Le ventre de Paris. English Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  Marjolin had been found in a heap of cabbages at the Market of theInnocents. He was sleeping under the shelter of a large white-heartedone, a broad leaf of which concealed his rosy childish face It was neverknown what poverty-stricken mother had laid him there. When he was foundhe was already a fine little fellow of two or three years of age,very plump and merry, but so backward and dense that he could scarcelystammer a few words, and only seemed able to smile. When one of thevegetable saleswomen found him lying under the big white cabbage sheraised such a loud cry of surprise that her neighbours rushed up tosee what was the matter, while the youngster, still in petticoats, andwrapped in a scrap of old blanket, held out his arms towards her.He could not tell who his mother was, but opened his eyes in wideastonishment as he squeezed against the shoulder of a stout tripe dealerwho eventually took him up. The whole market busied itself about himthroughout the day. He soon recovered confidence, ate slices of breadand butter, and smiled at all the women. The stout tripe dealer kept himfor a time, then a neighbour took him; and a month later a third womangave him shelter. When they asked him where his mother was, he waved hislittle hand with a pretty gesture which embraced all the women present.He became the adopted child of the place, always clinging to the skirtsof one or another of the women, and always finding a corner of a bed anda share of a meal somewhere. Somehow, too, he managed to find clothes,and he even had a copper or two at the bottom of his ragged pockets. Itwas a buxom, ruddy girl dealing in medicinal herbs who gave him the nameof Marjolin,[*] though no one knew why.

  [*] Literally "Marjoram."

  When Marjolin was nearly four years of age, old Mother Chantemesse alsohappened to find a child, a little girl, lying on the footway of the RueSaint Denis, near the corner of the market. Judging by the little one'ssize, she seemed to be a couple of years old, but she could alreadychatter like a magpie, murdering her words in an incessant childishbabble. Old Mother Chantemesse after a time gathered that her name wasCadine, and that on the previous evening her mother had left her sittingon a doorstep, with instructions to wait till she returned. The childhad fallen asleep there, and did not cry. She related that she wasbeaten at home; and she gladly followed Mother Chantemesse, seeminglyquite enchanted with that huge square, where there were so many peopleand such piles of vegetables. Mother Chantemesse, a retail dealer bytrade, was a crusty but very worthy woman, approaching her sixtiethyear. She was extremely fond of children, and had lost three boys of herown when they were mere babies. She came to the opinion that the chitshe had found "was far too wide awake to kick the bucket," and so sheadopted her.

  One evening, however, as she was going off home with her right handclasping Cadine's, Marjolin came up and unceremoniously caught hold ofher left hand.

  "Nay, my lad," said the old woman, stopping, "the place is filled. Haveyou left your big Therese, then? What a fickle little gadabout you are!"

  The boy gazed at her with his smiling eyes, without letting go of herhand. He looked so pretty with his curly hair that she could not resisthim. "Well, come along, then, you little scamp," said she; "I'll put youto bed as well."

  Thus she made her appearance in the Rue au Lard, where she lived, witha child clinging to either hand. Marjolin made himself quite at homethere. When the two children proved too noisy the old woman cuffed them,delighted to shout and worry herself, and wash the youngsters, and packthem away beneath the blankets. She had fixed them up a little bed inan old costermonger's barrow, the wheels and shafts of which haddisappeared. It was like a big cradle, a trifle hard, but retaining astrong scent of the vegetables which it had long kept fresh and coolbeneath a covering of damp cloths. And there, when four years old,Cadine and Marjolin slept locked in each other's arms.

  They grew up together, and were always to be seen with their arms aboutone another's waist. At night time old Mother Chantemesse heard themprattling softly. Cadine's clear treble went chattering on for hourstogether, while Marjolin listened with occasional expressions ofastonishment vented in a deeper tone. The girl was a mischievous youngcreature, and concocted all sorts of stories to frighten her companion;telling him, for instance, that she had one night seen a man, dressedall in white, looking at them and putting out a great red tongue, atthe foot of the bed. Marjolin quite perspired with terror, and anxiouslyasked for further particulars; but the girl would then begin to jeer athim, and end by calling him a big donkey. At other times they werenot so peaceably disposed, but kicked each other beneath the blankets.Cadine would pull up her legs, and try to restrain her laughter asMarjolin missed his aim, and sent his feet banging against the wall.When this happened, old Madame Chantemesse was obliged to get up to putthe bed-clothes straight again; and, by way of sending the children tosleep, she would administer a box on the ear to both of them. For a longtime their bed was a sort of playground. They carried their toys intoit, and munched stolen carrots and turnips as they lay side by side.Every morning their adopted mother was amazed at the strange things shefound in the bed--pebbles, leaves, apple cores, and dolls made out ofscraps of rags. When the very cold weather came, she went off to herwork, leaving them sleeping there, Cadine's black mop mingling withMarjolin's sunny curls, and their mouths so near together that theylooked as though they were keeping each other warm with their breath.

  The room in the Rue au Lard was a big, dilapidated garret, with a singlewindow, the panes of which were dimmed by the rain. The children wouldplay at hide-and-seek in the tall walnut wardrobe and underneath MotherChantemesse's colossal bed. There were also two or three tables in theroom, and they crawled under these on all fours. They found the place avery charming playground, on account of the dim light and the vegetablesscattered about in the dark corners. The street itself, too, narrow andvery quiet, with a broad arcade opening into the Rue de la Lingerie,provided them with plenty of entertainment. The door of the house was bythe side of the arcade; it was a low door and could only be opened halfway owing to the near proximity of the greasy corkscrew staircase. Thehouse, which had a projecting pent roof and a bulging front, dark withdamp, and displaying greenish drain-sinks near the windows of eachfloor, also served as a big toy for the young couple. They spent theirmornings below in throwing stones up into the drain-sinks, and thestones thereupon fell down the pipes with a very merry clatter. In thusamusing themselves, however, they managed to break a couple of windows,and filled the drains with stones, so that Mother Chantemesse, who hadlived in the house for three and forty years, narrowly escaped beingturned out of it.

  Cadine and Marjolin then directed their attention to the vans and draysand tumbrels which were drawn up in the quiet street. They clambered onto the wheels, swung from the dangling chains, and larked about amongstthe piles of boxes and hampers. Here also were the back premises of thecommission agents of the Rue de la Poterie--huge, gloomy warehouses,each day filled and emptied afresh, and affording a constant successionof delightful hiding-places, where the youngsters buried themselvesamidst the scent of dried fruits, oranges, and fresh apples. Whenthey got tired of playing in his way, they went off to join oldMadame Chantemesse at the Market of the Innocents. They arrived therearm-in-arm, laughing gaily as they crossed the streets with never theslightest fear of being run over by the endless vehicles. They knew thepavement well, and plunged their little legs knee-deep in the vegetablerefuse without ever slipping. They jeered merrily at any porter inheavy boots who, in stepping over an artichoke stem, fell sprawlingfull-length upon the ground. They were the rosy-cheeked familiar spiritsof those greasy streets. They were to be seen everywhere.

  On rainy days they walked gravely beneath the shelter of a ragged oldumbrella, with which Mother Chantemesse had protected her stock-in-tradefor twenty years, and sticking it up in a corner of the market theycalled it their house. On sunny days they romped to such a degree thatwhen evening came they were almost too tired to move. They bathed theirfeet in the fountains, dammed up the gutters, or hid themselves beneathpiles of vegetables, and remained there prattling to each other just asthey did in bed at night. People passing some huge mountain of cos orcabbage lettuces often heard a muffled sound of chatter coming fromit. And when the green-stuff was removed, the two children would bediscovered lying side by side on their couch of verdure, their eyesglistening uneasily like those of birds discovered in the depth of athicket. As time went on, Cadine could not get along without Marjolin,and Marjolin began to cry when he lost sight of Cadine. If they happenedto get separated, they sought one another behind the petticoats of everystallkeeper in the markets, amongst the boxes and under the cabbages. Ifwas, indeed, chiefly under the cabbages that they grew up and learned tolove each other.

  Marjolin was nearly eight years old, and Cadine six, when old MadameChantemesse began to reproach them for their idleness. She told themthat she would interest them in her business, and pay them a sou a dayto assist her in paring her vegetables. During the first few days thechildren displayed eager zeal; they squatted down on either side ofthe big flat basket with little knives in their hands, and worked awayenergetically. Mother Chantemesse made a specialty of pared vegetables;on her stall, covered with a strip of damp black lining, were littlelots of potatoes, turnips, carrots, and white onions, arranged inpyramids of four--three at the base and one at the apex, all quite readyto be popped into the pans of dilatory housewives. She also had bundlesduly stringed in readiness for the soup-pot--four leeks, three carrots,a parsnip, two turnips, and a couple of springs of celery. Then therewere finely cut vegetables for julienne soup laid out on squares ofpaper, cabbages cut into quarters, and little heaps of tomatoes andslices of pumpkin which gleamed like red stars and golden crescentsamidst the pale hues of the other vegetables. Cadine evinced much moredexterity than Marjolin, although she was younger. The peelings of thepotatoes she
pared were so thin that you could see through them; shetied up the bundles for the soup-pot so artistically that they lookedlike bouquets; and she had a way of making the little heaps she set up,though they contained but three carrots or turnips, look like very bigones. The passers-by would stop and smile when she called out in hershrill childish voice: "Madame! madame! come and try me! Each littlepile for two sous."

  She had her regular customers, and her little piles and bundles werewidely known. Old Mother Chantemesse, seated between the two children,would indulge in a silent laugh which made her bosom rise almost toher chin, at seeing them working away so seriously. She paid them theirdaily sous most faithfully. But they soon began to weary of the littleheaps and bundles; they were growing up, and began to dream of some morelucrative business. Marjolin remained very childish for his years, andthis irritated Cadine. He had no more brains than a cabbage, she oftensaid. And it was, indeed, quite useless for her to devise any plan forhim to make money; he never earned any. He could not even do an errandsatisfactorily. The girl, on the other hand, was very shrewd. When buteight years old she obtained employment from one of those women who siton a bench in the neighbourhood of the markets provided with a basketof lemons, and employ a troop of children to go about selling them.Carrying the lemons in her hands and offering them at two for threesous, Cadine thrust them under every woman's nose, and ran after everypasser-by. Her hands empty, she hastened back for a fresh supply. Shewas paid two sous for every dozen lemons that she sold, and on gooddays she could earn some five or six sous. During the following yearshe hawked caps at nine sous apiece, which proved a more profitablebusiness; only she had to keep a sharp look-out, as street trading ofthis kind is forbidden unless one be licensed. However, she scenteda policeman at a distance of a hundred yards; and the caps forthwithdisappeared under her skirts, whilst she began to munch an apple withan air of guileless innocence. Then she took to selling pastry, cakes,cherry-tarts, gingerbread, and thick yellow maize biscuits on wickertrays. Marjolin, however, ate up nearly the whole of her stock-in-trade.At last, when she was eleven years old, she succeeded in realising agrand idea which had long been worrying her. In a couple of months sheput by four francs, bought a small _hotte_,[*] and then set up as adealer in birds' food.

  [*] A basket carried on the back.--Translator.

  It was a big affair. She got up early in the morning and purchased herstock of groundsel, millet, and bird-cake from the wholesaledealers. Then she set out on her day's work, crossing the river, andperambulating the Latin Quarter from the Rue Saint Jacques to the RueDauphine, and even to the Luxembourg. Marjolin used to accompany her,but she would not let him carry the basket. He was only fit to call out,she said; and so, in his thick, drawling voice, he would raise the cry,"Chickweed for the little birds!"

  Then Cadine herself, with her flute-like voice, would start on a strangescale of notes ending in a clear, protracted alto, "Chickweed for thelittle birds!"

