ne’er-do-well, a downright scamp! Hildegarde, heaven didn’t give us any
children, and I give thanks for it in my heart; because they aren’t
always honey for parents, and often absinthe rules the roost, as I see
in the case of Mère Georget!”
“Absinthe--absinthe--I don’t hate that! it helps the digestion!”
“Oh! bless my soul! you don’t hate any liquid; but I know that absinthe
is bad for the health; I’ve heard some of the clerks at the office
talking about two talented actors who played at the theatre and who put
an end to themselves with absinthe; without counting several others who
are in a fair way to do the same thing!”
“Bah! that’s all nonsense!”
“Come, Hildegarde, go to bed; I will come in a little while; and if
little Georget isn’t in at the quarter, I will leave him outside; I
can’t waste my oil for anyone who never makes it up to me. Well, you
don’t move; are you fastened to your chair to-night?”
“Go to bed first, Baudoin; I’ll sit up for the young man, and put the
lodge in order.”
“You know very well that I am not in the habit of going to bed before
you. I see your scheme: you will wait until I am asleep and then go to
the cupboard to say a word or two to the bottle!”
“Oh! the idea of my going to the cupboard! It’s much more likely to be
you, for you like brandy too.”
“I like it reasonably, like a man with some self-respect, who doesn’t
choose to make a brute of himself.--Hildegarde, go to bed.”
“I don’t feel sleepy.”
“Hildegarde, we are going to have trouble! Will you go to bed at once?”
“You pester me----”
“Hildegarde, I shall be compelled to resort to severe means. Why, you
certainly are glued to your chair; this isn’t natural, I suspect some
trick. Ah! I see! I’ll bet that the bottle isn’t in the cupboard.”
And Baudoin rose to go to the cupboard, but as his wife was sitting in
front of it and did not move, he pushed her roughly aside, whereupon
she reeled, and almost instantly uttered a cry of distress so
heartrending that her husband feared that he had hurt her. But it was
not Hildegarde who was hurt, it was the bottle under her skirts, which
she had involuntarily upset, and which had broken, overflowing the lodge
with all the liquor which it contained.
“I say! what’s all this?” cried Baudoin, when he found a stream flowing
between his feet; but soon the odor which spread through the room left
him in no doubt as to the identity of the liquid.
“It is brandy; she had the bottle under her skirt; what a vile trick!”
“Yes, and you made me break it! that’s the worst of it, you brute! Such
splendid brandy!”
“Hildegarde, you persist in your debauchery; I am going to give you a
taste of the broomstick.”
“Touch me if you dare! I’ll call the watch! I’ll make a disturbance in
the house!”
Meanwhile Baudoin, who was in the habit of keeping his promises, had
gone to fetch the broomstick. At that moment, the bell at the street
door rang, and this time the woman made haste to open, hoping that it
was somebody who would protect her.
It was Georget, the young messenger of the flower market, who entered
the house, and in another instant the porter’s lodge, just as Baudoin
raised his broomstick over the head of his wife, who ran behind the
young man, crying:
“Oh! monsieur, save an unfortunate woman, whose husband is trying to
murder her!”
“Sapristi! how strong it smells of brandy here!” said Georget, sniffing;
then, leaping upon the broomstick which the concierge held, he seized it
with both hands. But Baudoin held on, he would not let go, and a
struggle began between him and the young messenger, remarkably like the
battles around the flag, which we see in the war plays at the boulevard
theatres; only in this case the flag was a broomstick and the combatants
were not in uniform.
The struggle continued for some time, on nearly even terms; Baudoin was
stronger and little Georget more active. The concierge’s wife paid no
heed to the contestants; she had taken a small sponge, and was using it
to soak up the brandy from the floor; and when it was well saturated,
she put it to her lips.
Suddenly the broomstick broke, each of the contestants fell backward,
and the battle was at an end. Finding himself then on a level with
Madame Baudoin, who was kneeling on the floor with her body bent
forward, still soaking and sucking her sponge, Georget could not
restrain a burst of laughter; and the concierge, who was inclined at
first to belabor his wife with what remained of his broomstick, suddenly
decided to lie down on the floor, and to lap up the brandy with his
tongue as thirsty dogs lap up the water in the gutter.
