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OCCUPYING ONE'S SELF WITH OBSCURE DEPTHS
Hardly was M. Leblanc seated, when he turned his eyes towards
the pallets, which were empty.
"How is the poor little wounded girl?" he inquired.
"Bad," replied Jondrette with a heart-broken and
grateful smile, "very bad, my worthy sir.
Her elder sister has taken her to the Bourbe to have her hurt
dressed.
You will see them presently; they will be back immediately."
"Madame Fabantou seems to me to be better," went
on M. Leblanc, casting his eyes on the eccentric costume of the
Jondrette woman, as she stood between him and the door, as though
already guarding the exit, and gazed at him in an attitude of
menace and almost of combat.
"She is dying," said Jondrette.
"But what do you expect, sir! She has so much courage,
that woman has!
She's not a woman, she's an ox."
The Jondrette, touched by his compliment, deprecated it with
the affected airs of a flattered monster.
"You are always too good to me, Monsieur Jondrette!"
"Jondrette!" said M. Leblanc, "I thought your
name was Fabantou?"
"Fabantou, alias Jondrette!" replied the husband
hurriedly. "An artistic sobriquet!"
And launching at his wife a shrug of the shoulders which M.
Leblanc did not catch, he continued with an emphatic and caressing
inflection of voice:--
"Ah! we have had a happy life together, this poor darling
and I! What would there be left for us if we had not that?
We are so wretched, my respectable sir!
We have arms, but there is no work!
We have the will, no work!
I don't know how the government arranges that, but, on my
word of honor, sir, I am not Jacobin, sir, I am not a bousingot.[30]
I don't wish them any evil, but if I were the ministers, on my
most sacred word, things would be different.
Here, for instance, I wanted to have my girls taught the trade
of paper-box makers. You will say to me:
`What! a trade?'
Yes!
A trade!
A simple trade! A bread-winner! What a fall, my benefactor!
What a degradation, when one has been what we have been!
Alas!
There is nothing left to us of our days of prosperity!
One thing only, a picture, of which I think a great deal,
but which I am willing to part with, for I must live!
Item, one must live!"
[30] A democrat.
While Jondrette thus talked, with an apparent incoherence
which detracted nothing from the thoughtful and sagacious expression
of his physiognomy, Marius raised his eyes, and perceived at the
other end of the room a person whom he had not seen before. A
man had just entered, so softly that the door had not been heard
to turn on its hinges.
This man wore a violet knitted vest, which was old, worn,
spotted, cut and gaping at every fold, wide trousers of cotton
velvet, wooden shoes on his feet, no shirt, had his neck bare,
his bare arms tattooed, and his face smeared with black.
He had seated himself in silence on the nearest bed, and,
as he was behind Jondrette, he could only be indistinctly seen.
That sort of magnetic instinct which turns aside the gaze,
caused M. Leblanc to turn round almost at the same moment as Marius.
He could not refrain from a gesture of surprise which did not
escape Jondrette.
"Ah!
I see!" exclaimed Jondrette, buttoning up his coat with
an air of complaisance, "you are looking at your overcoat?
It fits me! My faith, but it fits me!"
"Who is that man?" said M. Leblanc.
"Him?" ejaculated Jondrette, "he's a neighbor
of mine.
Don't pay any attention to him."
The neighbor was a singular-looking individual.
However, manufactories of chemical products abound in the
Faubourg Saint-Marceau. Many of the workmen might have black faces.
Besides this, M. Leblanc's whole person was expressive of
candid and intrepid confidence.
He went on:--
"Excuse me; what were you saying, M. Fabantou?"
"I was telling you, sir, and dear protector," replied
Jondrette placing his elbows on the table and contemplating M.
Leblanc with steady and tender eyes, not unlike the eyes of the
boa-constrictor, "I was telling you, that I have a picture
to sell."
A slight sound came from the door.
A second man had just entered and seated himself on the bed,
behind Jondrette.
Like the first, his arms were bare, and he had a mask of ink
or lampblack.
Although this man had, literally, glided into the room, he
had not been able to prevent M. Leblanc catching sight of him.
