Brother Jacques Part 21

"Madame, I admit, that for a minute or two----"

"My mirror, Fifine; I wish to know if I look sick, as monsieur thinks."

Poor Gerard could stand it no longer; the philter was working; colic and headache appeared. The maid brought Madame Dubelair her mirror. The coquette looked at herself and began to shriek horribly; she broke the mirror, she had an attack of hysterics, and her poor lover implored Fifine to give him the key to his mistress's closet. The girl, who was mischievous and sly, like most soubrettes, roared with laughter when she saw Monsieur Gerard's plight; and to make the confusion complete, Madame Rose rushed in, crying that she was betrayed, dishonored; that her husband was a monster who gave her no children but had just debauched his concierge. Our amorous philter had raised the deuce with Monsieur Rose; the poor man had gone home, hoping to find his wife there; she had hidden in order to make him jealous, and the dear husband, finding n.o.body but his concierge at hand, had made her the victim of the flames that consumed him.

The cries of Madame Rose, who was frantic with rage, of the concierge, who pretended to be, of Madame Dubelair, who was trying to tear off her nose, of Monsieur Gerard, who was holding his stomach, and of Monsieur Rose, who was weeping over his own perversity, soon attracted the whole quarter. The neighbors hurried to the spot, asked questions, pushed and crowded, gave Madame Rose orange-flower water, the concierge cologne, Madame Dubelair ether, Monsieur Gerard an enema, and Monsieur Rose extract of water lily.

When the first outcries had subsided, an attempt was made to ascertain the cause of so many untoward events. It was clear that there must be some witchcraft underneath. Madame Dubelair swore that she had never in her whole life had a pimple on her nose or anywhere else, Monsieur Gerard never ate too much, and Madame Rose, despite her wrath, admitted that her husband was not the man to pinch a woman's knee unless he had been made tipsy. Thus these extraordinary events must have had some hidden cause. They remembered the philters; they confided in one another; and the result was that the little hunchback was voted a sorcerer, a magician, a charlatan, an impostor worthy of h.e.l.l-fire. But, pending the time when he should go to h.e.l.l, they considered that it was necessary to put him in prison, in order to prevent him from repeating his infamous incantations.

Rose, the deputy, went to the mayor and explained the affair to him; he obtained an order for the culprit's arrest. On his side, the advocate a.s.sembled all the notables of the town; they shared his wrath and considered that the scoundrel who gave one of the long robe the colic could not be punished too severely. Madame Dubelair and Madame Rose stirred up all the women; Madame Dubelair especially had to say no more than this: "A man who can make the nose red and the complexion lead-color is a villain who deserves the halter!"--As for the philter of which Monsieur Rose had drunk, all the ladies begged for a few drops of it for their private use, thinking that, when thus divided, it could not fail to produce very pleasant results.

These events had taken time; it was daybreak when they started for our lodgings to arrest us. I say us, for I am quite sure that I should have shared my companion's fate. But since the preceding day I had been on the alert, walking about the town, watching all that took place, listening to what people said; in short, I learned that they were coming to arrest us, and I did not deem it prudent to wait until that time.

While my companion was asleep, I made a little bundle of everything belonging to me, and of the money I had earned with him, being careful to take no more than was really mine; then, wis.h.i.+ng my little hunchback much good fortune, I left our lodgings, leaving him to get out of the sc.r.a.pe as he could.

I have no idea what happened to him, for I never saw him again; but as sorcerers are no longer hanged, since it has been discovered that there are no such things, I am very sure that my poor charlatan got off with a few months in prison.

XIV

END OF JACQUES'S ADVENTURES

I had about thirty louis in my purse; for selling pills made of bread is a very good business; you make few advances and never sell on credit, which proves that there is nothing that has not some value. You can imagine, my dear Sans-Souci, that my only idea was to enjoy myself thoroughly, and that is what I did in several towns where I stopped; but the adventure that happened to me in Brussels put an end to my enjoyment.

I had been living at an inn two days, and I pa.s.sed my time like all idlers or strangers, eating much, drinking a great deal, and walking about without any definite object, but going into all the public places, and visiting everything that seemed likely to be at all interesting to me.