VI
THE GENTLEMAN OF THE THIRD FLOOR
Georget left Monsieur and Madame Baudoin fighting over the remains of
the brandy with sponge and tongue, and lighted one of the small, thin
candles which are rolled up like small rockets and which are sold for
one or two sous at the grocer’s. Then running quickly up six flights of
stairs, he reached a small door in which the key had been left; poor
people are not suspicious, especially as they have nothing which is
worth the trouble of stealing.
The young messenger walked through a small room, which received no light
except through a little round window, in which room was a cot bed
supplied with a very thin mattress and with an old window curtain which
served as bedclothes. This was Georget’s bedroom; but he did not stop
there. Opening the door at the end of the room, and trying to make no
noise, he entered another much larger one, where there was a little
window. This room, although the walls sloped, was large enough to
contain a bed surrounded by white curtains, an old mahogany bureau, a
white wood table, a small sideboard, several chairs, and on the mantel a
tiny mirror surrounded by a branch of consecrated boxwood. All this was
more than modest, but it was neat and clean; it indicated not
destitution, but poverty.
Georget was walking very softly, concealing his light with his right
hand, when he heard a feeble voice from the bed:
“Is that you, Georget?”
“Yes, mother, it’s I. So you’re not asleep?”
“No, I haven’t been able to go to sleep, I don’t know why.”
“It must be because you are sicker; and you have not been well for
several days, although you didn’t admit it to me.”
“It’s nothing, just the lumbago, it will soon be gone. If you would just
give me something to drink, my dear, for I am very thirsty.”
“Yes, mother, in a minute. Wait until I light your candle and put out
this tallow thing of mine which smells worse than thirty-six lamps.”
After lighting a bit of candle stuck in a bottle, Georget approached his
mother’s bed.
“Come, now you must tell me where your medicine is. But gracious heaven,
how red your face is, mother! and black circles round your eyes! Are you
worse?”
“Why, no, it is the heat of the bed that does that.”
“Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. Oh! how hot your hand
is! You are feverish, and very feverish too, I am sure.”
“Nonsense, as if you knew anything about it.”
“Oh! yes I do; you must have pain somewhere.”
“No, I am not in pain.”
“The first thing in the morning I’ll fetch a doctor.”
“I don’t want you to; what’s the use of a doctor, just because one has a
little fever; it will go away all right without him!”
“Where is your drink?”
“I thought I wouldn’t make any; I prefer water, I like it better.”
“Water, when one is feverish! Why, you didn’t do right! If I did such a
thing, you’d scold me and say that I acted like a child, and you would
be right. However, tell me where the sugar is; where do you keep the
sugar, mother?”
“Sugar! I don’t want any; it nauseates me; I prefer clear water.”
“Water without sugar, when one is as burning hot as you are! I never
heard of such a thing! You can’t mean it! Do you want to kill yourself?
I am going to give you some sweetened water, but I must heat it; it’s
better so.”
“Oh, no! no!”
“I say yes; I will take care of you better than you do yourself. Come,
where is the sugar? where is the coal?”
And Georget ran all about the room, fumbling over all the furniture,
opening all the closets, looking in every corner, but he found nothing.
Thereupon a bright light broke upon his mind. He stopped in the middle
of the room, threw his cap on the floor, and cried in a tone of deep
distress:
“Ah! I understand everything now! You didn’t make yourself any drink,
because you had no coal nor charcoal! You don’t want any sugar, because
you haven’t a single particle of it here! Yes, yes, that is it! You are
out of everything! You haven’t any money either, I am sure! and I,
instead of trying to earn some, so that you might have what you need,
why, I do nothing at all! I pass my day loafing, and at night I go to
the theatre with Patatras, who absolutely insisted on treating me. I go
about enjoying myself when my mother is sick, and I come home without a
sou, without a single piece of money; and I haven’t anything to buy her
what might cure her! Ah! I am a wicked son, a good-for-nothing! Forgive
me, mother, forgive me; I won’t do so any more! I will work, I swear to
you that I will work now!”
And the young fellow fell on his knees beside his mother’s bed; and the
poor mother forgot her suffering, and tried only to comfort her son.
“What are you talking about, Georget? You, a good-for-nothing! Why, you
don’t mean that, my boy! Have I ever complained of your conduct?”
“Oh! I know very well that you never complain; you are too good!”
“You have been amusing yourself a little to-day; well, my boy, there’s
no harm in that; you must enjoy yourself while you’re young. Your friend
Chicotin took you to the theatre; the theatre is a decent amusement; it
is much better than going to the wine shop; you don’t make evil
acquaintances there, or destroy your health with unhealthy stuff that
they give you for wine. You haven’t earned anything to-day--that is too
bad, but to-morrow you will work, and you will be happier!”