"Don't mind them," said Jondrette, "they are
people who belong in the house.
So I was saying, that there remains in my possession a valuable
picture.
But stop, sir, take a look at it."
He rose, went to the wall at the foot of which stood the panel
which we have already mentioned, and turned it round, still leaving
it supported against the wall.
It really was something which resembled a picture, and which
the candle illuminated, somewhat.
Marius could make nothing out of it, as Jondrette stood between
the picture and him; he only saw a coarse daub, and a sort of
principal personage colored with the harsh crudity of foreign
canvasses and screen paintings.
"What is that?" asked M. Leblanc.
Jondrette exclaimed:--
"A painting by a master, a picture of great value, my
benefactor! I am as much attached to it as I am to my two daughters;
it recalls souvenirs to me!
But I have told you, and I will not take it back, that I am
so wretched that I will part with it."
Either by chance, or because he had begun to feel a dawning
uneasiness, M. Leblanc's glance returned to the bottom of the
room as he examined the picture.
There were now four men, three seated on the bed, one standing
near the door-post, all four with bare arms and motionless, with
faces smeared with black.
One of those on the bed was leaning against the wall, with
closed eyes, and it might have been supposed that he was asleep.
He was old; his white hair contrasting with his blackened face
produced a horrible effect.
The other two seemed to be young; one wore a beard, the other
wore his hair long.
None of them had on shoes; those who did not wear socks were
barefooted.
Jondrette noticed that M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on these
men.
"They are friends.
They are neighbors," said he.
"Their faces are black because they work in charcoal.
They are chimney-builders. Don't trouble yourself about them,
my benefactor, but buy my picture. Have pity on my misery.
I will not ask you much for it.
How much do you think it is worth?"
"Well," said M. Leblanc, looking Jondrette full
in the eye, and with the manner of a man who is on his guard,
"it is some signboard for a tavern, and is worth about three
francs."
Jondrette replied sweetly:--
"Have you your pocket-book with you?
I should be satisfied with a thousand crowns."
M. Leblanc sprang up, placed his back against the wall, and
cast a rapid glance around the room.
He had Jondrette on his left, on the side next the window,
and the Jondrette woman and the four men on his right, on the
side next the door.
The four men did not stir, and did not even seem to be looking
on.
Jondrette had again begun to speak in a plaintive tone, with
so vague an eye, and so lamentable an intonation, that M. Leblanc
might have supposed that what he had before him was a man who
had simply gone mad with misery.
"If you do not buy my picture, my dear benefactor,"
said Jondrette, "I shall be left without resources; there
will be nothing left for me but to throw myself into the river.
When I think that I wanted to have my two girls taught the
middle-class paper-box trade, the making of boxes for New Year's
gifts!
Well!
A table with a board at the end to keep the glasses from falling
off is required, then a special stove is needed, a pot with three
compartments for the different degrees of strength of the paste,
according as it is to be used for wood, paper, or stuff, a paring-knife
to cut the cardboard, a mould to adjust it, a hammer to nail the
steels, pincers, how the devil do I know what all?
And all that in order to earn four sous a day!
And you have to work fourteen hours a day! And each box passes
through the workwoman's hands thirteen times! And you can't wet
the paper!
And you mustn't spot anything!
And you must keep the paste hot.
The devil, I tell you!
Four sous a day! How do you suppose a man is to live?"
As he spoke, Jondrette did not look at M. Leblanc, who was
observing him. M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on Jondrette, and Jondrette's
eye was fixed on the door.
Marius' eager attention was transferred from one to the other.
M. Leblanc seemed to be asking himself:
"Is this man an idiot?" Jondrette repeated two or
three distinct times, with all manner of varying inflections of
the whining and supplicating order: "There is nothing left
for me but to throw myself into the river! I went down three steps
at the side of the bridge of Austerlitz the other day for that
purpose."
All at once his dull eyes lighted up with a hideous flash;
the little man drew himself up and became terrible, took a step
toward M. Leblanc and cried in a voice of thunder:
"That has nothing to do with the question!
Do you know me?"
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