides, why should I
seek to excuse myself? I had a momentary respite from my passions--a
moment of calm and almost unalloyed happiness; that was when I knew you,
Miretta! Your sincere love made me think, for a brief period, that to
love was all that was necessary to be happy. But soon those passions,
which you had had the art to lull to sleep, reawoke in my being; it was
impossible for me to resist them. You yourself unsuspectingly aroused
them sometimes; for when I saw you dressed so simply, so shabbily, I
would say to myself:
"'Ah! how lovely she would be in a handsome silk dress! in the jewels
with which so many old and ugly women bedeck themselves! What joy to
drive with her in a fine carriage! to see everyone admire her and envy
my good fortune!'"
"Ah! did I need fine clothes to love you, Giovanni?"
"No, not you; but I--I wanted to give them to you, to see you dressed in
them.--Well, Miretta, that desire I am able to satisfy now. Come, look!"
Giovanni took Miretta's hand, led her to the chest, opened a false
bottom, and showed her a heap of gold pieces, jewels, and diamonds,
which half filled the great box.
"Do you see that gold? do you see all those treasures? A few more months
in Paris, and I shall have twice as much! Then I will return to Italy;
and if you will go with me, you shall be the most fashionable, the most
coquettish, the most richly dressed of women!"
Miretta turned away from the chest with a gesture of horror.