Every Friday, regularly, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, he came
into the courtyard, put down his soft hat at his feet, struck a few
chords on his guitar and then began a ballad in his full, rich voice.
And soon at every window in the four sides of that dull, barrack-like
building, some girls appeared, one in an elegant dressing gown, another
in a little jacket, most of them with their breasts and arms bare, all
of them just out of bed, with their hair hastily twisted up, their eyes
blinking in the sudden blaze of sunlight, their complexions dull and
their eyes still heavy from want of sleep.
They swayed themselves backwards and forwards to his slow melody, and
gave themselves up to the enjoyment of it, and coppers, and even silver,
poured into the handsome singer's hat, and more than one of them would
have liked to have followed the penny which she threw to him, and to
have gone with the singer who had the voice of a siren, and who seemed
to say to all these amorous girls; "Come, come to my retreat, where you
will find a palace of crystal and gold, and wreaths which are always
fresh, and happiness and love which never die."
That was what they seemed to hear, those unhappy girls, when they heard
him sing the songs of the old legends, which they had formerly believed.
That was what they understood by the foolish words of the ballad. Then
and nothing else, for how could any one doubt it, on seeing the fresh
roses on their cheeks, and the tender flame which flickered like a
mystic night-light in their eyes, which had, for the moment, become the
eyes of innocent young girls again? But of young girls, who had grown up
very quickly, alas! who were very precocious, and who very soon became
the women that they were, poor vendors of love, always in search of love
for which they were paid.
That was why, when he had finished his second ballad, and sometimes even
sooner, concupiscent looks appeared in their eyes. The boatman of their
dreams, the water-sprite of fairy tales, vanished in the mist of their
childish recollections, and the singer re-assumed his real shape, that
of musician and strolling player, whom they wished to pay, to be their
lover. And the coppers and small silver were showered on him again, with
engaging smiles, with the leers of a street-walker, even with: "_p'st,
p'st_," which soon transformed the barrack-like courtyard into an
enormous cage full of twittering birds, while some of them could not
restrain themselves, but said aloud, rolling their eyes with desire:
"How handsome the creature is! Good heavens, how handsome he is!"
He was really handsome, and nobody could deny it, and even too handsome,
with a regular beauty which almost palled on people. He had large,
almond-shaped, gentle eyes, a Grecian nose, a bow-shaped mouth, hidden
by a heavy moustache, and long, black, curly hair; in short, a head fit
to be put into a hair-dresser's window, or, better still, perhaps, onto
the front page of the ballads which he was singing. But what made him
still handsomer, was that his self-conceit had a look of sovereign
indifference for he was not satisfied with not replying to the smiles,
the ogles, and the _p'st, p'st's_, by taking no notice of them; but
when he had finished he shrugged his shoulders, he winked mischievously,
and turned his lips contemptuously, which said very clearly: "The stove
is not being heated for you, my little kittens!"
Often, one might have thought that he expressly wished to show his
contempt, and that he tried to make himself thought unpoetical in the
eyes of all those amorous girls, and to check their love, for he cleared
his throat ostentatiously and offensively, more than was necessary,
after singing, as if he would have liked to spit at them. But all that
did not make him unpoetical in their eyes, and many of them, most of
them, who were absolutely mad on him, went so far as to say that _he did
it like a swell_!
The girl, who in her enthusiasm had been the first to utter that
exclamation of intense passion, and who, after throwing him small
silver, had thrown him a twenty-franc gold piece, at last made up her
mind to have an explanation. Instead of a _p'st, p'st_, she spoke to him
boldly one morning, in the presence of all the others, who religiously
held their tongues.
"Come up here," she called out to him, and from habit she added: "I will
be very nice, you handsome dark fellow."
At first they were dumbfounded at her audacity, and then all their
cheeks flushed with jealousy, and the flame of mad desire shot from
their eyes, from every window there came a perfect torrent of:
"Yes, come up, come up." "Don't go to her! Come to me."
And, meanwhile, there was a shower of half-pence, of francs, of gold
coins, as well as of cigars and oranges, while lace pocket
handkerchiefs, silk neckties, and scarfs fluttered in the air and fell
round the singer, like a flight of many colored butterflies.
He picked up the spoil calmly, almost carelessly, stuffed the money into
his pocket, made a bundle of the furbelows, which he tied up as if they
had been soiled linen, and then raising himself up, and putting his felt
hat on his head, he said:
"Thank you, ladies, but indeed I cannot."
They thought that he did not know how to satisfy so many demands at
once, and one of them said: "Let him choose."
"Yes, yes, that is it!" they all exclaimed unanimously.