  They each took one side of the road, and looked up in the air as theywalked along. In those days Marjolin wore a big scarlet waistcoatwhich hung down to his knees; it had belonged to the defunct MonsieurChantemesse, who had been a cab-driver. Cadine for her part wore a whiteand blue check gown, made out of an old tartan of Madame Chantemesse's.All the canaries in the garrets of the Latin Quarter knew them; and, asthey passed along, repeating their cry, each echoing the other's voice,every cage poured out a song.

  Cadine sold water-cress, too. "Two sous a bunch! Two sous a bunch!" AndMarjolin went into the shops to offer it for sale. "Fine water-cress!Health for the body! Fine fresh water-cress!"

  However, the new central markets had just been erected, and the girlwould stand gazing in ecstacy at the avenue of flower stalls which runsthrough the fruit pavilion. Here on either hand, from end to end, bigclumps of flowers bloom as in the borders of a garden walk. It is aperfect harvest, sweet with perfume, a double hedge of blossoms, betweenwhich the girls of the neighbourhood love to walk, smiling the while,though almost stifled by the heavy perfume. And on the top tiers of thestalls are artificial flowers, with paper leaves, in which dewdrops aresimulated by drops of gum; and memorial wreaths of black and white beadsrippling with bluish reflections. Cadine's rosy nostrils would dilatewith feline sensuality; she would linger as long as possible in thatsweet freshness, and carry as much of the perfume away with her as shecould. When her hair bobbed under Marjolin's nose he would remark thatit smelt of pinks. She said that she had given over using pomatum; thatis was quite sufficient for her to stroll through the flower walk inorder to scent her hair. Next she began to intrigue and scheme withsuch success that she was engaged by one of the stallkeepers. And thenMarjolin declared that she smelt sweet from head to foot. She lived inthe midst of roses, lilacs, wall-flowers, and lilies of the valley;and Marjolin would playfully smell at her skirts, feign a momentaryhesitation, and then exclaim, "Ah, that's lily of the valley!" Next hewould sniff at her waist and bodice: "Ah, that's wall-flowers!" And ather sleeves and wrists: "Ah, that's lilac!" And at her neck, and hercheeks and lips: "Ah, but that's roses!" he would cry. Cadine used tolaugh at him, and call him a "silly stupid," and tell him to get away,because he was tickling her with the tip of his nose. As she spoke herbreath smelt of jasmine. She was verily a bouquet, full of warmth andlife.

  She now got up at four o'clock every morning to assist her mistress inher purchases. Each day they bought armfuls of flowers from thesuburban florists, with bundles of moss, and bundles of fern fronds,and periwinkle leaves to garnish the bouquets. Cadine would gaze withamazement at the diamonds and Valenciennes worn by the daughters ofthe great gardeners of Montreuil, who came to the markets amidst theirroses.

  On the saints' days of popular observance, such as Saint Mary's, SaintPeter's, and Saint Joseph's days, the sale of flowers began at twoo'clock. More than a hundred thousand francs' worth of cut flowers wouldbe sold on the footways, and some of the retail dealers would makeas much as two hundred francs in a few hours. On days like those onlyCadine's curly locks peered over the mounds of pansies, mignonette, andmarguerites. She was quite drowned and lost in the flood of flowers.Then she would spend all her time in mounting bouquets on bits of rush.In a few weeks she acquired considerable skillfulness in her business,and manifested no little originality. Her bouquets did not alwaysplease everybody, however. Sometimes they made one smile, sometimes theyalarmed the eyes. Red predominated in them, mottled with violent tintsof blue, yellow, and violet of a barbaric charm. On the mornings whenshe pinched Marjolin, and teased him till she made him cry, she made upfierce-looking bouquets, suggestive of her own bad temper, bouquetswith strong rough scents and glaring irritating colours. On other days,however, when she was softened by some thrill of joy or sorrow, herbouquets would assume a tone of silvery grey, very soft and subdued, anddelicately perfumed.

  Then, too, she would set roses, as sanguineous as open hearts, in lakesof snow-white pinks; arrange bunches of tawny iris that shot up intufts of flame from foliage that seemed scared by the brilliance of theflowers; work elaborate designs, as complicated as those of Smyrna rugs,adding flower to flower, as on a canvas; and prepare rippling fanlikebouquets spreading out with all the delicacy of lace. Here was a clusterof flowers of delicious purity, there a fat nosegay, whatever one mightdream of for the hand of a marchioness or a fish-wife; all the charmingquaint fancies, in short, which the brain of a sharp-witted child oftwelve, budding into womanhood, could devise.

  There were only two flowers for which Cadine retained respect; whitelilac, which by the bundle of eight or ten sprays cost from fifteen totwenty francs in the winter time; and camellias, which were still morecostly, and arrived in boxes of a dozen, lying on beds of moss, andcovered with cotton wool. She handled these as delicately as though theywere jewels, holding her breath for fear of dimming their lustre, andfastening their short stems to springs of cane with the tenderest care.She spoke of them with serious reverence. She told Marjolin one daythat a speckless white camellia was a very rare and exceptionally lovelything, and, as she was making him admire one, he exclaimed: "Yes;it's pretty; but I prefer your neck, you know. It's much more soft andtransparent than the camellia, and there are some little blue and pinkveins just like the pencillings on a flower." Then, drawing near andsniffing, he murmured: "Ah! you smell of orange blossom to-day."

  Cadine was self-willed, and did not get on well in the position of aservant, so she ended by setting up in business on her own account. Asshe was only thirteen at the time, and could not hope for a big tradeand a stall in the flower avenue, she took to selling one-sou bunchesof violets pricked into a bed of moss in an osier tray which she carriedhanging from her neck. All day long she wandered about the markets andtheir precincts with her little bit of hanging garden. She loved thiscontinual stroll, which relieved the numbness of her limbs after longhours spent, with bent knees, on a low chair, making bouquets. Shefastened her violets together with marvellous deftness as she walkedalong. She counted out six or eight flowers, according to the season,doubled a sprig of cane in half, added a leaf, twisted some damp threadround the whole, and broke off the thread with her strong young teeth.The little bunches seemed to spring spontaneously from the layer ofmoss, so rapidly did she stick them into it.

  Along the footways, amidst the jostling of the street traffic, hernimble fingers were ever flowering though she gave them not a glance,but boldly scanned the shops and passers-by. Sometimes she would rest ina doorway for a moment; and alongside the gutters, greasy with kitchenslops, she sat, as it were a patch of springtime, a suggestion of greenwoods, and purple blossoms. Her flowers still betokened her frame ofmind, her fits of bad temper and her thrills of tenderness. Sometimesthey bristled and glowered with anger amidst their crumpled leaves; atother times they spoke only of love and peacefuln
ess as they smiled intheir prim collars. As Cadine passed along, she left a sweet perfumebehind her; Marjolin followed her devoutly. From head to foot she nowexhaled but one scent, and the lad repeated that she was herself aviolet, a great big violet.

  "Do you remember the day when we went to Romainville together?" he wouldsay; "Romainville, where there are so many violets. The scent was justthe same. Oh! don't change again--you smell too sweetly."

  And she did not change again. This was her last trade. Still, she oftenneglected her osier tray to go rambling about the neighbourhood. Thebuilding of the central markets--as yet incomplete--provided bothchildren with endless opportunities for amusement. They made their wayinto the midst of the work-yards through some gap or other betweenthe planks; they descended into the foundations, and climbed up to thecast-iron pillars. Every nook, every piece of the framework witnessedtheir games and quarrels; the pavilions grew up under the touch of theirlittle hands. From all this arose the affection which they felt forthe great markets, and which the latter seemed to return. They were onfamiliar terms with that gigantic pile, old friends as they were, whohad seen each pin and bolt put into place. They felt no fear of the hugemonster; but slapped it with their childish hands, treated it likea good friend, a chum whose presence brought no constraint. And themarkets seemed to smile at these two light-hearted children, whose lovewas the song, the idyll of their immensity.

  Cadine alone now slept at Mother Chantemesse's. The old woman had packedMarjolin off to a neighbour's. This made the two children very unhappy.Still, they contrived to spend much of their time together. In thedaytime they would hide themselves away in the warehouses of the Rue auLard, behind piles of apples and cases of oranges; and in the eveningthey would dive into the cellars beneath the poultry market, and secretthemselves among the huge hampers of feathers which stood near theblocks where the poultry was killed. They were quite alone there, amidstthe strong smell of the poultry, and with never a sound but the suddencrowing of some rooster to break upon their babble and theirlaughter. The feathers amidst which they found themselves were ofall sorts--turkey's feathers, long and black; goose quills, white andflexible; the downy plumage of ducks, soft like cotton wool; and theruddy and mottled feathers of fowls, which at the faintest breath flewup in a cloud like a swarm of flies buzzing in the sun. And then inwintertime there was the purple plumage of the pheasants, the ashengrey of the larks, the splotched silk of the partridges, quails, andthrushes. And all these feathers freshly plucked were still warm andodoriferous, seemingly endowed with life. The spot was as cosy as anest; at times a quiver as of flapping wings sped by, and Marjolin andCadine, nestling amidst all the plumage, often imagined that they werebeing carried aloft by one of those huge birds with outspread pinionsthat one hears of in the fairy tales.

  As time went on their childish affection took the inevitable turn.Veritable offsprings of Nature, knowing naught of social conventions andrestraints, they loved one another in all innocence and guilelessness.They mated even as the birds of the air mate, even as youth and maidmated in primeval times, because such is Nature's law. At sixteenCadine was a dusky town gipsy, greedy and sensual, whilst Marjolin, noweighteen, was a tall, strapping fellow, as handsome a youth as couldbe met, but still with his mental faculties quite undeveloped. He hadlived, indeed, a mere animal life, which had strengthened his frame, butleft his intellect in a rudimentary state.

  When old Madame Chantemesse realised the turn that things were takingshe wrathfully upbraided Cadine and struck out vigorously at her withher broom. But the hussy only laughed and dodged the blows, and thenhied off to her lover. And gradually the markets became their home,their manger, their aviary, where they lived and loved amidst the meat,the butter, the vegetables, and the feathers.

  They discovered another little paradise in the pavilion where butter,eggs, and cheese were sold wholesale. Enormous walls of empty basketswere here piled up every morning, and amidst these Cadine and Marjolinburrowed and hollowed out a dark lair for themselves. A mere partitionof osier-work separated them from the market crowd, whose loud voicesrang out all around them. They often shook with laughter when people,without the least suspicion of their presence, stopped to talk togethera few yards away from them. On these occasions they would contrivepeepholes, and spy through them, and when cherries were in season Cadinetossed the stones in the faces of all the old women who passed along--apastime which amused them the more as the startled old crones couldnever make out whence the hail of cherry-stones had come. They alsoprowled about the depths of the cellars, knowing every gloomy corner ofthem, and contriving to get through the most carefully locked gates. Oneof their favourite amusements was to visit the track of the subterraneanrailway, which had been laid under the markets, and which those whoplanned the latter had intended to connect with the different goods'stations of Paris. Sections of this railway were laid beneath eachof the covered ways, between the cellars of each pavilion; the work,indeed, was in such an advanced state that turn-tables had been put intoposition at all the points of intersection, and were in readiness foruse. After much examination, Cadine and Marjolin had at last succeededin discovering a loose plank in the hoarding which enclosed the track,and they had managed to convert it into a door, by which they couldeasily gain access to the line. There they were quite shut off fromthe world, though they could hear the continuous rumbling of the streettraffic over their heads.

