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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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Miss Dimpleton never left home but on Sundays, and every morning laid
in her provisions of chick-weed, bread, hempseed, and milk for her
birds and herself, as Mrs. Pipelet observed. But she lived in Paris
for the sake of Paris; she would have been miserable elsewhere than in
the capital.

After a few words upon the personal appearance of the grisette, we
will introduce Rudolph into his neighbor's apartment.

Miss Dimpleton had scarcely attained her eighteenth year; rather below
the middle size, her figure was so gracefully formed and voluptuously
rounded, harmonizing so well with a sprightly and elastic step, that
an inch more in height would have spoiled the graceful symmetry that
distinguished her. The movement of her pretty little feet, incased in
faultless boots of black cloth, with a rather stout sole, reminded you
of the quick, pretty, and cautious tread of the quail or wagtail. She
did not seem to walk, but to pass over the pavement as if she were
gliding over its surface. This step, so peculiar to _grisettes_,
at once nimble, attractive, and as if somewhat alarmed, may be
attributed to three causes; their desire to be thought pretty, their
fear of a too-plainly expressed admiration, and the desire they always
have not to lose a minute in their peregrinations.

Rudolph had never seen Miss Dimpleton but by the somber light in
Morel's garret, or on the landing, equally obscure; he was therefore
dazzled by the brilliant freshness of the girl, when he entered
silently her room, lit by two large windows. He remained for an
instant motionless, struck by the charming picture before him.
Standing before a glass, placed over the chimney-piece, Miss Dimpleton
had just finished tying under her chin the strings of a small cap of
bordered tulle, trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons. The cap, which
fitted tightly, was placed far back on her head, and thus revealed two
large thick braids of glossy hair, shining like jet, and falling very
low in front. Her eyebrows, well-defined, seemed as if traced in ink,
and were arched above large black eyes, full of vivacity and
expression; her firm and downy cheeks were tinted with a lovely bloom,
like a ripe peach sprinkled with the dew of morning. Her small,
upturned, and saucy nose would have made the fortune of a Lisette or
Marton; her mouth, rather large, with rosy lips and small white teeth,
was full of laughter and sport; her cheeks were dimpled and also her
chin, not far from which was a little speck of beauty, a dark mole,
_killingly_ placed at the corner of her mouth. Between a very low
worked collar and the border of the little cap, gathered in by a
cherry-colored ribbon, was seen beautiful hair, so carefully twisted
and turned up, that its roots were as clear and as black as if they
had been painted on the ivory of that tempting neck. A plum-colored
merino dress, with a plain back and tight sleeves, skillfully made by
herself, covered a bust so dainty and supple, that the young girl
never wore a corset--for economy's sake. An ease and unusual freedom
in the smallest action of the shoulders and body, resembling the
facile, undulating motions of a cat, evinced this peculiarity. Imagine
a gown fitting tightly to a form rounded and polished as marble, and
we must agree that Miss Dimpleton could easily dispense with the
accessory to the dress of which we have spoken. The band of a small
apron of dark green levantine formed a girdle round a waist which
might have been spanned with your two hands.

[Illustration: THE ROTUNDA]

Supposing herself to be quite alone (for Rudolph still remained at the
door motionless and unperceived), Miss Dimpleton, after having
smoothed the bands of her hair with her small white hand, placed her
little foot upon a chair, and stooped down to tighten her boot-lace.
This attitude disclosed to Rudolph a snow-white cotton stocking, and
half of a beautifully formed leg.

After this detailed account we may conclude that Miss Dimpleton had
put on her prettiest cap and apron, to do honor to her neighbor on
their visit to the Temple. The person of the pretended merchant's
clerk was quite to her taste: his face, benevolent, proud, and noble,
pleased her greatly: and then he had shown so much compassion toward
the poor Morels, in giving up his room to them, that, thanks to his
kindness of heart, and perhaps also to his good looks, Rudolph had
made great steps in the confidence of the grisette, who, according to
her ideas of the necessity of reciprocal obligations imposed on
neighbors, esteemed herself fortunate that Rudolph had succeeded the
commission-traveler, Cabrion, and Francois Germain; for she had begun
to feel that the next room had been too long empty, and she feared,
above all, that it would not be _agreeably_ occupied.