On the second day, having gone to the theatre, I found myself beside a young man of respectable exterior. He seemed to be three or four years older than myself and to be thoroughly acquainted with society. We talked together, and he told me at once that he was from Lyon, and was travelling for pleasure and to escape from a marriage which his parents wished to force upon him. His confidence invited mine; so I in my turn told him all my adventures, the narrative of which seemed to interest him greatly.

In a word, by virtue of this similarity of tastes and of temperament, we became friends. Breville--that was my new acquaintance's name--invited me to dine with him on the following day, at one of the best restaurants, and I accepted very gladly; for it is a great pleasure, when one arrives in a town, to find some one with whom one can form an intimacy.

My new friend entertained me handsomely; we lived on the fat of the land; we walked and drove, and went to the theatre and to all the cafes.

Breville seemed to know the city very well for a stranger; he took me to all the tap-rooms and public places; I commented upon it laughingly to him and complimented him on the facility with which he remembered the way to all the places of amus.e.m.e.nt. To make a long story short, after doing the city one night, visiting cafes and frail ladies, we found ourselves at one o'clock one morning in the street, drunk with punch, liqueurs, porter, whiskey and faro.

I could hardly hold myself erect, and I was most desirous to be in my bed, to which I would have liked to be transported by some kind genie, for I felt that my legs were but a feeble support to me. Breville seemed less affected than myself, but he too complained of fatigue. The street lamps gave a very dim light. For an hour I had been urging my companion to take me home; but in vain did we walk through streets and squares, I could not discover my inn.

At last my guide admitted that he had lost the way and that we were very far from my lodging; but by way of compensation we were very near his, where he offered me a bed. As you may imagine, I accepted without hesitation. I was no longer able to walk, I could hardly see where I was going,--the inevitable result of the numerous forms of dissipation in which we had indulged.

Breville knocked at a door leading into a dark pa.s.sageway. An old woman admitted us. I hastened, or rather was carried, up a dirty winding staircase, and at last I found myself in an almost unfurnished chamber, which at any other time would not have given me a very brilliant idea of the situation of my new acquaintance; but at that time I thought of nothing but sleep, and in two minutes I was lying on a wretched bed and sleeping soundly.

Whether it was the effect of the punch, or of the strong liqueurs, I pa.s.sed a very restless night; I did not wake however and it was not until late in the morning that a violent shaking made me open my eyes.

"I say, my friend! wake up! You have been sleeping a long time, and it ain't good for you!"

Such were the words that first fell upon my ears. I opened my eyes to their fullest extent, looked about me, and made no reply, for the picture before me left me uncertain as to whether I was really wide awake.

Imagine my surprise, my dear Sans-Souci; instead of finding myself in a bedroom and in the bed on which I had lain down the night before, I found myself stretched out on a stone bench, in a sort of square, without coat or hat, and with nothing on but my s.h.i.+rt, trousers and waistcoat, and surrounded by a number of messengers who were gazing at me with curiosity.

"Come, come, comrade," said one of them; "come to yourself; you must have had a good supper last night, and drunk a great deal! That makes you sleep sound; I know how it is! And the morning after, you are as stupid as a fool; you don't know where the deuce your memory has gone to! But it comes back little by little!"

The fellow's words recalled all my folly of the night before. An impulse as swift as thought led me to feel my pockets and my fob. Alas! they were empty; and like most young men, I had been a.s.s enough to carry all that I possessed about me. I was the dupe of a swindler. In vain did I ask the men about me where Breville lived; no one knew him. I looked to see if I could recognize the house to which the traitor had taken me; I saw nothing that resembled it.

I rose, with rage and shame in my heart; if at that moment I had caught sight of the scoundrel who had swindled me, I don't know what I might have done! But, as you may imagine, he did not show himself. I asked the way to my inn, and returned thither sadly enough. But what was I to do?

What would become of me? I had not a sou, and I was dressed like a beggar. After playing the grand seigneur, after gratifying one's every wish, to be reduced to ask alms! What a horrible comedown! How bitterly I then regretted my little hunchback and our seances in magnetism! If only I had been able to begin that trade alone, I should have felt better. But I had not even the means to buy what was required to make pills, and I realized that a somnambulist who had neither coat nor stockings could never put anybody to sleep.