  The line stretched through deserted vaults, here and there illuminedby a glimmer of light filtering through iron gratings, while in certaindark corners gas jets were burning. And Cadine and Marjolin rambledabout as in the secret recesses of some castle of their own, secure fromall interruption, and rejoicing in the buzzy silence, the murky glimmer,and subterranean secrecy, which imparted a touch of melodrama to theirexperiences. All sorts of smells were wafted through the hoarding fromthe neighbouring cellars; the musty smell of vegetables, the pungency offish, the overpowering stench of cheese, and the warm reek of poultry.

  At other times, on clear nights and fine dawns, they would climb on tothe roofs, ascending thither by the steep staircases of the turretsat the angles of the pavilions. Up above they found fields of leads,endless promenades and squares, a stretch of undulating country whichbelonged to them. They rambled round the square roofs of the pavilions,followed the course of the long roofs of the covered ways, climbed anddescended the slopes, and lost themselves in endless perambulations ofdiscovery. And when they grew tired of the lower levels they ascendedstill higher, venturing up the iron ladders, on which Cadine's skirtsflapped like flags. Then they ran along the second tier of roofs beneaththe open heavens. There was nothing save the stars above them. All sortsof sounds rose up from the echoing markets, a clattering and rumbling,a vague roar as of a distant tempest heard at nighttime. At that heightthe morning breeze swept away the evil smells, the foul breath ofthe awaking markets. They would kiss one another on the edge of thegutterings like sparrows frisking on the house-tops. The rising firesof the sun illumined their faces with a ruddy glow. Cadine laughedwith pleasure at being so high up in the air, and her neck shone withiridescent tints like a dove's; while Marjolin bent down to look atthe street still wrapped in gloom, with his hands clutching hold ofthe leads like the feet of a wood-pigeon. When they descended to earthagain, joyful from their excursion in the fresh air, they would remarkto one another that they were coming back from the country.

  It was in the tripe market that they had made the acquaintance of ClaudeLantier. They went there every day, impelled thereto by an animal tastefor blood, the cruel instinct of urchins who find amusement in the sightof severed heads. A ruddy stream flowed along the gutters round thepavilion; they dipped the tips of their shoes in it, and dammed it upwith leaves, so as to form large pools of blood. They took a stronginterest in the arrival of the loads of offal in carts which alwayssmelt offensively, despite all the drenchings of water they got; theywatched the unloading of the bundles of sheep's trotters, which werepiled up on the ground like filthy paving-stones, of the huge stiffenedtongues, bleeding at their torn roots, and of the massive bell-shapedbullocks' hearts. But the spectacle which, above all others, madethem quiver with delight was that of the big dripping hampers, full ofsheep's heads, with greasy horns and black muzzles, and strips of woollyskin dangling from bleeding flesh. The sight of these conjured up intheir minds the idea of some guillotine casting into the baskets theheads of countless victims.

  They followed the baskets into the depths of the cellar, watching themglide down the rails laid over the steps, and listening to the raspingnoise which the casters of these osier waggons made in their descent.Down below there was a scene of exquisite horror. They entered into acharnel-house atmosphere, and walked along through murky puddles, amidstwhich every now and then purple eyes seem to be glistening. At timesthe soles of their boots stuck to the ground, at others they splashedthrough the horrible mire, anxious and yet delighted. The gas jetsburned low, like blinking, bloodshot eyes. Near the water-taps, in thepale light falling through the gratings, they came upon the blocks; andthere they remained in rapture watching the tripe men, who, in apronsstiffened by gory splashings, broke the sheep's heads one after anotherwith a blow of their mallets. They lingered there for hours, waitingtill all the baskets were empty, fascinated by the crackling of thebones, unable to tear themselves away till all was over. Sometimes anattendant passed behind them, cleansing the cellar with a hose; floodsof water rushed out with a sluice-like roar, but although the violenceof the discharge actually ate away the surface of the flagstones, it waspowerless to remove the ruddy stains and stench of blood.

  Cadine and Marjolin were sure of meeting Claude between four and five inthe afternoon at the wholesale auction of the bullocks' lights. Hewas always there amidst the tripe dealers' carts
backed up against thekerb-stones and the blue-bloused, white-aproned men who jostled him anddeafened his ears by their loud bids. But he never felt their elbows; hestood in a sort of ecstatic trance before the huge hanging lights, andoften told Cadine and Marjolin that there was no finer sight to be seen.The lights were of a soft rosy hue, gradually deepening and turning atthe lower edges to a rich carmine; and Claude compared them to wateredsatin, finding no other term to describe the soft silkiness of thoseflowing lengths of flesh which drooped in broad folds like balletdancers' skirts. He thought, too, of gauze and lace allowing a glimpseof pinky skin; and when a ray of sunshine fell upon the lights andgirdled them with gold an expression of languorous rapture came into hiseyes, and he felt happier than if he had been privileged to contemplatethe Greek goddesses in their sovereign nudity, or the chatelaines ofromance in their brocaded robes.

  The artist became a great friend of the two young scapegraces. He lovedbeautiful animals, and such undoubtedly they were. For a long time hedreamt of a colossal picture which should represent the loves of Cadineand Marjolin in the central markets, amidst the vegetables, the fish,and the meat. He would have depicted them seated on some couch of food,their arms circling each other's waists, and their lips exchanging anidyllic kiss. In this conception he saw a manifesto proclaiming thepositivism of art--modern art, experimental and materialistic. And itseemed to him also that it would be a smart satire on the school whichwishes every painting to embody an "idea," a slap for the old traditionsand all they represented. But during a couple of years he began studyafter study without succeeding in giving the particular "note" hedesired. In this way he spoilt fifteen canvases. His failure filled himwith rancour; however, he continued to associate with his two modelsfrom a sort of hopeless love for his abortive picture. When he met themprowling about in the afternoon, he often scoured the neighbourhoodwith them, strolling around with his hands in his pockets, and deeplyinterested in the life of the streets.

  They all three trudged along together, dragging their heels over thefootways and monopolising their whole breadth so as to force others tostep down into the road. With their noses in the air they sniffed in theodours of Paris, and could have recognised every corner blindfold by thespirituous emanations of the wine shops, the hot puffs that came fromthe bakehouses and confectioners', and the musty odours wafted from thefruiterers'. They would make the circuit of the whole district. Theydelighted in passing through the rotunda of the corn market, that hugemassive stone cage where sacks of flour were piled up on every side, andwhere their footsteps echoed in the silence of the resonant roof. Theywere fond, too, of the little narrow streets in the neighbourhood, whichhad become as deserted, as black, and as mournful as though they formedpart of an abandoned city. These were the Rue Babille, the Rue Sauval,the Rue des Deux Ecus, and the Rue de Viarmes, this last pallid from itsproximity to the millers' stores, and at four o'clock lively by reasonof the corn exchange held there. It was generally at this point thatthey started on their round. They made their way slowly along theRue Vauvilliers, glancing as they went at the windows of the loweating-houses, and thus reaching the miserably narrow Rue desProuvaires, where Claude blinked his eyes as he saw one of the coveredways of the market, at the far end of which, framed round by this hugeiron nave, appeared a side entrance of St. Eustache with its rose andits tiers of arched windows. And then, with an air of defiance, he wouldremark that all the middle ages and the Renaissance put together wereless mighty than the central markets. Afterwards, as they paced thebroad new streets, the Rue du Pont Neuf and the Rue des Halles, heexplained modern life with its wide footways, its lofty houses, and itsluxurious shops, to the two urchins. He predicted, too, the advent ofnew and truly original art, whose approach he could divine, and despairfilled him that its revelation should seemingly be beyond his ownpowers.

  Cadine and Marjolin, however, preferred the provincial quietness of theRue des Bourdonnais, where one can play at marbles without fear ofbeing run over. The girl perked her head affectedly as she passed thewholesale glove and hosiery stores, at each door of which bareheadedassistants, with their pens stuck in their ears, stood watching her witha weary gaze. And she and her lover had yet a stronger preference forsuch bits of olden Paris as still existed: the Rue de la Poterie and theRue de la Lingerie, with their butter and egg and cheese dealers; theRue de la Ferronerie and the Rue de l'Aiguillerie (the beautiful streetsof far-away times), with their dark narrow shops; and especially the RueCourtalon, a dank, dirty by-way running from the Place Sainte Opportuneto the Rue Saint Denis, and intersected by foul-smelling alleys wherethey had romped in their younger days. In the Rue Saint Denis theyentered into the land of dainties; and they smiled upon the driedapples, the "Spanishwood," the prunes, and the sugar-candy in thewindows of the grocers and druggists. Their ramblings always set themdreaming of a feast of good things, and inspired them with a desire toglut themselves on the contents of the windows. To them the districtseemed like some huge table, always laid with an everlasting dessertinto which they longed to plunge their fingers.

  They devoted but a moment to visiting the other blocks of tumble-downold houses, the Rue Pirouette, the Rue de Mondetour, the Rue de laPetite Truanderie, and the Rue de la Grande Truanderie, for they tooklittle interest in the shops of the dealers in edible snails, cookedvegetables, tripe, and drink. In the Rue de la Grand Truanderie,however, there was a soap factory, an oasis of sweetness in the midst ofall the foul odours, and Marjolin was fond of standing outside it tillsome one happened to enter or come out, so that the perfume which sweptthrough the doorway might blow full in his face. Then with all speedthey returned to the Rue Pierre Lescot and the Rue Rambuteau. Cadine wasextremely fond of salted provisions; she stood in admiration before thebundles of red-herrings, the barrels of anchovies and capers, and thelittle casks of gherkins and olives, standing on end with wooden spoonsinside them. The smell of the vinegar titillated her throat; the pungentodour of the rolled cod, smoked salmon, bacon and ham, and the sharpacidity of the baskets of lemons, made her mouth water longingly. Shewas also fond of feasting her eyes on the boxes of sardines piled up inmetallic columns amidst the cases and sacks. In the Rue Montorgueiland the Rue Montmartre were other tempting-looking groceries andrestaurants, from whose basements appetising odours were wafted, withglorious shows of game and poultry, and preserved-provision shops, whichlast displayed beside their doors open kegs overflowing with yellowsourkrout suggestive of old lacework. Then they lingered in the RueCoquilliere, inhaling the odour of truffles from the premises of anotable dealer in comestibles, which threw so strong a perfume into thestreet that Cadine and Marjolin closed their eyes and imagined theywere swallowing all kinds of delicious things. These perfumes, however,distressed Claude. They made him realise the emptiness of his stomach,he said; and, leaving the "two animals" to feast on the odour ofthe truffles--the most penetrating odour to be found in all theneighbourhood--he went off again to the corn market by way of the RueOblin, studying on his road the old women who sold green-stuff inthe doorways and the displays of cheap pottery spread out on thefoot-pavements.

  Such were their rambles in common; but when Cadine set out alone withher bunches of violets she often went farther afield, making it a pointto visit certain shops for which she had a particular partiality. Shehad an especial weakness for the Taboureau bakery establishment, one ofthe windows of which was exclusively devoted to pastry. She would followthe Rue Turbigo and retrace her steps a dozen times in order to passagain and again before the almond cakes, the _savarins_, the St. Honoretarts, the fruit tarts, and the various dishes containing bunlike_babas_ redolent of rum, eclairs combining the finger biscuit withchocolate, and _choux a la creme_, little rounds of pastry overflowingwith whipped white of egg. The glass jars full of dry biscuits,macaroons, and _madeleines_ also made her mouth water; and the brightshop with its big mirrors, its marble slabs, its gilding, its bread-binsof ornamental ironwork, and its second window in which long glisteningloaves were displayed slantwise, with one end resting on a crystalshelf whilst above they were upheld by a brass rod, was so warm andodoriferous of baked dough that her features expanded with pleasurewhen, yielding to temptation, she went in to buy a _brioche_ for twosous.