Rudolph took advantage of his being unperceived, to throw a curious
look around this room, which he found deserved more praise than Mrs.
Pipelet had given to the extreme neatness of Miss Dimpleton's humble
home. Nothing could be gayer or better arranged than this little room.
A gray paper, with green flowers, covered the walls; the red-waxed
floor shone like a mirror; a saucepan of white earthenware was on the
hob, where was also arranged a small quantity of wood, cut so fine and
small that you could well compare each piece to a large match. Upon
the stone mantelpiece, representing gray marble, were placed for
ornament two common flower-pots, painted an emerald green; a little
wooden stand held a silver watch, which served in lieu of a clock. On
one side shone a brass candle-stick, bright as gold, ornamented with
an end of wax candle; on the other side, was one of those lamps formed
of a cylinder, with a tin reflector, mounted upon a steel stem, with a
leaden stand. A tolerably large glass, in a frame of black wood,
surmounted the mantel.

Curtains of green and gray chintz, bordered with worsted galloon, cut
out and arranged by Miss Dimpleton, and placed on slight rods of black
iron, draperied the windows; and the bed was covered with a quilt of
the same make and material. Two glass-fronted cupboards, painted white
and varnished, were placed each side of the recess; no doubt
containing the household utensils--the portable stove, the broom,
etc., etc.; for none of these necessaries destroyed the harmonious
arrangement of the room.

A walnut chest of drawers, beautifully grained and well polished, four
chairs of the same wood, a large table with one of those green cloth
covers sometimes seen in country cottages, a straw-bottom armchair,
with a footstool--such was the unpretending furniture. There was, too,
in the recess in one of the windows, the cage of the two canaries,
faithful companions of Miss Dimpleton. By one of those notable
inventions which arise only in the minds of poor people, the cage was
set in the middle of a large chest, a foot in depth, upon the table:
this chest, which Miss Dimpleton called the garden of her birds, was
filled with earth, covered with moss during the winter, and in the
spring with turf and flowers. Rudolph gazed into this apartment with
interest and curiosity; he perfectly comprehended the joyous humor of
this young girl; he pictured the silence disturbed by the warbling
birds, and the singing of Miss Dimpleton. In the summer, doubtless,
she worked near the open window, half hidden by a verdant curtain of
sweet pea, nasturtium, and blue and white morning-glories; in the
winter, she sat by the side of the stove, enlivened by the soft light
of her lamp.

* * * * * * *

Rudolph was thus far in these reflections, when, looking mechanically
at the door, he noticed a strong bolt--a bolt that would not have been
out of place on the door of a prison. This bolt caused him to reflect.
It had two meanings, two distinct uses: to shut the door _upon_
lovers within--to shut the door _against_ lovers without. One of
these uses would utterly contradict the assertions of Mrs. Pipelet--
the other would confirm them. Rudolph had just arrived at these
conclusions, when Miss Dimpleton, turning her head, perceived him,
and, without changing her position, said: "What, neighbor! there you
are then!" Instantly the pretty leg disappeared under the ample skirt
of the currant-colored gown, and Miss Dimpleton added: "Caught you,
Cunning!"

"I am here, admiring in silence."

"And what do you admire, neighbor?"

"This pretty little room, for you are lodged like a queen."

"Nay, you see, this is my enjoyment. I seldom go out; so at least I
may please myself at home."

"But I do not find fault. What tasteful curtains! and the drawers--as
good as mahogany. You must have spent heaps of money here."

"Oh, pray don't remind me of it! I had four hundred and twenty-six
francs when I left prison, and almost all is gone."

"When you left prison?"

"Yes; it is quite a story. But you do not, I hope, think I was in
prison for any crime?"

"Certainly not; but how was it?"

"After the cholera, I found myself alone in the world; I was then, I
believe, about ten years of age."

"Until that time, who had taken care of you?"

"Oh, very good people; but they died of the cholera (here the large
black eyes became tearful); the little they left was sold to discharge
two or three small debts, and I found that no one would shelter me.
Not knowing what to do I went to the guard-house, opposite where I had
resided, and said to the sentinel: 'Soldier, my parents are dead, and
I do not know where to go. What must I do?' The sub-officer came and
took me to the magistrate, who sent me to prison as a vagabond, which
I was allowed to quit at sixteen years of age."

"But your parents?"

"I do not know who was my father; I was six years old when I lost my
mother, who had taken me from the Foundling Hospital, where she had
been compelled at first to place me. The kind people of whom I have
spoken lived in our house; they had no children, and seeing me an
orphan, took care of me."

"And how did they live? What was their condition in life?"

"Papa Cretu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and the
female who lived with him worked at her needle."