“To-morrow! to-morrow! but you have had nothing to drink this evening;
you haven’t any sugar; and what will you take to quench your thirst
to-night? cold water, I suppose?”
“I am going to try to sleep; when one is asleep, one doesn’t need to
drink.”
“But when you wake in the morning, what shall I give you? for you have
no money here, nothing at all; isn’t that so, mother?”
“Dear me, yes, my dear; for unfortunately I haven’t been able to work
for a week; my sight has been all blurred!”
“Oh! you work too much, when you ought to rest.”
“Why so, Georget? I am not old enough yet to give up work, I am only
fifty-four! If a body was good for nothing at that age, it would be a
great pity!”
“I know that you’re not old, but still your health isn’t very good, and
then you didn’t use to need to work for your living.”
“Oh! my dear, we must never say such things as that, and sigh over the
past! If one has been happy, so much the better; if one is so no longer,
so much the worse; regrets don’t help and only make our position worse!”
“All this doesn’t give you any nice, hot, sweet drink, and that is what
you must have!”
“Don’t despair, we are not altogether without resources. You know that I
have--your father’s watch; and if it is absolutely necessary, why----”
“What’s that you say! my father’s watch, which you think so much of! the
only thing of his that you have! part with that? No, I won’t have it.
Wait--suppose I should go and stand in front of some theatre?”
“What an idea! They are all over, all closed at this time of night.”
“Never mind; in front of a restaurant, I may still get something to do.”
“I don’t want you to go out; it’s too late.”
“Well then, in the house; pardi! sugar and coal--people lend each other
such things as that. Don’t be impatient, mother, I will come right
back.”
“No, Georget, I don’t want you to ask the neighbors; don’t, I beg you!”
But Georget was not listening to his mother; he had already relighted
his tallow-dip and hurried from the room. When he reached the landing,
the young man stopped, for he was uncertain to whom he should apply for
the loan which he wished to obtain; but he did not hesitate long. He ran
down the stairs three or four at a time, and did not stop until he
reached the ground floor and knocked at the concierge’s lodge, saying to
himself:
“Baudoin and his wife are not unkind; they dispute together, and fight
sometimes, but they haven’t bad hearts; they won’t refuse me. Besides,
it is only a loan, I will return it all.”
But Georget forgot that he had left the concierge and his wife engaged
in an occupation which was likely to plunge them into a profound slumber
ere long. In fact, after sucking and lapping brandy for some time, the
husband and wife had felt such an intense longing to sleep, that they
had hardly strength enough to reach their bed; and as the sleep caused
by intoxication is never light, Monsieur and Madame Baudoin did not hear
the knocking at their door; one might have fired a cannon under their
noses, and they would simply have said: “God bless you!”
Weary of knocking to no purpose, Georget walked away from the lodge,
murmuring:
“Those concierges are regular beer kegs; I shall never succeed in waking
them, and I might as well give it up. Let me see, where can I apply? on
the first floor? The whole floor is occupied by a family of English
people, who hardly understand what you say to them and who don’t look
very pleasant; I should not be well received there, they would not be
able to understand what I said. On the second floor is a very pretty,
very stylish lady, who receives fine gentlemen, but who refuses to open
her door when she has company; her maid told me so the other day,--those
are her orders. On the third,--ah! that is the gentleman that they call
the _Bear_ in the house, because he never talks with anybody, never
receives any visitors, and hardly answers when you speak to him. Much
use there would be in trying to borrow sugar and charcoal of that man!
and still, if I thought that his black man would open the door;--but
no, Pongo sleeps so sound that he never hears his master come home. So
it would be the gentleman himself who would open the door, and he would
shut it in my face without answering me. I don’t even dare to try!--On
the fourth, on one side is an old woman, so timid that she will never
open her door after dusk; on the other, a student; but he has gone into
the country. And at the top, opposite us, no one; the room is to let.
Mon Dieu! whom shall I apply to then, if among all these people I can
see no hope of help for my poor mother, who has a high fever and no
cooling draft to lessen her suffering? Ah! Chicotin was quite right to
say that I am a fool to be in love, that I am too young. Mamzelle
Violette makes me forget my mother, my duty, my work. To think that I
have done nothing to-day! that I came home without a sou when I knew
that my mother was sick! Oh, I am a miserable, heartless villain! I
shall never forgive myself!”