  Another shop, one in front of the Square des Innocents, also filled herwith gluttonous inquisitiveness, a fever of longing desire. This shopmade a specialty of forcemeat pasties. In addition to the ordinary onesthere were pasties of pike and pasties of truffled _foie gras_; and thegirl would gaze yearningly at them, saying to herself that she wouldreally have to eat one some day.

  Cadine also had her moments of vanity and coquetry. When these fitswere on her, she bought herself in imagination some of the magnificentdresses displayed in the windows of the "Fabriques de France" whichmade the Pointe Saint Eustache gaudy with their pieces of bright stuffhanging from the first floor to the footway and flapping in the breeze.Somewhat incommoded by the flat basket hanging before her, amidst thecrowd of market women in dirty aprons gazing at future Sunday dresses,the girl would feel the woollens, flannels, and cottons to test thetexture and suppleness of the material; and she would promise herself agown of bright-coloured flannelling, flowered print, or scarlet poplin.Sometimes even from amongst the pieces draped and set off to advantageby the window-dressers she would choose some soft sky-blue orapple-green silk, and dream of wearing it with pink ribbons. In theevenings she would dazzle herself with the displays in the windows ofthe big jewellers in the Rue Montmartre. That terrible street deafenedher with its ceaseless flow of vehicles, and the streaming crowd neverceased to jostle her; still she did not stir, but remained feasting hereyes on the blazing splendour set out in the light of the reflectinglamps which hung outside the windows. On one side all was white with thebright glitter of silver: watches in rows,
chains hanging, spoonsand forks laid crossways, cups, snuff-boxes, napkin-rings, and combsarranged on shelves. The silver thimbles, dotting a porcelain standcovered with a glass shade, had an especial attraction for her. Thenon the other side the windows glistened with the tawny glow of gold. Acascade of long pendant chains descended from above, rippling with ruddygleams; small ladies' watches, with the backs of their cases displayed,sparkled like fallen stars; wedding rings clustered round slender rods;bracelets, broaches, and other costly ornaments glittered on the blackvelvet linings of their cases; jewelled rings set their stands aglowwith blue, green, yellow, and violet flamelets; while on every tier ofthe shelves superposed rows of earrings and crosses and lockets hungagainst the crystal like the rich fringes of altar-cloths. The glow ofthis gold illumined the street half way across with a sun-like radiance.And Cadine, as she gazed at it, almost fancied that she was in presenceof something holy, or on the threshold of the Emperor's treasurechamber. She would for a long time scrutinise all this show of gaudyjewellery, adapted to the taste of the fish-wives, and carefully readthe large figures on the tickets affixed to each article; and eventuallyshe would select for herself a pair of earrings--pear-shaped drops ofimitation coral hanging from golden roses.

  One morning Claude caught her standing in ecstasy before ahair-dresser's window in the Rue Saint Honore. She was gazing at thedisplay of hair with an expression of intense envy. High up in thewindow was a streaming cascade of long manes, soft wisps, loose tresses,frizzy falls, undulating comb-curls, a perfect cataract of silky andbristling hair, real and artificial, now in coils of a flaming red, nowin thick black crops, now in pale golden locks, and even in snowy whiteones for the coquette of sixty. In cardboard boxes down below werecleverly arranged fringes, curling side-ringlets, and carefully combedchignons glossy with pomade. And amidst this framework, in a sort ofshrine beneath the ravelled ends of the hanging locks, there revolvedthe bust of a woman, arrayed in a wrapper of cherry-coloured satinfastened between the breasts with a brass brooch. The figure wore alofty bridal coiffure picked out with sprigs of orange blossom, andsmiled with a dollish smile. Its eyes were pale blue; its eyebrows werevery stiff and of exaggerated length; and its waxen cheeks and shouldersbore evident traces of the heat and smoke of the gas. Cadine waitedtill the revolving figure again displayed its smiling face, and as itsprofile showed more distinctly and it slowly went round from left toright she felt perfectly happy. Claude, however, was indignant, and,shaking Cadine, he asked her what she was doing in front of "thatabomination, that corpse-like hussy picked up at the Morgue!" He flewinto a temper with the "dummy's" cadaverous face and shoulders, thatdisfigurement of the beautiful, and remarked that artists paintednothing but that unreal type of woman nowadays. Cadine, however,remained unconvinced by his oratory, and considered the lady extremelybeautiful. Then, resisting the attempts of the artist to drag her awayby the arm, and scratching her black mop in vexation, she pointed to anenormous ruddy tail, severed from the quarters of some vigorous mare,and told him she would have liked to have a crop of hair like that.

  During the long rambles when Claude, Cadine, and Marjolin prowled aboutthe neighbourhood of the markets, they saw the iron ribs of the giantbuilding at the end of every street. Wherever they turned they caughtsudden glimpses of it; the horizon was always bounded by it; merely theaspect under which it was seen varied. Claude was perpetually turninground, and particularly in the Rue Montmartre, after passing the church.From that point the markets, seen obliquely in the distance, filled himwith enthusiasm. A huge arcade, a giant, gaping gateway, was open beforehim; then came the crowding pavilions with their lower and upper roofs,their countless Venetian shutters and endless blinds, a vision, as itwere, of superposed houses and palaces; a Babylon of metal of Hindoodelicacy of workmanship, intersected by hanging terraces, aerialgalleries, and flying bridges poised over space. The trio alwaysreturned to this city round which they strolled, unable to straymore than a hundred yards away. They came back to it during the hotafternoons when the Venetian shutters were closed and the blindslowered. In the covered ways all seemed to be asleep, the ashy greynesswas streaked by yellow bars of sunlight falling through the highwindows. Only a subdued murmur broke the silence; the steps of a fewhurrying passers-by resounded on the footways; whilst the badge-wearingporters sat in rows on the stone ledges at the corners of the pavilions,taking off their boots and nursing their aching feet. The quietudewas that of a colossus at rest, interrupted at times by some cock-crowrising from the cellars below.

  Claude, Cadine, and Marjolin then often went to see the empty hamperspiled upon the drays, which came to fetch them every afternoon so thatthey might be sent back to the consignors. There were mountains of them,labelled with black letters and figures, in front of the salesmen'swarehouses in the Rue Berger. The porters arranged them symmetrically,tier by tier, on the vehicles. When the pile rose, however, to theheight of a first floor, the porter who stood below balancing the nextbatch of hampers had to make a spring in order to toss them up to hismate, who was perched aloft with arms extended. Claude, who delightedin feats of strength and dexterity, would stand for hours watching theflight of these masses of osier, and would burst into a hearty laughwhenever too vigorous a toss sent them flying over the pile into theroadway beyond. He was fond, too, of the footways of the Rue Rambuteauand the Rue du Pont Neuf, near the fruit market, where the retaildealers congregated. The sight of the vegetables displayed in the openair, on trestle-tables covered with damp black rags, was full of charmfor him. At four in the afternoon the whole of this nook of greenery wasaglow with sunshine; and Claude wandered between the stalls, inspectingthe bright-coloured heads of the saleswomen with keen artistic relish.The younger ones, with their hair in nets, had already lost allfreshness of complexion through the rough life they led; while the olderones were bent and shrivelled, with wrinkled, flaring faces showingunder the yellow kerchiefs bound round their heads. Cadine and Marjolinrefused to accompany him hither, as they could perceive old MotherChantemesse shaking her fist at them, in her anger at seeing themprowling about together. He joined them again, however, on the oppositefootway, where he found a splendid subject for a picture in thestallkeepers squatting under their huge umbrellas of faded red, blue,and violet, which, mounted upon poles, filled the whole market-side withbumps, and showed conspicuously against the fiery glow of the sinkingsun, whose rays faded amidst the carrots and the turnips. One tatteredharridan, a century old, was sheltering three spare-looking lettucesbeneath an umbrella of pink silk, shockingly split and stained.

  Cadine and Marjolin had struck up an acquaintance with Leon, Quenu'sapprentice, one day when he was taking a pie to a house in theneighbourhood. They saw him cautiously raise the lid of his pan in asecluded corner of the Rue de Mondetour, and delicately take out a ballof forcemeat. They smiled at the sight, which gave them a very highopinion of Leon. And the idea came to Cadine that she might at lastsatisfy one of her most ardent longings. Indeed, the very next time thatshe met the lad with his basket she made herself very agreeable, andinduced him to offer her a forcemeat ball. But, although she laughed andlicked her fingers, she experienced some disappointment. The forcemeatdid not prove nearly so nice as she had anticipated. On the other hand,the lad, with his sly, greedy phiz and his white garments, which madehim look like a girl going to her first communion, somewhat took herfancy.

  She invited him to a monster lunch which she gave amongst the hampersin the auction room at the butter market. The three of them--herself,Marjolin, and Leon--completely secluded themselves from the world withinfour walls of osier. The feast was laid out on a large flat basket.There were pears, nuts, cream-cheese, shrimps, fried potatoes,and radishes. The cheese came from a fruiterer's in the Rue de laCossonnerie, and was a present; and a "frier" of the Rue de la GrandeTruanderie had given Cadine credit for two sous' worth of potatoes. Therest of the feast, the pears, the nuts, the shrimps, and the radishes,had been pilfered from different parts of the market. It was a delicioustreat; and Leon, desirous of returning the hospitality, gave a supperin his bedroom at one o'clock in the morning. The bill of fare includedcold black-pudding, slices of polony, a piece of salt pork, somegherkins, and some goose-fat. The Quenu-Gradelles' shop had providedeverything. And matters did not stop there. Dainty suppers alternatedwith delicate luncheons, and invitation upon invitation. Three times aweek there were banquets, either amidst the hampers or in Leon's garret,where Florent, on the nights when he lay awake, could hear a stifledsound of munching and rippling laughter until day began to break.

  The loves of Cadine and Marjolin now took another turn. The youth playedthe gallant, and just as another might entertain his _innamorata_ at achampagne supper _en tete a tete_ in a private room, he led Cadine intosome quiet corner of the market cellars to munch apples or sprigs ofcelery. One day he stole a red-herring, which they devoured with immenseenjoyment on the roof of the fish market beside the guttering. There wasnot a single shady nook in the whole place where they did not indulge insecret feasts. The district, with its rows of open shops full of fruitand cakes and preserves, was no longer a closed paradise, in front ofwhich they prowled with greedy, covetous appetites. As they passedthe shops they now extended their hands and pilfered a prune, a fewcherries, or a bit of cod. They also provisioned themselves at themarkets, keeping a sharp look-out as they made their way between thestalls, picking up everything that fell, and often assisting the fall bya push of their shoulders.

  In spite, however, of all the marauding, some terrible scores had to berun up with the "frier" of the Rue de la Grand Truanderie. This "frier,"whose shanty leaned against a tumble-down house, and was propped up byheavy joists, green with moss, made a display of boiled mussels lying inlarge earthenware bowls filled to the brim with clear water; of dishesof littl
e yellow dabs stiffened by too thick a coating of paste; ofsquares of tripe simmering in a pan; and of grilled herrings, black andcharred, and so hard that if you tapped them they sounded like wood. Oncertain weeks Cadine owed the frier as much as twenty sous, a crushingdebt, which required the sale of an incalculable number of bunches ofviolets, for she could count upon no assistance from Marjolin. Moreover,she was bound to return Leon's hospitalities; and she even felt somelittle shame at never being able to offer him a scrap of meat. Hehimself had now taken to purloining entire hams. As a rule, he stowedeverything away under his shirt; and at night when he reached hisbedroom he drew from his bosom hunks of polony, slices of _pate de foiegras_, and bundles of pork rind. They had to do without bread, and therewas nothing to drink; but no matter. One night Marjolin saw Leon kissCadine between two mouthfuls; however, he only laughed. He could havesmashed the little fellow with a blow from his fist, but he felt nojealousy in respect of Cadine. He treated her simply as a comrade withwhom he had chummed for years.