"Then they were tolerably well off?"

"Oh, as well off as most people in their station. Though not married,
they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and downs;
to-day in abundance, if there was plenty of work; to-morrow
straitened, if there was not any; but that did not prevent them from
being contented and gay (at this remembrance Miss Dimpleton's face
brightened). There was nowhere near a house like it--always cheerful,
always singing; and with all that, good and kind beyond belief! What
was theirs, was for others also. Mamma Cretu was a plump body of
thirty, clean as a new penny, lively as an eel, merry as a finch. Her
husband was a regular jolly old King Cole; he had a large nose, a
large mouth, always a paper cap on his head, and a face so droll--oh,
so droll, that you could not look at him without laughing! When he
returned home after work he did nothing but sing, make faces, and
gambol like a child. He made me dance, and jump upon his knees; he
played with me as if he were my own age, and his wife entirely spoilt
me. Both required of me but one thing--to be good-humored; and in
that, thank God! I never disappointed them; so they baptized me,
Dimpleton (not Simpleton, neighbor!) and the cap fitted. As to gayety,
they set me the example: never did I see them sad. If they uttered
reproaches at all, it was the wife said to her husband: 'Stop, Cretu,
you make me laugh too much!' or he said to her 'Hold your tongue,
Ramonette (I do not know why he called her Ramonette), you will make
me ill, you are so funny!' And as for me, I laughed to see them laugh.
That's how I was brought up, and how my character was formed; I trust
I have profited by it!"

"To perfection, neighbor! Then they never quarreled?"

"Never; oh, the biggest kind of never! Sunday, Monday, sometimes
Tuesday, they had, as they called it, an outing, and took me always
with them. Papa Cretu was a very good workman; when employed, he could
earn what he pleased, and so could his wife too. As soon as they had
sufficient for the Sunday and Monday, and could live till then, well
or ill, they were satisfied. After that if they were on short
allowance, they were still contented. I remember that when we had only
bread and water, Papa Cretu used to take out of his library--"

"He had a library?"

"So he called a little chest, where he put his collections of new
songs: for he bought all the new songs, and knew them all. When there
was nothing in the house but bread, he would take from his library an
old cookery-book, and say to us: 'Let us see what we will have to eat
today--this or that?' and he would read to us a list of many good
things. Each chose their dish. Papa Cretu would then take an empty
stewpan, and with the drollest manner, and the funniest jests in the
world, pretend to put in all the ingredients necessary to make a good
stew, and seemed to pour it into a plate, also empty, which he would
place on the table, always with grimaces that made us hold our sides,
then taking his book again, he would read, for example, the receipt
for a good fricassee of chicken that we had chosen, and that made our
mouths water; we then eat our bread (while he read) laughing like so
many mad things."

"And were they in debt?"

"Not at all! As long as they had money they feasted: when they had
none they dined on _water-color_ as Papa Cretu called it."

"And did they not think of the future?"

"Oh, yes, they thought of it; but then our present and future were
like Sunday and Monday--summer we spent gayly and happily outside the
City, the winter we got over at home."

"Since these poor people agreed so well together, why did they not
marry?"

"One of their friends once asked the same question, before me."

"Well?"

"They answered: 'If we should ever have children, we will marry; but
we are very well as we are. What is the good of compelling us to do
that which we now do willingly? Besides, it is expensive, and we have
no money to spare.' But see how I am gossiping! as I always do on the
subject of those good people, who were so kind to me, for I never tire
of speaking of them. Here, neighbor, be civil enough to take my shawl,
which is on the bed, and fasten it under the collar of my dress with
this large pin, and we will then go, for we shall be some time
selecting all you wish to purchase for the Morels."

Rudolph hastened to obey the instructions; he took from the bed a
large plaid shawl, and carefully arranged it on his neighbor's lovely
shoulders.

"Now then, lift up the collar a little, press the dress and shawl
close together and stick in the pin. Above all, take care not to prick
me."

The prince executed the given instructions with zealous nicety; then
he observed, smilingly, to the grisette, "Oh, Miss Dimpleton, I must
not be your _femme de chambre_--there is danger in it!"

"Yes, yes," answer Miss Dimpleton, gayly, "there is great danger of my
having a pin run into me! But now," added she, after they had left the
room and locked the door after them; "here, neighbor, take the key; it
is so very heavy, that I always fear it will tear my pocket. It is
quite a pistol for size!" And then she laughed merrily.