As he said this, Georget went slowly upstairs, stopping frequently
because he was weeping; and he had stopped again, and rested his head
against the wall, to sob at his ease, when a door opened within two
steps of him.
He was then on the landing of the third floor, and it was Monsieur
Malberg who stood before him. When he saw the young messenger, who still
had the look of a mere boy, beating his head against the wall, and
giving free vent to his sobs, the gentleman who was called the Bear, and
who in fact had a rather stern expression and a rather rough voice,
walked toward Georget and asked:
“What are you doing here?”
“Well! monsieur, you see, I am crying, I am unhappy.”
“And why are you crying?”
“Because my mother is sick, and because she has nothing that might help
her; because I didn’t work to-day, and came home to the house without a
sou; because I am a heartless wretch, and I deserve to be beaten!”
“Well, do you think that if you beat your head against the wall that
that will help your mother?”
“Oh! no, monsieur! but when a fellow doesn’t know which way to turn! I
went down and knocked at the concierge’s door; I wanted to borrow a
little sugar and some charcoal of them; but they didn’t answer; I
suppose they sleep too sound!”
“So you live in the house, do you?”
“Yes, monsieur, at the top, under the eaves; I live there with my
mother, who is the widow of my father, Pierre Brunoy, who was a soldier,
a non-commissioned officer, who left the service on account of a wound.
Oh! he was a fine man, was my father! He was a draughts-man, he had lots
of talent, and he used to make designs for ladies who embroider; we were
happy then; but he died. My mother undertook to keep a little smallwares
shop, to earn enough to educate me; but she didn’t succeed, for no one
paid her. Then, as she works very well on linen, she began to work for
people, and I, knowing that I ought to help mother, whose health isn’t
very good, and who has weak eyes, I said to myself: ‘I will be a
messenger, for I could never find a place, although I can read and write
and figure; or else I should have to work without pay for a long while
and I must earn money right away to help mother.’--So I started in as a
messenger; for there isn’t any foolish trade, so I was
told;--and--that’s all, monsieur.”
The gentleman of the third floor listened attentively to Georget, and
when he had finished, said to him:
“Come with me.”
“Where, monsieur?”
“Into my room, of course.”
“What for, monsieur?”
“You will see; come.”
The youth placed his tallow-dip on the floor, and followed the
gentleman; his heart was still heavy, for he didn’t understand how the
person who occupied the handsome apartment on the third floor could need
his services so late. Monsieur Malberg passed through a reception room
very carefully polished, and into a beautiful dining-room. There he
stopped, opened a large sideboard, took out a loaf of sugar, which was
hardly touched, and placed it in Georget’s hand, saying:
“Take this!”
The poor boy looked at him with an almost dazed expression, and
murmured:
“What is this, monsieur?”
“Don’t you see that it is sugar?”
“Sugar, oh, yes! but this great loaf,--who’s all this for?”
“For your mother, of course! Didn’t you tell me that she hadn’t any and
that she was sick?”
“Oh! is it possible, monsieur, that you are so kind as--but this is too
much, monsieur, too much.”
“Hush, and come with me.”
This time Monsieur Malberg went into his kitchen, where Georget followed
him, holding the loaf of sugar in his arms. The gentleman pointed to a
large box without a cover, which stood under the stove, saying:
“Take that box; there’s charcoal in it.”
“Oh! how kind you are, monsieur! How can I thank you for----”
“It isn’t worth while, I don’t like thanks; take this box, I say.”
“Yes, monsieur, but be sure--I will return all this; pray believe me.
Oh! I will work to pay my debt.”
“Very well, very well! By the way, wait; I have some linden leaves here,
and some mallow; perhaps they will be good for your mother, and you
haven’t any in your room, I suppose?”
“No, I think not, monsieur.”
“Well, I’ll give you some then; come.”
Monsieur Malberg returned to his dining-room. Georget still followed
him, holding under one arm the loaf of sugar, and under the other the
box filled with charcoal. The gentleman opened the drawer of a small
piece of furniture, took out several paper bags, looked to see what they
contained, put two of them aside, and was about to give them to Georget,
when he stopped as if a sudden thought had struck him, and left the
dining-room, saying:
“I will return in a moment; what I want isn’t there; wait here.”