However, I was fully decided to die rather than to beg my living, and it was in that frame of mind that I reached the inn, which I had left the night before in such a different plight. I entered the room where the guests were breakfasting. No one recognized me and the waiters were about to turn me out, when I told them of my melancholy adventures.

The inn-keeper expressed sympathy for me, but did not invite me to return to my room, where I had left a few effects which were hardly sufficient to pay my bill. I stood motionless in the midst of the guests; I said nothing more, but tears rolled down my cheeks and my very silence must have been eloquent.

"Well, young man, what are you going to do now?" asked a voice, which at that moment went straight to my heart. I turned my head and saw two soldiers breakfasting at a table near me.

"Alas! monsieur," I answered, addressing the one who seemed to look at me with interest, "I have no idea. I have nothing left."

"Nothing left! a man always has something left when he is a stout-hearted fellow and has done nothing disgraceful. Come, sit down here and breakfast with us and pluck up your courage, morbleu! No one ought to despair at your age."

These words restored all my good humor; I did not wait to be asked again, and I ate my full share of a slice of ham and a piece of cheese, which composed the breakfast of the two soldiers. When my hunger was somewhat abated, the one who seemed superior in rank addressed me again:

"My boy, you left your parents to make a fool of yourself; the first mistake. You formed intimacies with villains; second mistake. And you allowed yourself to be robbed; third mistake. However, your mistakes are excusable; but look out--after being a dupe, one sometimes becomes a knave. That is what happens only too often to the reckless youngsters, who, like yourself, find themselves without money on the day after a debauch. Then they give way to their pa.s.sions, to their inclinations for dissipation and idleness; then they resort to low tricks to obtain their living; and at last they become guilty, although they began by simply being reckless. You are on the way, young man, and you must take a stand; you won't get a dinner by walking about with your arms folded, nor a pair of breeches by looking at the stars, when there are any. Have you a trade?"

"No, monsieur."

"In that case, enlist. Take the musket and carry it with honor. You are young, tall and well-built; be brave, obedient to your superiors, and I will guarantee that you will make your way."

This proposition gave me so much pleasure that I leaped for joy on my chair, and in trying to embrace my protector, I overturned the table, upon which luckily there was nothing left.

My eagerness pleased the sergeant and his comrade. They led me away instantly and took me to their captain, who, after eyeing me from head to foot with a glance, received me into his company, where I always did my duty with honor, I venture to say.

Now, my dear Sans-Souci, you know all my adventures; I will not mention those which happened to me in the regiment, and which you shared with me. Indeed, they are common to all brave soldiers: love-affairs, battles, disputes, reconciliations, feasting, starving, victories, and defeats.--Those are what always make up a soldier's history.

Years pa.s.sed; but I had not forgotten my family; I confess, however, that I did not want to return to them except with an honorable rank; I had the hope of obtaining it, and this decoration already made my heart beat more peaceably, when suddenly events changed their aspect.

Relegated to the civilian cla.s.s, I thought that an honorable and gallant soldier could not make his parents blush, and I went to Paris to find them. There I learned of their death! That was a cruel blow! But the icy welcome, the cold and contemptuous tone of my brother, put the finis.h.i.+ng touch to the laceration of my heart! It is all over, Sans-Souci, he will never see me again, the ingrate; he will never hear my name again!

Thus did Jacques bring to a close the story of his adventures, and a tear glistened in his eye during the last portion of his narrative; that tear was for his brother, whom he still loved, despite the way in which he had received him.

It was dark; Jacques's story had taken longer than he had at first supposed it would, and Sans-Souci had listened to it with so much interest that he had not realized that the dinner hour had long since pa.s.sed. But when his comrade had finished, he rose, shook his head, and tapped his stomach, as he glanced at his companion.

"Have you told me the whole, comrade?"

"Yes."

"Well then, forward!"

"What for? Where do you mean to go?"

"No matter where, so long as it is some place where there is something to eat."

"Ah! you're hungry, are you?"