  Claude never participated in these feasts. Having caught Cadine one daystealing a beet-root from a little hamper lined with hay, he had pulledher ears and given her a sound rating. These thieving propensities madeher perfect as a ne'er-do-well. However, in spite of himself, he couldnot help feeling a sort of admiration for these sensual, pilfering,greedy creatures, who preyed upon everything that lay about, feastingoff the crumbs that fell from the giant's table.

  At last Marjolin nominally took service under Gavard, happy in havingnothing to do except to listen to his master's flow of talk, whileCadine still continued to sell violets, quite accustomed by this time toold Mother Chantemesse's scoldings. They were still the same children asever, giving way to their instincts and appetites without the slightestshame--they were the growth of the slimy pavements of the marketdistrict, where, even in fine weather, the mud remains black and sticky.However, as Cadine walked along the footways, mechanically twisting herbunches of violets, she was sometimes disturbed by disquieting reveries;and Marjolin, too, suffered from an uneasiness which he could notexplain. He would occasionally leave the girl and miss some ramble orfeast in order to go and gaze at Madame Quenu through the windows of herpork shop. She was so handsome and plump and round that it did him goodto look at her. As he stood gazing at her, he felt full and satisfied,as though he had just eaten or drunk something extremely nice. And whenhe went off, a sort of hunger and thirst to see her again suddenly cameupon him. This had been going on for a couple of months. At first hehad looked at her with the respectful glance which he bestowed upon theshop-fronts of the grocers and provision dealers; but subsequently, whenhe and Cadine had taken to general pilfering, he began to regard hersmooth cheeks much as he regarded the barrels of olives and boxes ofdried apples.

  For some time past Marjolin had seen handsome Lisa every day, in themorning. She would pass Gavard's stall, and stop for a moment or two tochat with the poultry dealer. She now did her marketing herself, sothat she might be cheated as little as possible, she said. The truth,however, was that she wished to make Gavard speak out. In the pork shophe was always distrustful, but at his stall he chatted and talked withthe utmost freedom. Now, Lisa had made up her mind to ascertain from himexactly what took place in the little room at Monsieur Lebigre's; forshe had no great confidence in her secret police office, MademoiselleSaget. In a short time she learnt from the incorrigible chatterbox alot of vague details which very much alarmed her. Two days after herexplanation with Quenu she returned home from the market looking verypale. She beckoned to her husband to follow her into the dining-room,and having carefully closed the door she said to him: "Is your brotherdetermined to send us to the scaffold, then? Why did you conceal from mewhat you knew?"

  Quenu declared that he knew nothing. He even swore a great oath that hehad not returned to Monsieur Lebigre's, and would never go there again.

  "You will do well not to do so," replied Lisa, shrugging her shoulders,"unless you want to get yourself into a serious scrape. Florent is up tosome evil trick, I'm certain of it! I have just learned quite sufficientto show me where he is going. He's going back to Cayenne, do you hear?"

  Then, after a pause, she continued in calmer ones: "Oh, the unhappy man!He had everything here that he could wish for. He might have redeemedhis character; he had nothing but good examples before him. But no,it is in his blood! He will come to a violent end with his politics! Iinsist upon there being an end to all this! You hear me, Quenu? I gaveyou due warning long ago!"

  She spoke the last words very incisively. Quenu bent his head, as ifawaiting sentence.

  "To begin with," continued Lisa, "he shall cease to take his meals here.It will be quite sufficient if we give him a bed. He is earning money;let him feed himself."

  Quenu seemed on the point of protesting, but his wife silenced him byadding energetically:

  "Make your choice between him and me. If he remains here, I swear toyou that I will go away, and take my daughter with me. Do you want me totell you the whole truth about him? He is a man capable of anything; hehas come here to bring discord into our household. But I will set thingsright, you may depend on it. You have your choice between him and me;you hear me?"

  Then, leaving her husband in silent consternation, she returned to theshop, where she served a customer with her usual affable smile. The factwas that, having artfully inveigled Gavard into a political discussion,the poultry dealer had told her that she would soon see how the landlay, that they were going to make a clean sweep of everything, and thattwo determined men like her brother-in-law and himself would suffice toset the fire blazing. This was the evil trick of which she had spokento Quenu, some conspiracy to which Gavard was always making mysteriousallusions with a sniggering grin from which he seemingly desired a greatdeal to be inferred. And in imagination Lisa already saw the gendarmesinvading the pork shop, gagging herself, her husband, and Pauline, andcasting them into some underground dungeon.

  In the evening, at dinner, she evinced an icy frigidity. She made nooffers to serve Florent, but several times remarked: "It's very strangewhat an amount of bread we've got through lately."

  Florent at last understood. He felt that he was being treated like apoor relation who is gradually turned out of doors. For the last twomonths Lisa had dressed him in Quenu's old trousers and coats; and, ashe was as thin as his brother was fat, these ragged garments had a mostextraordinary appearance upon him. She also turned her oldest linen overto him: pocket-handkerchiefs which had been darned a score of times,ragged towels, sheets which were only fit to be cut up into dusters anddish-cloths, and worn-out shirts, distended by Quenu's corpulentfigure, and so short that they would have served Florent as under-vests.Moreover, he no longer found around him the same good-natured kindlinessas in the earlier days. The whole household seemed to shrug itsshoulders after the example set by handsome Lisa. Auguste and Augustineturned their backs upon him, and little Pauline, with the cruelfrankness of childhood, let fall some bitter remarks about the stainson his coat and the holes in his shirt. However, during the last days hesuffered most at table. He scarcely dared to eat, as he saw the motherand daughter fix their gaze upon him whenever he cut himself a piece ofbread. Quenu meantime peered into his plate, to avoid having to take anypart in what went on.

  That which most tortured Florent was his inability to invent a reasonfor leaving the house. During a week he kept on revolving in his mind asentence expressing his resolve to take his meals elsewhere, but couldnot bring himself to utter it. Indeed, this man of tender nature livedin such a world of illusions that he feared he might hurt his brotherand sister-in-law by ceasing to lunch and dine with them. It had takenhim over two months to detect Lisa's latent hostility; and even now hewas sometimes inclined to think that he must be mistaken, and thatshe was in reality kindly disposed towards him. Unselfishness withhim extended to forgetfulness of his requirements; it was no longera virtue, but utter indifference to self, an absolute obliteration ofpersonality. Even when he recognised that he was being gradually turnedout of the house, his mind never for a moment dwelt upon his share inold Gradelle's fortune, or upon the accounts which Lisa had offered him.He had already planned out his expenditure for the future; reckoningthat with what Madame Verlaque still allowed him to retain of hissalary, and the thirty francs a month which a pupil, obtained throughLa Normande, paid him he would be able to spend eighteen sous on hisbreakfast and twenty-six sous on his dinner. This, he thought, would beample. And so, at last, taking as his excuse the lessons which he wasgiving his new pupil, he emboldened himself one morning to pretendthat it would be impossible for him in future to come to the houseat mealtimes. He blushed as he gave utterance to this laboriouslyconstructed lie, which had given him so much trouble, and continuedapologetically:

  "You mustn't be offended; the boy only has those hours free. I caneasily get something to eat, you know; and I will come and have a chatwith you in the evenings."

  Beautiful Lisa maintained her icy reserve, and this increased Florent'sfeeling of trouble. In order to have no cause for self-reproach she hadbeen unwilling to send him about his business, preferring to wait tillhe should weary of the situation and go of his own accord. Now he wasgoing, and it was a good riddance; and she studiously refrained fromall show of kindliness for fear it might induce him to remain. Quenu,however, showed some signs of emotion, and exclaimed: "Don't think ofputting yourself about; take your meals elsewhere by all means, if itis more convenient. It isn't we who are turning you way; you'll at allevents dine with us sometimes on Sundays, eh?"

  Florent hurried off. His heart was very heavy. When he had gone, thebeautiful Lisa did not venture to reproach her husband for his weaknessin giving that invitation for Sundays. She had conquered, and againbreathed freely amongst the light oak of her dining-
room, where shewould have liked to burn some sugar to drive away the odour of perverseleanness which seemed to linger about. Moreover, she continued to remainon the defensive; and at the end of another week she felt more alarmedthan ever. She only occasionally saw Florent in the evenings, andbegan to have all sorts of dreadful thoughts, imagining that herbrother-in-law was constructing some infernal machine upstairs inAugustine's bedroom, or else making signals which would result inbarricades covering the whole neighbourhood. Gavard, who had becomegloomy, merely nodded or shook his head when she spoke to him, and lefthis stall for days together in Marjolin's charge. The beautiful Lisa,however, determined that she would get to the bottom of affairs. Sheknew that Florent had obtained a day's leave, and intended to spendit with Claude Lantier, at Madame Francois's, at Nanterre. As he wouldstart in the morning, and remain away till night, she conceived the ideaof inviting Gavard to dinner. He would be sure to talk freely, at table,she thought. But throughout the morning she was unable to meet thepoultry dealer, and so in the afternoon she went back again to themarkets.

  Marjolin was in the stall alone. He used to drowse there for hours,recouping himself from the fatigue of his long rambles. He generally satupon one chair with his legs resting upon another, and his head leaningagainst a little dresser. In the wintertime he took a keen delight inlolling there and contemplating the display of game; the bucks hanginghead downwards, with their fore-legs broken and twisted round theirnecks; the larks festooning the stall like garlands; the big ruddyhares, the mottled partridges, the water-fowl of a bronze-grey hue, theRussian black cocks and hazel hens, which arrived in a packing of oatstraw and charcoal;[*] and the pheasants, the magnificent pheasants,with their scarlet hoods, their stomachers of green satin, their mantlesof embossed gold, and their flaming tails, that trailed like trains ofcourt robes. All this show of plumage reminded Marjolin of his ramblesin the cellars with Cadine amongst the hampers of feathers.

  [*] The baskets in which these are sent to Paris are identical with those which in many provinces of Russia serve the _moujiks_ as cradles for their infants.--Translator.

  That afternoon the beautiful Lisa found Marjolin in the midst of thepoultry. It was warm, and whiffs of hot air passed along the narrowalleys of the pavilion. She was obliged to stoop before she could seehim stretched out inside the stall, below the bare flesh of the birds.From the hooked bar up above hung fat geese, the hooks sticking in thebleeding wounds of their long stiffened necks, while their huge bodiesbulged out, glowing ruddily beneath their fine down, and, with theirsnowy tails and wings, suggesting nudity encompassed by fine linen.And also hanging from the bar, with ears thrown back and feet partedas though they were bent on some vigorous leap, were grey rabbits whoseturned-up tails gleamed whitely, whilst their heads, with sharp teethand dim eyes, laughed with the grin of death. On the counter of thestall plucked fowls showed their strained fleshy breasts; pigeons,crowded on osier trays, displayed the soft bare skin of innocents;ducks, with skin of rougher texture, exhibited their webbed feet; andthree magnificent turkeys, speckled with blue dots, like freshly-shavenchins, slumbered on their backs amidst the black fans of their expandedtails. On plates near by were giblets, livers, gizzards, necks, feet,and wings; while an oval dish contained a skinned and gutted rabbit,with its four legs wide apart, its head bleeding, and is kidneys showingthrough its gashed belly. A streamlet of dark blood, after tricklingalong its back to its tail, had fallen drop by drop, staining thewhiteness of the dish. Marjolin had not even taken the trouble to wipethe block, near which the rabbit's feet were still lying. He reclinedthere with his eyes half closed, encompassed by other piles of deadpoultry which crowded the shelves of the stall, poultry in paperwrappers like bouquets, rows upon rows of protuberant breasts and bentlegs showing confusedly. And amidst all this mass of food, the youngfellow's big, fair figure, the flesh of his cheeks, hands, and powerfulneck covered with ruddy down seemed as soft as that of the magnificentturkeys, and as plump as the breasts of the fat geese.