The young messenger was careful not to stir; he was so pleased that he
wondered whether he was not the play-thing of a dream; but he for whom
he was waiting soon returned, bringing several small packages of herbs,
saying:
“Here are some things which may be good for your mother,--linden, orange
leaves, mallow and violet; take them all, or rather let me put them in
your pocket, for you have no hand free.”
“Oh, monsieur! excuse me for the trouble I put you to. Mon Dieu! you are
too kind! I will pay you for this, monsieur; for we are not beggars, we
don’t ask alms, and I should be sorry for you to have that idea of us.”
“Very good! Your mother is sick and may need you; don’t leave her alone
any longer.”
“Yes, monsieur, you are right; my poor mother, she will be so happy,
so--so--Thanks, monsieur, oh, thanks a thousand times! Remember that I
am always here day and night, at your service.”
“I will remember; but go.”
And the gentleman pushed Georget before him, so that he soon found
himself on the landing once more. The door of the apartment closed, and
he reascended the staircase as quickly as he could, with his box of
charcoal, his loaf of sugar, and his tallow-dip still lighted.
At last he reached his room; this time he was not afraid of making a
noise when he went in; he was too happy not to wish to tell his mother
about it; but she was not asleep, and she gazed in amazement at her son
when he danced into the room, and placed the loaf of sugar on her bed,
crying:
“There, mother; you shall not drink plain cold water any more! Here is
sugar, here is charcoal, and in my pocket I have half a dozen herbs in
leaves. Ah! what luck! you will be cured right away! I can nurse you
nicely now.”
“What does this mean, my dear? where did you get all these things? You
hadn’t a sou just now. Explain yourself, Georget, I insist.”
“Why, yes, yes, never fear, I am going to tell you the whole story; but
let me light the stove first, and then, while I blow my charcoal, I will
tell you how Providence came to our assistance. Where is the stove? Ah!
there it is. This will light very quickly, I know, although the bellows
isn’t any too good.”
“Did you get all these things in the house, my son?”
“Yes, mother; you see, first of all, I went down to borrow from the
concierge, Monsieur Baudoin; but it wasn’t any use for me to knock at
their door, I couldn’t wake them, they’re worse than deaf people. So
then I was coming up again in very low spirits, indeed, I believe I was
crying, when the door on the third landing opened, and the gentleman who
lives there came out to me. Oh! this thing proves, mother, that people
very often say foolish things, or that it’s very wrong to judge a
person by his appearance. For that gentleman that they call the Bear,
that gentleman that never speaks to anybody, and that everybody makes
stupid jokes about, why, he took me into his room, and gave me all these
things for you, because I told him that you were sick; and he didn’t
even let me thank him!--Ah! you miserable charcoal! you’ve got to burn!
Now I am going to put some water over the fire.”
“But, my dear, this is an enormous loaf of sugar, and it is almost
whole; you ought not to have borrowed so much as this.”
“As if that gentleman would listen to me! He says: ‘Take this!’ and if
you try to remonstrate, he shouts: ‘Hold your tongue!’ and it’s
impossible to prevent him from doing what he wants to.--Ah! my fire is
going at last!”
“But this Monsieur Malberg--for the gentleman of the third floor is
named Malberg--I have never met him; what sort of looking man is he,
Georget? You must have had a good look at him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes! mother; why, he’s a man neither young nor old. At first sight,
I am sure that you would take him to be older than he really is, because
when a person never laughs, that makes him look older. He may be
somewhat over fifty years old; his face is not ugly, not by any means,
but his features have a sort of stern expression; his eyes are always
gloomy and melancholy, and there are great wrinkles on his brow; his
eyebrows are heavy, and his hair must have been black, but it’s a
little gray now. When he fixes his great brown eyes on you, it frightens
you; and yet I got used to them, for his expression is neither unkind
nor contemptuous; it’s--I don’t know just how to describe it--it’s sort
of compassionate, or sorrowful; and his voice, which sounds harsh at
first, is much less so when he’s talked to you for some time. You see,
mother, that gentleman isn’t like most people; oh, no! he makes you
respect him, and it comes natural to obey him, and you don’t dare to say
anything.”
“Really, my dear, you make me long to know this gentleman; when I am
able to go out, I shall go to thank him. And did you tell him----”
“Just how we are placed, what we used to be, and what father did. Yes, I
told him everything. Did I do wrong?”
“No, my boy, we have done nothing which we need to be ashamed of or to
conceal.”
“Ah! my water is boiling; now I am going to make you some herb tea,
mother; which would you rather have?”
“Why, tell me first what you have in your pocket.”