The Wandering Jew — Complete

second troop of mummers running about the water-side, the first party stopped to wait for the others to come up, rejoicing, with many a shout, in hopes of one of those verbal battles of slang and smutty talk which made Vade so illustrious.

This mob—nearly all its members half seas over, soon swollen by the many people who have to be up early to follow their crafts—suddenly concentrated in one of the corners of the square, so that a pale, deformed girl, who was going that way, was caught in the human tide. This was Mother Bunch. Up with the lark, she was hurrying to receive some work from her employer. Remembering how a mob had treated her when she had been arrested in the streets only the day before, by mistake, the poor work-girl's fears may be imagined when she was now surrounded by the revellers against her will. But, spite of all her efforts—very feeble, alas!—she could not stir a step, for the band of merry-makers, newly arriving, had rushed in among the others, shoving some of them aside, pushing far into the mass, and sweeping Mother Bunch—who was in their way—clear over to the crowd around the public-house.

The new-comers were much finer rigged out than the others, for they belonged to the gay, turbulent class which goes frequently to the Chaumiere, the Prado, the Colisee, and other more or less rowdyish haunts of waltzers, made up generally of students, shop-girls, and counter skippers, clerks, unfortunates, etc., etc.

This set, while retorting to the chaff of the other party, seemed to be very impatiently expecting some singularly desired person to put in her appearance.

The following snatches of conversation, passing between clowns and columbines, pantaloons and fairies, Turks and sultans, debardeurs and debardeuses, paired off more or less properly, will give an idea of the importance of the wished-for personage.

'They ordered the spread to be for seven in the morning, so their carriages ought to have come up afore now.'

'Werry like, but the Bacchanal Queen has got to lead off the last dance in the Prado.'

'I wish to thunder I'd 'a known that, and I'd 'a stayed there to see her—my beloved Queen!'

'Gobinet; if you call her your beloved Queen again, I'll scratch you! Here's a pinch for you, anyhow!'

'Ow, wow, Celeste! hands off! You are black-spotting the be-yutiful white satin jacket my mamma gave me when I first came out as Don Pasqually!'

'Why did you call the Bacchanal Queen your beloved, then? What am I, I'd like to know?'

'You are my beloved, but not my Queen, for there is only one moon in the nights of nature, and only one Bacchanal Queen in the nights at the Prado.'

'That's a bit from a valentine! You can't come over me with such rubbish.'

'Gobinet's right! the Queen was an out-and-outer tonight!'

'In prime feather!'

'I never saw her more on the go!'

'And, my eyes! wasn't her dress stunning?'

'Took your breath away!'

'Crushing!'

'Heavy!'

'Im-mense!'

'The last kick!'

'No one but she can get up such dresses.'

'And, then, the dance!'

'Oh, yes! it was at once bounding waving, twisting! There is not such another bayadere under the night-cap of the sky!'

'Gobinet, give me back my shawl directly. You have already spoilt it by rolling it round your great body. I don't choose to have my things ruined for hulking beasts who call other women bayaderes!'

'Celeste, simmer down. I am disguised as a Turk, and, when I talk of bayaderes, I am only in character.'

'Your Celeste is like them all, Gobinet; she's jealous of the Bacchanal Queen.'

'Jealous!—do you think me jealous? Well now! that's too bad. If I chose to be as showy as she is they would talk of me as much. After all, it's only a nickname that makes her reputation! nickname!'

'In that you have nothing to envy her—since you are called Celeste!'

'You know well enough, Gobinet, that Celeste is my real name.'

'Yes; but it's fancied a nickname—when one looks in your face.'

'Gobinet, I will put that down to your account.'

'And Oscar will help you to add it up, eh?'

'Yes; and you shall see the total. When I carry one, the remainder will not be you.'

'Celeste, you make me cry! I only meant to say that your celestial name does not go well with your charming little face, which is still more mischievous than that of the Bacchanal Queen.'

'That's right; wheedle me now, wretch!'

'I swear by the accursed head of my landlord, that, if you liked, you could spread yourself as much as the Bacchanal Queen—which is saying a great deal.'

'The fact is, that the Bacchanal had cheek enough, in all conscience.'

'Not to speak of her fascinating the bobbies!'

'And magnetizing the beaks.'

'They may get as angry as they please; she always finishes by making them laugh.'

'And they all call her: Queen!'

'Last night she charmed a slop (as modest as a country girl) whose purity took up arms against the famous dance of the Storm-blown Tulip.'

'What a quadrille! Sleepinbuff and the Bacchanal Queen, having opposite to them Rose-Pompon and Ninny Moulin!'

'And all four making tulips as full-blown as could be!'

'By-the-bye, is it true what they say of Ninny Moulin?'

'What?'

'Why that he is a writer, and scribbles pamphlets on religion.'

'Yes, it is true. I have often seen him at my employer's, with whom he deals; a bad paymaster, but a jolly fellow!'

'And pretends to be devout, eh?'

'I believe you, my boy—when it is necessary; then he is my Lord Dumoulin, as large as life. He rolls his eyes, walks with his head on one side, and his toes turned in; but, when the piece is played out, he slips away to the balls of which he is so fond. The girls christened him Ninny Moulin. Add, that he drinks like a fish, and you have the photo of the cove. All this doesn't prevent his writing for the religious newspapers; and the saints, whom he lets in even oftener than himself, are ready to swear by him. You should see his articles and his tracts—only see, not read!— every page is full of the devil and his horns, and the desperate fryings which await your impious revolutionists—and then the authority of the bishops, the power of the Pope—hang it! how could I know it all? This toper, Ninny Moulin, gives good measure enough for their money!'

'The fact is, that he is both a heavy drinker and a heavy swell. How he rattled on with little Rose-Pompon in the dance and the full-blown tulip!'

'And what a rum chap he looked in his Roman helmet and top-boots.'

'Rose-Pompon dances divinely, too; she has the poetic twist.'

'And don't show her heels a bit!'

'Yes; but the Bacchanal Queen is six thousand feet above the level of any common leg-shaker. I always come back to her step last night in the full-blown tulip.'

'It was huge!'

'It was serene!'

'If I were father of a family, I would entrust her with the education of my sons!'

'It was that step, however, which offended the bobby's modesty.'

'The fact is, it was a little free.'

'Free as air—so the policeman comes up to her, and says: 'Well, my Queen, is your foot to keep on a-goin' up forever?' 'No, modest warrior!' replies the Queen; 'I practice the step only once every evening, to be able to dance