  When he caught sight of Lisa, he at once sprang up, blushing at havingbeen caught sprawling in this way. He always seemed very nervous and illat ease in Madame Quenu's presence; and when she asked him if MonsieurGavard was there, he stammered out: "No, I don't think so. He was here alittle while ago, but he want away again."

  Lisa looked at him, smiling; she had a great liking for him. But feelingsomething warm brush against her hand, which was hanging by her side,she raised a little shriek. Some live rabbits were thrusting their nosesout of a box under the counter of the stall, and sniffing at her skirts.

  "Oh," she exclaimed with a laugh, "it's your rabbits that are ticklingme."

  Then she stooped and attempted to stroke a white rabbit, which darted inalarm into a corner of the box.

  "Will Monsieur Gavard be back soon, do you think?" she asked, as sheagain rose erect.

  Marjolin once more replied that he did not know; then in a hesitatingway he continued: "He's very likely gone down into the cellars. He toldme, I think, that he was going there."

  "Well, I think I'll wait for him, then," replied Lisa. "Could you lethim know that I am here? or I might go down to him, perhaps. Yes, that'sa good idea; I've been intending to go and have a look at the cellarsfor these last five years. You'll take me down, won't you, and explainthings to me?"

  Marjolin blushed crimson, and, hurrying out of the stall, walked on infront of her, leaving the poultry to look after itself. "Of course Iwill," said he. "I'll do anything you wish, Madame Lisa."

  When they got down below, the beautiful Lisa felt quite suffocated bythe dank atmosphere of the cellar. She stood at the bottom step, andraised her eyes to look at the vaulted roofing of red and white bricksarching slightly between the iron ribs upheld by small columns. Whatmade her hesitate more than the gloominess of the place was a warm,penetrating odour, the exhalations of large numbers of living creatures,which irritated her nostrils and throat.

  "What a nasty smell!" she exclaimed. "It must be very unhealthy downhere."

  "It never does me any harm," replied Marjolin in astonishment. "There'snothing unpleasant about the smell when you've got accustomed to it; andit's very warm and cosy down here in the wintertime."

  As Lisa followed him, however, she declared that the strong scent of thepoultry quite turned her stomach, and that she would certainly notbe able to eat a fowl for the next two months. All around her, thestorerooms, the small cabins where the stallkeepers keep their livestock, formed regular streets, intersecting each other at right angles.There were only a few scattered gas lights, and the little alleys seemedwrapped in sleep like the lanes of a village where the inhabitantshave all gone to bed. Marjolin made Lisa feel the close-meshed wiring,stretched on a framework of cast iron; and as she made her way along oneof the streets she amused herself by reading the names of the differenttenants, which were inscribed on blue labels.

  "Monsieur Gavard's place is quite at the far end," said the young man,still walking on.

  They turned to the left, and found themselves in a sort of blind alley,a dark, gloomy spot where not a ray of light penetrated. Gavard was notthere.

  "Oh, it makes no difference," said Marjolin. "I can show you our birdsjust the same. I have a key of the storeroom."

  Lisa followed him into the darkness.

  "You don't suppose that I can see your birds in this black oven, doyou?" she asked, laughing.

  Marjolin did not reply at once; but presently he stammered out thatthere was always a candle in the storeroom. He was fumbling about thelock, and seemed quite unable to find the keyhole. As Lisa came up tohelp him, she felt a hot breath on her neck; and when the young man hadat last succeeded in opening the door and lighted the candle, she sawthat he was trembling.

  "You silly fellow!" she exclaimed, "to get yourself into such a statejust because a door won't open! Why, you're no better than a girl, inspite of your big fists!"

  She stepped inside the storeroom. Gavard had rented two compartments,which he had thrown into one by removing the partition between them. Inthe dirt on the floor wallowed the larger birds--the geese, turkeys,and ducks--while up above, on tiers of shelves, were boxes with barredfronts containing fowls and rabbits. The grating of the storeroom was socoated with dust and cobwebs that it looked as though covered with greyblinds. The woodwork down below was rotting, and covered with filth.Lisa, however, not wishing to vex Marjolin, refrained from any furtherexpression of disgust. She pushed her fingers between the bars of theboxes, and began to lament the fate of the unhappy fowls, which wereso closely huddled together and could not even stand upright. Then shestroked a duck with a broken leg which was squatting in a corner, andthe young man told her that it would be killed that very evening, forfear lest it should die during the night.

  "But what do they do for food?" asked Lisa.

  Thereupon he explained to her that poultry would not eat in the dark,and that it was necessary to light a candle and wait there till they hadfinished their meal.

  "It amuses me to watch them," he continued; "I often stay here with alight for hours altogether. You should see how they peck away; and whenI hide the flame of the candle with my hand they all stand stock-stillwith their necks in the air, just as though the sun had set. It isagainst the rules to leave a lighted candle here and go away. One of thedealers, old Mother Palette--you know her, don't you?--nearly burned thewhole place down the other day. A fowl must have knocked the candle overinto the straw while she was away."

  "A pretty thing, isn't it," said Lisa, "for fowls to insist upon havingthe chandeliers lighted up every time they take a meal?"

  This idea made her laugh. Then she came out of the storeroom, wiping herfeet, and holding up her skirts to keep them from the filth. Marjolinblew out the candle and locked the door. Lisa
felt rather nervous atfinding herself in the dark again with this big young fellow, and so shehastened on in front.

  "I'm glad I came, all the same," she presently said, as he joined her."There is a great deal more under these markets than I ever imagined.But I must make haste now and get home again. They'll wonder what hasbecome of me at the shop. If Monsieur Gavard comes back, tell him that Iwant to speak to him immediately."

  "I expect he's in the killing-room," said Marjolin. "We'll go and see,if you like."

  Lisa made no reply. She felt oppressed by the close atmosphere whichwarmed her face. She was quite flushed, and her bodice, generally sostill and lifeless, began to heave. Moreover, the sound of Marjolin'shurrying steps behind her filled her with an uneasy feeling. At last shestepped aside, and let him go on in front. The lanes of this undergroundvillage were still fast asleep. Lisa noticed that her companion wastaking the longest way. When they came out in front of the railway trackhe told her that he had wished to show it to her; and they stood for amoment or two looking through the chinks in the hoarding of heavy beams.Then Marjolin proposed to take her on to the line; but she refused,saying that it was not worth while, as she could see things well enoughwhere she was.

  As they returned to the poultry cellars they found old Madame Palette infront of her storeroom, removing the cords of a large square hamper, inwhich a furious fluttering of wings and scraping of feet could be heard.As she unfastened the last knot the lid suddenly flew open, as thoughshot up by a spring, and some big geese thrust out their heads andnecks. Then, in wild alarm, they sprang from their prison and rushedaway, craning their necks, and filling the dark cellars with a frightfulnoise of hissing and clattering of beaks. Lisa could not help laughing,in spite of the lamentations of the old woman, who swore like a carteras she caught hold of two of the absconding birds and dragged them backby the neck. Marjolin, meantime, set off in pursuit of a third. Theycould hear him running along the narrow alleys, hunting for the runaway,and delighting in the chase. Then, far off in the distance, they heardthe sounds of a struggle, and presently Marjolin came back again,bringing the goose with him. Mother Palette, a sallow-faced old woman,took it in her arms and clasped it for a moment to her bosom, in theclassic attitude of Leda.

  "Well, well, I'm sure I don't know what I should have done if you hadn'tbeen here," said she. "The other day I had a regular fight with one ofthe brutes; but I had my knife with me, and I cut its throat."

  Marjolin was quite out of breath. When they reached the stone blockswhere the poultry were killed, and where the gas burnt more brightly,Lisa could see that he was perspiring, and had bold, glistening eyes.She thought he looked very handsome like that, with his broad shoulders,big flushed face, and fair curly hair, and she looked at him socomplacently, with that air of admiration which women feel they maysafely express for quite young lads, that he relapsed into timidbashfulness again.

  "Well, Monsieur Gavard isn't here, you see," she said. "You've only mademe waste my time."

  Marjolin, however, began rapidly explaining the killing of the poultryto her. Five huge stone slabs stretched out in the direction of the RueRambuteau under the yellow light of the gas jets. A woman was killingfowls at one end; and this led him to tell Lisa that the birds wereplucked almost before they were dead, the operation thus being mucheasier. Then he wanted her to feel the feathers which were lying inheaps on the stone slabs; and told her that they were sorted and soldfor as much as nine sous the pound, according to their quality. Tosatisfy him, she was also obliged to plunge her hand into the bighampers full of down. Then he turned the water-taps, of which there wasone by every pillar. There was no end to the particulars he gave. Theblood, he said, streamed along the stone blocks, and collected intopools on the paved floor, which attendants sluiced with water every twohours, removing the more recent stains with coarse brushes.

  When Lisa stooped over the drain which carries away the swillings,Marjolin found a fresh text for talk. On rainy days, said he, the watersometimes rose through this orifice and flooded the place. It hadonce risen a foot high; and they had been obliged to transport all thepoultry to the other end of the cellar, which is on a higher level.He laughed as he recalled the wild flutter of the terrified creatures.However, he had now finished, and it seemed as though there remainednothing else for him to show, when all at once he bethought himself ofthe ventilator. Thereupon he took Lisa off to the far end of the cellar,and told her to look up; and inside one of the turrets at the cornerangles of the pavilion she observed a sort of escape-pipe, by which thefoul atmosphere of the storerooms ascended into space.

  Here, in this corner, reeking with abominable odours, Marjolin'snostrils quivered, and his breath came and went violently. His longstroll with Lisa in these cellars, full of warm animal perfumes, hadgradually intoxicated him.

  She had again turned towards him. "Well," said she, "it was very kind ofyou to show me all this, and when you come to the shop I will give yousomething."

  Whilst speaking she took hold of his soft chin, as she often did,without recognising that he was no longer a child; and perhaps sheallowed her hand to linger there a little longer than was her wont. Atall events, Marjolin, usually so bashful, was thrilled by the caress,and all at once he impetuously sprang forward, clasped Lisa by theshoulders, and pressed his lips to her soft cheeks. She raised nocry, but turned very pale at this sudden attack, which showed her howimprudent she had been. And then, freeing herself from the embrace, sheraised her arm, as she had seen men do in slaughter houses, clenchedher comely fist, and knocked Marjolin down with a single blow, plantedstraight between his eyes; and as he fell his head came into collisionwith one of the stone slabs, and was split open. Just at that moment thehoarse and prolonged crowing of a cock sounded through the gloom.

  Handsome Lisa, however, remained perfectly cool. Her lips were tightlycompressed, and her bosom had recovered its wonted immobility. Upabove she could hear the heavy rumbling of the markets, and through thevent-holes alongside the Rue Rambuteau the noise of the street trafficmade its way into the oppressive silence of the cellar. Lisa reflectedthat her own strong arm had saved her; and then, fearing lest someone should come and find her there, she hastened off, without giving aglance at Marjolin. As she climbed the steps, after passing through thegrated entrance of the cellars, the daylight brought her great relief.

  She returned to the shop, quite calm, and only looking a little pale.

  "You've been a long time," Quenu said to her.

  "I can't find Gavard. I have looked for him everywhere," she quietlyreplied. "We shall have to eat our leg of mutton without him."

  Then she filled the lard pot, which she noticed was empty; and cut somepork chops for her friend Madame Taboureau, who had sent her littleservant for them. The blows which she dealt with her cleaver remindedher of Marjolin. She felt that she had nothing to reproach herself with.She had acted like an honest woman. She was not going to disturb herpeace of mind; she was too happy to do anything to compromise herself.However, she glanced at Quenu, whose neck was coarse and ruddy, andwhose shaven chin looked as rough as knotted wood; whereas Marjolin'schin and neck resembled rosy satin. But then she must not think of himany more, for he was no longer a child. She regretted it, and could nothelp thinking that children grew up much too quickly.

