The Mysteries of Paris, vol 2 | Page 7

sample:--
"On collection of a 300 franc debt a warrant-officer charged 964 francs! The debtor, a workman with five children, lay seven months in prison."
For two reasons, the present writer quotes from "Le Pauvre Jacques," firstly, to show that the chapter just read falls below reality; and again, to prove that, if merely in a philanthropic point of view, the maintenance of such a state of things (the exorbitance of extras, illegally extorted by public servants,) often paralyzes the most generous intentions. For instance, with 1,000 francs there might be three or four honest though unfortunate workmen restored to their families from a prison whither petty debts of 250 or 500 francs had driven them; but these sums being tripled by a shameful exaggeration of costs, the most charitable persons often recoil from doing a good deed at the thought of two-thirds of their bounty merely going to sheriffs and their officers. And yet, there are few hardships more worthy of relief than those befalling such unfortunate people as we speak of.]
"Gracious heaven!" cried Louise; "I thought it was only thirteen hundred francs in all! But, sir, we will very soon pay you the remainder; this is a pretty good sum on account--is it not, father?"
"Soon!--very well; bring the money to the office, and we will then let your father go. Come, let's be off."
"You will take him away?"
"At once. This is on account. When the rest is paid, he will be free. Go on, Bourdin; let us get out of this."
"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked Louise.
"Oh, what a row! here it is--the old game over again: it is enough to make one sweat in the depth of winter--on my honor!" said the bailiff, in a brutal tone. Then advancing toward Morel, he continued: "If you don't come along at once, I will take you by the collar, and bundle you down. This wind-up is beastly!"
"Oh, poor father! when I had hoped to save you!" said Louise, overwhelmed.
"No, no! hope nothing for me! Heaven is not just!" cried the lapidary, in a voice of deep despair, and stamping his feet with rage.
"Peace! heaven is just! There is Providence for honest men!" said a soft, yet manly voice.
The same instant Rudolph appeared at the door of the little recess, from whence he had, unseen, witnessed the greater part of the scenes we have just related. He was very pale, and deeply moved. At this sudden interposition, the bailiffs drew back with surprise; while Morel and his daughter stared at the prince vacantly. Taking from his pocket a small parcel of folded bank notes, Rudolph selected three, and giving them to Malicorne, said to him: "Here are two thousand five hundred francs; give back to this girl the money you have just received from her."
More and more surprised, the bailiff took the notes hesitatingly, examined them very suspiciously, turning them over and over, and finally pocketed them. But as his alarm and surprise began to subside, so did his natural coarseness return, and eying Rudolph from head to foot with an impertinent stare, he exclaimed, "Your notes are good; but how came the likes of you with so large a sum? I hope, at least, it is your own!" added he.
Rudolph was very humbly dressed, and covered with dust--thanks to his stay in Pipelet's loft.
"I have bidden you restore that gold to the young girl," answered Rudolph, in a sharp, stern voice.
"Bid me! Who gives you the right to order me?" cried the bailiff, advancing toward Rudolph, in a threatening manner.
"The gold! the gold!" said the prince, seizing the fellow's wrist so violently that he winced under the iron hold, and cried out,
"Oh, you hurt me! Hands off!"
"Restore the gold! you are paid. Take yourself off, without further insolence, or I will kick you to the foot of the stairs."
"Very well; here is the gold," said Malicorne, giving it to the girl; "but mind what you are about, young man--don't fancy you are going to do as you like with me, because you happen to be the strongest."
"That's right. Who are you, to give yourself such airs?" said Bourdin, sheltering himself behind his companion. "Who are you?"
"Who is he? He is my tenant, the king of tenants, you foul-mouthed wretches!" cried Mrs. Pipelet, who appeared at last, quite out of breath, still wearing the Brutus wig. In her hand she held an earthen pot filled with boiling soup, which she was kindly taking to the Morels.
"What does this old polecat want?" said Bourdin.
"If you dare to pass any of your blackguard remarks upon me, I'll make you feel my nails--and my teeth too, if necessary!" screamed Mrs. Pipelet: "and more than that, my lodger, my prince of lodgers, will pitch you from the top to the bottom of the staircase, as he says! And I