Rudolph accordingly took possession of an enormous key--such a one as
is sometimes seen in those allegorical representations where the
vanquished offer the keys of their cities to the conquerors. Although
Rudolph believed himself sufficiently changed by years not to be
recognized by Polidori, he yet pulled up the collar of his coat before
passing the door of the quack Bradamanti.

"Neighbor, don't forget to tell M. Pipelet that some goods will be
brought here, which must be taken to your room," said Miss Dimpleton.

"You are right, neighbor; we will step into the lodge as we pass by."

Pipelet, his everlasting immense hat, as usual, on his head, dressed
in his green coat, was sitting gravely before a table, on which were
spread pieces of leather and fragments of old shoes; he was occupied
in putting a new sole to a boot, which he did with that serious and
meditative air which characterized all his doings. Anastasia was
absent from the lodge.

"Well, M. Pipelet," said Miss Dimpleton, "I trust things will be
better now! Thanks to my neighbor, the poor Morels were rescued from
trouble just as those heartless bailiffs were about to drag the
unhappy man to prison."

"Oh! these bailiffs are really without hearts, or manners either,
mademoiselle," added Pipelet, in an angry voice, flourishing the boot
he was repairing, in which he had thrust his left hand and arm.

"No! I do not fear to repeat, in the face of heaven and man, that they
are without manners; they took advantage of the darkness of the
staircase to make rude remarks on my wife's very person. On hearing
the cries of her offended modesty, in spite of myself, I yielded to
the impulse of my temper. I do not disguise it, my first movement was
to remain perfectly motionless."

"But afterward you followed them, I hope, M. Pipelet?" said Miss
Dimpleton, who had some trouble to preserve a serious air.

"I thought of it," answered Pipelet, with a deep sigh; "but when those
shameless ruffians passed before my door, my blood rose, and I could
not hinder myself from putting my hand before my eyes, to hide the
monsters from my sight! But that does not surprise me; I knew
something unfortunate would happen to me to-day, for I dreamed--last
night--of Monster Cabrion!"

Miss Dimpleton smiled, as Pipelet's painful sighs were mingled with
the taps of the hammer, which he vigorously applied to the sole of the
old boot.

"You truly acted the part of a wise man, my dear M. Pipelet, that of
despising offenses, and holding it beneath you to revenge them. But
let us forget these miserable bailiffs. Will you be kind enough to do
me a favor?" asked Rudolph.

"Man is born to assist his fellow-man," replied Pipelet, in a
sententious and melancholy tone: "and more particularly so when his
fellow-man is so good a lodger as yourself."

"It will be necessary to take up to my room different things which
will be brought here presently for the Morels."

"Be assured I will take charge of them," replied Pipelet, "and
faithfully carry out your wishes."

"And afterward," said Rudolph, sadly, "you must obtain a priest to
watch by the little girl the Morels have lost in the night. Go and
register her death, and order a decent funeral. Here is money; spare
not, for Morel's benefactress, whose mere agent I am, wishes all to go
well."

"Make your mind quite easy, sir," replied Pipelet; "directly my wife
comes back, I will go to the mayor, the church, and the ham-and-beef
shop--to the church for the soul of the dead, to the cook-shop for the
body of the living," added Pipelet, philosophically and poetically.
"You may consider it done--already done, in both cases, my good sir."

At the entrance, Rudolph and Miss Dimpleton found themselves face to
face with Anastasia, who had returned from market, bearing a heavy
basket of provisions.

"Well done!" exclaimed the portress, looking at them both with a
knowing and significant air; "already arm-in-arm! That's your sort!
Young people will be young people--and where's the harm? To a pretty
lass, a handsome lad! If you don't enjoy yourselves while young, you
will find it difficult to do so when you get old! My poor dear Alfred
and I, for instance, when we were young, didn't we go the pace--But
now, oh, dear! oh, dear!--Well, never mind; go along, my dears, and
make yourselves happy while you can. Love forever!" The old woman
disappeared in the darkness of the alley, calling out, "Alfred, do not
grumble, old darling. Here is 'Stasie who brings you good things--rare
dainties!"

The young couple had left the house.

* * * * * * *

To the mind of Rudolph, for Miss Dimpleton was too little prone to
mournful impressions to long reflect on the matter, the troubles of
the Morels had ceased; but in the grim reality, a calamity, ten fold
severer than their direst poverty, was gathering and forming nearer
them, ready to burst upon their heads almost before the gay young
couple would return from their stroll. What this great evil was, and
what fate befalls other characters yet to be introduced, will
presently be revealed, in shadow and by sunshine.