  A slight flush came back to her cheeks, and Quenu considered that shelooked wonderfully blooming. He came and sat down beside her at thecounter for a moment or two. "You ought to go out oftener," said he; "itdoes you good. We'll go to the theatre together one of these nights, ifyou like; to the Gaite, eh? Madame Taboureau has been to see the piecethey are playing there, and she declares it's splendid."

  Lisa smiled, and said they would see about it, and then once more shetook herself off. Quenu thought that it was too good of her to take somuch trouble in running about after that brute Gavard. In point of fact,however, she had simply gone upstairs to Florent's bedroom, the keyof which was hanging from a nail in the kitchen. She hoped to find outsomething or other by an inspection of this room, since the poultrydealer had failed her. She went slowly round it, examining the bed, themantelpiece, and every corner. The window with the little balcony wasopen, and the budding pomegranate was steeped in the golden beams of thesetting sun. The room looked to her as though Augustine had never leftit--had slept there only the night before. There seemed to be nothingmasculine about the place. She was quite surprised, for she had expectedto find some suspicious-looking chests, and coffers with strong locks.She went to feel Augustine's summer gown, which was still hangingagainst the wall. Then she sat down at the table, and began to read anunfinished page of manuscript, in which the word "revolution" occurredtwice. This alarmed her, and she opened the drawer, which she saw wasfull of papers. But her sense of honour awoke within her in presence ofthe secret which the rickety deal table so badly guarded. She remainedbending over the papers, trying to understand them without touchingthem, in a state of great emotion, when the shrill song of thechaffinch, on whose cage streamed a ray of sunshine, made her start. Sheclosed the drawer. It was a base thing that she had contemplated, shethought.

  Then, as she lingered by the window, reflecting that she ought to goand ask counsel of Abbe Roustan, who was a very sensible man, she saw acrowd of people round a stretcher in the market square below. The nightwas falling, still she distinctly recognised Cadine weeping in the midstof the crowd; while Florent and Claude, whose boots were white withdust, stood together talking earnestly at the edge of the footway.She hurried downstairs again, surprised to see them back so soon, andscarcely had she reached her counter when Mademoiselle Saget entered theshop.

  "They have found that scamp of a Marjolin in the cellar, with his headsplit open," exclaimed the old maid. "Won't you come to see him, MadameQuenu?"
r />   Lisa crossed the road to look at him. The young fellow was lying on hisback on the stretcher, looking very pale. His eyes were closed, anda stiff wisp of his fair hair was clotted with blood. The bystanders,however, declared that there was no serious harm done, and, besides, thescamp had only himself to blame, for he was always playing all sorts ofwild pranks in the cellars. It was generally supposed that he hadbeen trying to jump over one of the stone blocks--one of his favouriteamusements--and had fallen with his head against the slab.

  "I dare say that hussy there gave him a shove," remarked MademoiselleSaget, pointing to Cadine, who was weeping. "They are always larkingtogether."

  Meantime the fresh air had restored Marjolin to consciousness, and heopened his eyes in wide astonishment. He looked round at everybody, andthen, observing Lisa bending over him, he gently smiled at her withan expression of mingled humility and affection. He seemed to haveforgotten all that had happened. Lisa, feeling relieved, said that heought to be taken to the hospital at once, and promised to go and seehim there, and take him some oranges and biscuits. However, Marjolin'shead had fallen back, and when the stretcher was carried away Cadinefollowed it, with her flat basket slung round her neck, and her hottears rolling down upon the bunches of violets in their mossy bed. Shecertainly had no thoughts for the flowers that she was thus scaldingwith her bitter grief.

  As Lisa went back to her shop, she heard Claude say, as he shook handswith Florent and parted from him: "Ah! the confounded young scamp! He'squite spoiled my day for me! Still, we had a very enjoyable time, didn'twe?"

  Claude and Florent had returned both worried and happy, bringing withthem the pleasant freshness of the country air. Madame Francois haddisposed of all her vegetables that morning before daylight; and theyhad all three gone to the Golden Compasses, in the Rue Montorgueil, toget the cart. Here, in the middle of Paris, they found a foretaste ofthe country. Behind the Restaurant Philippe, with its frontage of giltwoodwork rising to the first floor, there was a yard like that of afarm, dirty, teeming with life, reeking with the odour of manureand straw. Bands of fowls were pecking at the soft ground. Sheds andstaircases and galleries of greeny wood clung to the old houses around,and at the far end, in a shanty of big beams, was Balthazar, harnessedto the cart, and eating the oats in his nosebag. He went down the RueMontorgueil at a slow trot, seemingly well pleased to return to Nanterreso soon. However, he was not going home without a load. Madame Francoishad a contract with the company which undertook the scavenging of themarkets, and twice a week she carried off with her a load of leaves,forked up from the mass of refuse which littered the square. It madeexcellent manure. In a few minutes the cart was filled to overflowing.Claude and Florent stretched themselves out on the deep bed of greenery;Madame Francois grasped her reins, and Balthazar went off at his slow,steady pace, his head somewhat bent by reason of there being so manypassengers to pull along.

  This excursion had been talked of for a long time past. Madame Francoislaughed cheerily. She was partial to the two men, and promised theman _omelette au lard_ as had never been eaten, said she, in "thatvillainous Paris." Florent and Claude revelled in the thought of thisday of lounging idleness which as yet had scarcely begun to dawn.Nanterre seemed to be some distant paradise into which they wouldpresently enter.

  "Are you quite comfortable?" Madame Francois asked as the cart turnedinto the Rue du Pont Neuf.

  Claude declared that their couch was as soft as a bridal bed. Lying ontheir backs, with their hands crossed under their heads, both men werelooking up at the pale sky from which the stars were vanishing. Allalong the Rue de Rivoli they kept unbroken silence, waiting till theyshould have got clear of the houses, and listening to the worthy womanas she chattered to Balthazar: "Take your time, old man," she said tohim in kindly tones. "We're in no hurry; we shall be sure to get thereat last."

  On reaching the Champs Elysees, when the artist saw nothing buttree-tops on either side of him, and the great green mass of theTuileries gardens in the distance, he woke up, as it were, and began totalk. When the cart had passed the end of the Rue du Roule he had caughta glimpse of the side entrance of Saint Eustache under the giant roofingof one of the market covered-ways. He was constantly referring to thisview of the church, and tried to give it a symbolical meaning.

  "It's an odd mixture," he said, "that bit of church framed round by anavenue of cast iron. The one will kill the other; the iron will slaythe stone, and the time is not very far off. Do you believe in chance,Florent? For my part, I don't think that it was any mere chance ofposition that set a rose-window of Saint Eustache right in the middle ofthe central markets. No; there's a whole manifesto in it. It is modernart, realism, naturalism--whatever you like to call it--that has grownup and dominates ancient art. Don't you agree with me?"

  Then, as Florent still kept silence, Claude continued: "Besides, thatchurch is a piece of bastard architecture, made up of the dying gasp ofthe middle ages, and the first stammering of the Renaissance. Have younoticed what sort of churches are built nowadays? They resemble allkinds of things--libraries, observatories, pigeon-cotes, barracks; andsurely no one can imagine that the Deity dwells in such places. Thepious old builders are all dead and gone; and it would be better tocease erecting those hideous carcasses of stone, in which we have nobelief to enshrine. Since the beginning of the century there has onlybeen one large original pile of buildings erected in Paris--a pile inaccordance with modern developments--and that's the central markets. Youhear me, Florent? Ah! they are a fine bit of building, though they butfaintly indicate what we shall see in the twentieth century! And so, yousee, Saint Eustache is done for! It stands there with its rose-windows,deserted by worshippers, while the markets spread out by its side andteem with noisy life. Yes! that's how I understand it all, my friend."

  "Ah! Monsieur Claude," said Madame Francois, laughing, "the woman whocut your tongue-string certainly earned her money. Look at Balthazarlaying his ears back to listen to you. Come, come, get along,Balthazar!"

  The cart was slowly making its way up the incline. At this early hour ofthe morning the avenue, with its double lines of iron chairs on eitherpathway, and its lawns, dotted with flowerbeds and clumps of shrubbery,stretching away under the blue shadows of the trees, was quite deserted;however, at the Rond-Point a lady and gentleman on horseback passed thecart at a gentle trot. Florent, who had made himself a pillow witha bundle of cabbage-leaves, was still gazing at the sky, in which afar-stretching rosy glow was appearing. Every now and then he wouldclose his eyes, the better to enjoy the fresh breeze of the morningas it fanned his face. He was so happy to escape from the markets, andtravel on through the pure air, that he remained speechless, and did noteven listen to what was being said around him.

  "And then, too, what fine jokers are those fellows who imprison art in atoy-box!" resumed Claude, after a pause. "They are always repeating thesame idiotic words: 'You can't create art out of science,' says one;'Mechanical appliances kill poetry,' says another; and a pack of foolswail over the fate of the flowers, as though anybody wished the flowersany harm! I'm sick of all such twaddle; I should like to answer all thatsnivelling with some work of open defiance. I should take a pleasure inshocking those good people. Shall I tell you what was the finest thingI ever produced since I first began to work, and the one which I recallwith the greatest pleasure? It's quite a story. When I was at myAunt Lisa's on Christmas Eve last year that idiot of an Auguste, theassistant, was setting out the shop-window. Well, he quite irritatedme by the weak, spiritless way in which he arranged the display; and atlast I requested him to take himself off, saying that I would groupthe things myself in a proper manner. You see, I had plenty of brightcolours to work with--the red of the tongues, the yellow of the hams,the blue of the paper shavings, the rosy pink of the things that hadbeen cut into, the green of the sprigs of heath, and the black of theblack-puddings--ah! a magnificent black, which I have never managed toproduce on my palette. And naturally, the _crepine_, the small sausages,the chitterlings, and the crumbed trotters provided me with delicategreys and browns. I produced a perfect work of art. I took the dishes,the plates, the pans, and the jars, and arranged the different colours;and I devised a wonderful picture of still life, with subtle scales oftints leading up to brilliant flashes of colour. The red tongues seemedto thrust themselves out like greedy flames, and the black-puddings,surrounded by pale sausages, suggested a dark night fraught withterrible indigestion. I had produced, you see, a picture symbolical ofthe gluttony of Christmas Eve, when people meet and sup--the midnightfeasting, the ravenous gorging of stomachs void and faint after all thesinging of hymns.[*] At the top of everything a huge turkey exhibitedits white breast, marbled blackly by the truffles showing through itsskin. It was something barbaric and superb, suggesting a paunch amidsta halo of glory; but there was such a cutting, sarcastic touch about itall that people crowded to the window, alarmed by the fierce flare ofthe shop-front. When my aunt Lisa came back from the kitchen she wasquite frightened, and thought I'd set the fat in the shop on fire;and she considered the appearance of the turkey so indelicate that sheturned me out of the place while Auguste re-arranged the window afterhis own idiotic fashion. Such brutes will never understand the languageof a red splotch by the side of a grey one. Ah, well! that was mymasterpiece. I have never done anything better."

  [*] An allusion to the "midnight mass" usually celebrated in Roman Catholic churches on Christmas Eve.--Translator.

  He relapsed into silence, smiling and dwelling with gratification onthis reminiscence. The cart had now reached the Arc de Triomphe, andstrong currents of air swept from the avenues across the expanse of openground. Florent sat up, and inhaled with zest the first odours of grasswafted from the fortifications. He turned his back on Paris, anxiousto behold the cou
ntry in the distance. At the corner of the Rue deLongchamp, Madame Francois pointed out to him the spot where she hadpicked him up. This rendered him thoughtful, and he gazed at her asshe sat there, so healthy-looking and serene, with her arms slightlyextended so as to grasp the reins. She looked even handsomer than Lisa,with her neckerchief tied over her head, her robust glow of health, andher brusque, kindly air. When she gave a slight cluck with her tongue,Balthazar pricked up his ears and rattled down the road at a quickerpace.

  On arriving at Nanterre, the cart turned to the left into a narrow lane,skirted some blank walls, and finally came to a standstill at the end ofa sort of blind alley. It was the end of the world, Madame Francois usedto say. The load of vegetable leaves now had to be discharged. Claudeand Florent would not hear of the journeyman gardener, who was plantinglettuces, leaving his work, but armed themselves with pitchforks andproceeded to toss the leaves into the manure pit. This occupationafforded them much amusement. Claude had quite a liking for manure,since it symbolises the world and its life. The strippings and paringsof the vegetables, the scourings of the markets, the refuse that fellfrom that colossal table, remained full of life, and returned to thespot where the vegetables had previously sprouted, to warm and nourishfresh generations of cabbages, turnips, and carrots. They rose againin fertile crops, and once more went to spread themselves out upon themarket square. Paris rotted everything, and returned everything to thesoil, which never wearied of repairing the ravages of death.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Claude, as he plied his fork for the last time, "here'sa cabbage-stalk that I'm sure I recognise. It has grown up at least halfa score of times in that corner yonder by the apricot tree."

  This remark made Florent laugh. But he soon became grave again, andstrolled slowly through the kitchen garden, while Claude made a sketchof the stable, and Madame Francois got breakfast ready. The kitchengarden was a long strip of ground, divided in the middle by a narrowpath; it rose slightly, and at the top end, on raising the head, youcould perceive the low barracks of Mont Valerien. Green hedges separatedit from other plots of land, and these lofty walls of hawthorn fringedthe horizon with a curtain of greenery in such wise that of all thesurrounding country Mont Valerien alone seemed to rise inquisitivelyon tip-toe in order to peer into Madame Francois's close. Greatpeacefulness came from the countryside which could not be seen. Alongthe kitchen garden, between the four hedges, the May sun shone witha languid heat, a silence disturbed only by the buzzing of insects,a somnolence suggestive of painless parturition. Every now and then afaint cracking sound, a soft sigh, made one fancy that one could hearthe vegetables sprout into being. The patches of spinach and sorrel,the borders of radishes, carrots, and turnips, the beds of potatoesand cabbages, spread out in even regularity, displaying their darkleaf-mould between their tufts of greenery. Farther away, the trenchedlettuces, onions, leeks, and celery, planted by line in long straightrows, looked like soldiers on parade; while the peas and beans werebeginning to twine their slender tendrils round a forest of sticks,which, when June came, they would transform into a thick and verdantwood. There was not a weed to be seen. The garden resembled two parallelstrips of carpet of a geometrical pattern of green on a reddish ground,which were carefully swept every morning. Borders of thyme grew likegreyish fringe along each side of the pathway.

  Florent paced backwards and forwards amidst the perfume of the thyme,which the sun was warming. He felt profoundly happy in the peacefulnessand cleanliness of the garden. For nearly a year past he had only seenvegetables bruised and crushed by the jolting of the market-carts;vegetables torn up on the previous evening, and still bleeding. Herejoiced to find them at home, in peace in the dark mould, and sound inevery part. The cabbages had a bulky, prosperous appearance; the carrotslooked bright and gay; and the lettuces lounged in line with an air ofcareless indolence. And as he looked at them all, the markets which hehad left behind him that morning seemed to him like a vast mortuary,an abode of death, where only corpses could be found, a charnel-housereeking with foul smells and putrefaction. He slackened his steps, andrested in that kitchen garden, as after a long perambulation amidstdeafening noises and repulsive odours. The uproar and the sickeninghumidity of the fish market had departed from him; and he felt as thoughhe were being born anew in the pure fresh air. Claude was right, hethought. The markets were a sphere of death. The soil was the life, theeternal cradle, the health of the world.

  "The omelet's ready!" suddenly cried Madame Francois.

  When they were all three seated round the table in the kitchen, withthe door thrown open to the sunshine, they ate their breakfast withsuch light-hearted gaiety that Madame Francois looked at Florent inamazement, repeating between each mouthful: "You're quite altered.You're ten years younger. It is that villainous Paris which makes youseem so gloomy. You've got a little sunshine in your eyes now. Ah! thosebig towns do one's health no good, you ought to come and live here."

  Claude laughed, and retorted that Paris was a glorious place. He stuckup for it and all that belonged to it, even to its gutters; though atthe same time retaining a keen affection for the country.

  In the afternoon Madame Francois and Florent found themselves aloneat the end of the garden, in a corner planted with a few fruit trees.Seated on the ground, they talked somewhat seriously together. The goodwoman advised Florent with an affectionate and quite maternal kindness.She asked him endless questions about his life, and his intentions forthe future, and begged him to remember that he might always countupon her, if ever he thought that she could in the slightest degreecontribute to his happiness. Florent was deeply touched. No woman hadever spoken to him in that way before. Madame Francois seemed to himlike some healthy, robust plant that had grown up with the vegetablesin the leaf-mould of the garden; while the Lisas, the Normans, andother pretty women of the markets appeared to him like flesh of doubtfulfreshness decked out for exhibition. He here enjoyed several hours ofperfect well-being, delivered from all that reek of food which sickenedhim in the markets, and reviving to new life amidst the fertileatmosphere of the country, like that cabbage stalk which Claude declaredhe had seen sprout up more than half a score of times.

  The two men took leave of Madame Francois at about five o'clock. Theyhad decided to walk back to Paris; and the market gardener accompaniedthem into the lane. As she bade good-bye to Florent, she kept his handin her own for a moment, and said gently: "If ever anything happens totrouble you, remember to come to me."

  For a quarter of an hour Florent walked on without speaking, alreadygetting gloomy again, and reflecting that he was leaving health behindhim. The road to Courbevoie was white with dust. However, both men werefond of long walks and the ringing of stout boots on the hard ground.Little clouds of dust rose up behind their heels at every step,while the rays of the sinking sun darted obliquely over the avenue,lengthening their shadows in such wise that their heads reached theother side of the road, and journeyed along the opposite footway.

  Claude, swinging his arms, and taking long, regular strides,complacently watched these two shadows, whilst enjoying the rhythmicalcadence of his steps, which he accentuated by a motion of his shoulders.Presently, however, as though just awaking from a dream, he exclaimed:"Do you know the 'Battle of the Fat and the Thin'?"

  Florent, surprised by the question, replied in the negative; andthereupon Claude waxed enthusiastic, talking of that series of printsin very eulogical fashion. He mentioned certain incidents: the Fat, soswollen that they almost burst, preparing their evening debauch, whilethe Thin, bent double by fasting, looked in from the street with theappearance of envious laths; and then, again, the Fat, with hangingcheeks, driving off one of the Thin, who had been audacious enough tointroduce himself into their midst in lowly humility, and who lookedlike a ninepin amongst a population of balls.

  In these designs Claude detected the entire drama of human life, and heended by classifying men into Fat and Thin, two hostile groups, one ofwhich devours the other, and grows fat and sleek and enjoys itself.

  "Cain," said he, "was certainly one of the Fat, and Abel one of theThin. Ever since that first murder, there have been rampant appetiteswhich have drained the life-blood of small eaters. It's a continualpreying of the stronger upon the weaker; each swallowing his neighbour,and then getting swallowed in his turn. Beware of the Fat, my friend."

  He relapsed into silence for a moment, still watching their two shadows,which the setting sun elongated more than ever. Then he murmured: "Yousee, we belong to the Thin--you and I. Those who are no more corpulentthan we are don't take up much room in the sunlight, eh?"

  Florent glanced at the two shadows, and smiled. But Claude waxed angry,and exclaimed: "You make a mistake if you think it is a laughing matter.For my own part, I greatly suffer from being one of the Thin. If I wereone of the Fat, I could paint at my ease; I should have a fine studio,and sell my pictures for their weight in gold. But, instead of that,I'm one of the Thin; and I have to grind my life out in producing thingswhich simply make the Fat ones shrug their shoulders. I shall die of itall in the end, I'm sure of it, with my skin clinging to my bones, andso flattened that they will be able to bury me between two leaves of abook. And you, too, you are one of the Thin, a wonderful one; the veryking of Thin, in fact! Do you remember your quarrel with the fish-wives?It was magnificent; all those colossal bosoms flying at your scraggybreast! Oh! they were simply acting from natural instinct; they werepursuing one of the Thin just as cats pursue a mouse. The Fat, you know,have an instinctive hatred of the Thin, to such an extent that they mustneeds drive the latter from their sight, either by means of their teethor their feet. And that is why, if I were in your place, I should takemy precautions. The Quenus belong to the Fat, and so do the Mehudins;indeed, you have none but Fat ones around you. I should feel uneasy
under such circumstances."

  "And what about Gavard, and Mademoiselle Saget, and your friendMarjolin?" asked Florent, still smiling.

  "Oh, if you like, I will classify all our acquaintances for you,"replied Claude. "I've had their heads in a portfolio in my studio for along time past, with memoranda of the order to which they belong. Gavardis one of the Fat, but of the kind which pretends to belong to theThin. The variety is by no means uncommon. Mademoiselle Saget andMadame Lecoeur belong to the Thin, but to a variety which is much to befeared--the Thin ones whom envy drives to despair, and who are capableof anything in their craving to fatten themselves. My friend Marjolin,little Cadine, and La Sarriette are three Fat ones, still innocent,however, and having nothing but the guileless hunger of youth. I mayremark that the Fat, so long as they've not grown old, are charmingcreatures. Monsieur Lebigre is one of the Fat--don't you think so? Asfor your political friends, Charvet, Clemence, Logre, and Lacaille, theymostly belong to the Thin. I only except that big animal Alexandre, andthat prodigy Robine, who has caused me a vast amount of annoyance."

  The artist continued to talk in this strain from the Pont de Neuilly tothe Arc de Triomphe. He returned to some of those whom he had alreadymentioned, and completed their portraits with a few characteristictouches. Logre, he said, was one of the Thin whose belly had been placedbetween his shoulders. Beautiful Lisa was all stomach, and the beautifulNorman all bosom. Mademoiselle Saget, in her earlier life, must havecertainly lost some opportunity to fatten herself, for she detested theFat, while, at the same time, she despised the Thin. As for Gavard,he was compromising his position as one of the Fat, and would end bybecoming as flat as a bug.

  "And what about Madame Francois?" Florent asked.

  Claude seemed much embarrassed by this question. He cast about for ananswer, and at last stammered:

  "Madame Francois, Madame Francois--well, no, I really don't know; Inever thought about classifying her. But she's a dear good soul, andthat's quite sufficient. She's neither one of the Fat nor one of theThin!"

  They both laughed. They were now in front of the Arc de Triomphe. Thesun, over by the hills of Suresnes, was so low on the horizon that theircolossal shadows streaked the whiteness of the great structure evenabove the huge groups of statuary, like strokes made with a piece ofcharcoal. This increased Claude's merriment, he waved his arms and benthis body; and then, as he started on his way again, he said; "Did younotice--just as the sun set our two heads shot up to the sky!"

  But Florent no longer smiled. Paris was grasping him again, that Pariswhich now frightened him so much, after having cost him so many tears atCayenne. When he reached the markets night was falling, and there wasa suffocating smell. He bent his head as he once more returned tothe nightmare of endless food, whilst preserving the sweet yet sadrecollection of that day of bright health odorous with the perfume ofthyme.