The Slasher, the Schoolmaster, the Screech-Owl, Hoppy, and the other
wretches whose misdeeds blacken these pages, form the foil; while
Fleur-de-Marie, Clemence d'Harville, Miss Dimpleton, and Mrs. George
are the gems which will be seen to shed their luster and charm over
the no less interesting pages of the Second Division of this work,
entitled, "_Part Second:_ NOON."




PART II.

NOON.


CHAPTER I.

THE ARREST.


To the snow of the past night had succeeded a very sharp wind; so that
the pavement of the streets, usually muddy, was almost dry, as Rudolph
and Miss Dimpleton directed their steps toward the extensive and
singular bazaar called the Temple. The girl leaned without ceremony
upon the arm of her cavalier, with as little restraint as though they
had been intimate for a long time.

"Isn't Mrs. Pipelet funny," said the grisette to Rudolph, "with the
odd remarks she makes?"

"Indeed, neighbor, I think she is quite right."

"In what?"

"Why when she said: 'Young people will be young people--and where's
the harm?--Love forever!'"

"Well?"

"Well! I mean to say that I perfectly agree with her."

"Agree with her!"

"Yes, I should like nothing better than to pass my youth with you,
taking '_Love forever_!' for my motto."

"I believe it: you are not difficult to please."

"Where is the harm? We are neighbors."

"If we were not neighbors, I should not walk out with you in this
way."

"Then allow me to hope--"

"Hope what?" "That you will learn to love me."

"I love you already."

"Really?"

"To be sure I do and for a very simple reason. You are good and
lively; although poor yourself, you do all you can for those
unfortunate Morels, in interesting rich people in their behalf; you
have a face that pleases me much, and a well-turned figure, which is
agreeable and flattering to me, as I shall frequently accept your arm.
Here are, I think, many reasons that I should love you."

Then interrupting herself to enjoy a hearty laugh, Miss Dimpleton
cried: "Look! look at that fat woman, with her old furrowed shoes; one
could imagine her drawn along by two cats without tails!" And again
she laughed merrily.

"I prefer looking at you, neighbor; I am so happy in thinking you
already love me."

"I tell you so, because it is so; if you did not please me, I should
say so all the same. I cannot reproach myself with having ever
deceived or flattered any one; when people please me, I tell them so
at once."

Then, interrupting herself again, to stop before a shop-window, the
grisette exclaimed:

"Oh, look at that beautiful clock, and those two pretty vases! I have
already saved up three francs and a half toward buying some like them.
In five or six years I may be able to manage it."

"Saved up, neighbor? Then you earn--"

"At least thirty sous a day--sometimes forty, but I only reckon upon
thirty; it is more prudent, and I regulate my expenses accordingly,"
said Miss Dimpleton, with an air as important as though it related to
the transactions of a financier.

"But with thirty sous a day, how can you manage to live?"

"The reckoning is not difficult; shall I explain it to you, neighbor?
You appear rather extravagant, so it may serve you as an example."

"Let's hear it."

"Thirty sous a day will make forty-five francs a month, will it not?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, by that account I have twelve francs for lodging, and
twenty-three francs for living."

"Twenty-three francs for a month's living!"

"Yes, quite as much. I acknowledge that, for a person like myself, it
is enormous; but then, you see, I refuse myself nothing."

"Oh, you little glutton!"

"Ah, but I also include food for my birds."

"Certainly, if you reckon for three, it is less extravagant. But let
me hear the detail of your every-day management, that I may benefit by
the instruction."

"Listen then. A pound of bread, that is four sous; milk, two sous--
that makes six; four sous for vegetables in winter, or fruit and salad
in summer (I dote on salad and vegetables, because they do not soil
the hands)--there is already ten sous; three sous for butter or oil
and vinegar, as seasoning--thirteen sous; two pailfuls of water (oh,
that is my luxury!) that will make fifteen sous; add to that two sous
for chickweed and hempseed for my two birds, which usually share with
me my bread and milk--that is twenty-two or twenty-three francs a
month, neither more nor less."

"And do you never eat meat?"

"Oh, Lord! Meat indeed! that costs ten to twelve sous a pound; how can
I think of that? Besides, it smells of the kitchen, of the stewpan;
instead of which, milk, fruit, and vegetables require no cooking. I
will tell you a dish I am very fond of, not troublesome, and which I
make to perfection."

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