Volume II Part 41 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIV.
GOUALEUSE AND LOUISE.
Before we continue the account of this horrible scene, we must return to the Marchioness d'Harville and Madame Armand, whose conversation had been for a moment interrupted. At the ringing of the bell, the inspectress had hastened to one of the doors which opened into the prison yard, to be ready to prevent by her presence, or calm by her authority, any tumult or quarrels that might arise among the scholars, whose pa.s.sions, restrained for some time by discipline and employment, only wanted the hour of idleness and recreation to be aroused and excited. Madame Armand had witnessed, in mournful silence, the cruel treatment of which Mont Saint Jean was a victim, and she had already advanced to s.n.a.t.c.h her from her tormentors, when Fleur-de-Marie appeared.
”She is saved!” said she to herself, and returned to the parlor where Madame d'Harville awaited her.
”But this is quite a romance that you have just related,” cried the latter, without giving Madame Armand time to apologize for her absence. ”What are the relations of this girl, whose beauty, language, and manners form such a strange contrast to her past degradation and present situation with the other prisoners? If she is endowed with the elevation of mind that you suppose, she must suffer much from a.s.sociating with her miserable companions.”
”Everything concerning this girl is a subject of astonishment. Hardly has she been here three days, yet already she possesses a kind of influence over the other prisoners.”
”In so short a time?”
”They show her not only interest, but almost respect.”
”How? These unfortunates--”
”Have sometimes an instinct of singular delicacy in perceiving the n.o.ble qualities of others; yet they often hate those whose superiority they are obliged to admit.”
”But they do not hate this young girl?”
”Far from that, madame; not one of them knew her before she entered here. They were at first struck with her beauty. Her features, although of rare beauty, are, it is true, veiled with a touching, unhealthy paleness. This sweet and melancholy face inspired them at first with more interest than jealousy. Then she became very quiet-- another subject of astonishment for these creatures, who, for the most part, endeavor always to drown the voice of conscience by force of noise and tumult. In short, although dignified and reserved, she showed herself compa.s.sionate, which prevented her companions from being exasperated at her coldness. This is not all. A month ago there came here an unruly creature, called La Louve, so violent, audacious, and ferocious is her character. She is a girl of about twenty; tall, masculine, rather a fine face, but very coa.r.s.e. We are often obliged to put her in confinement to subdue her turbulence. Only the day before yesterday she came out of the cell, very much irritated at the punishment she had just received. It was meal-time: the poor girl of whom I have spoken did not eat; she said sadly to her companions, 'Who wants my bread?' 'I,' said La Louve, first. 'I,' said a poor deformed creature afterward, called Mont Saint Jean, who serves as a laughingstock, and sometimes, in spite of us, as a b.u.t.t to the other prisoners. The girl gave her bread to the latter, to the great rage of La Louve. 'I asked you first,' cried she furiously. 'It is true, but this poor woman has more need of it than you,' answered the girl. La Louve s.n.a.t.c.hed the bread from the hands of Mont Saint Jean, and began to vociferate, brandis.h.i.+ng her knife. As she is very irascible, and very much feared, no one dared to take the part of poor Goualeuse.”
”What do you call her, madame?”
”La Goualeuse. It is the name, or rather surname, under which she has been confined here. Almost all of them have similar borrowed names.”
”It is very singular.”
”It signifies, in their hideous slang, the Songstress; for this young girl has, they say, a very fine voice; and I readily believe it, for her tone is enchanting.”
”And how did she escape from this villainous Louve?”
”Rendered still more furious by La Goualeuse's coolness, she ran toward her with an oath and uplifted knife. All the prisoners screamed with terror. Goualeuse alone regarded without fear this formidable creature. Smiling bitterly, she said, in her angelic voice, 'Oh, kill me! kill me! I desire it; but do not make me suffer much.' These words, it was reported to me, were p.r.o.nounced with a simplicity so touching, that almost all the prisoners had tears in their eyes.”
”I believe it, said Lady d'Harville, painfully affected.
”The worst characters,” answered the inspectress, ”happily have sometimes moments of reflection--a kind of return to the correct path.
On hearing these words, expressed with such resignation, La Louve, touched to the heart, as she afterward said, threw her knife on the ground, trampled it under foot, and cried, 'I was wrong to threaten you, Songstress, for I am stronger than you; you were not afraid of my knife; you are courageous--I love courage; so now, if any one attempts to hurt you, I'll defend you.'”
”What a singular character.”
”The example of La Louve increased the influence of La Goualeuse; and at present, a thing almost without a precedent, hardly any of the prisoners address her familiarly; the greater part respect her, and even offer to render her any little service that can be rendered among prisoners. I asked some of the prisoners who slept in the same room with her, what was the cause of the deference shown her. 'That's more than we can tell,' they answered; 'it is plain to be seen she is not one of our sort.' 'But who told you so?' 'No one told us; we see.' 'By what?' 'In a thousand things. For instance, last night, before she went to bed, she went on her knees and said her prayers; as she prays, so La Louve says, she must have a right to pray!'”
”What a strange observation!”
”These poor creatures have no sentiment of religion, yet they never utter here a sacrilegious or impious word. You will see, madame, in all our rooms a kind of altar, where the statue of the Virgin is surrounded with offerings and ornaments made by themselves. But to return to La Goualeuse. Her companions said to me, 'We see that she is not our sort, from her soft manners, her sadness, the way in which she speaks.' And then said La Louve, who was present at this conversation, 'It must be that she is not one of us; for this morning, in our sleeping-room, without knowing why, we were ashamed to dress ourselves before her!”
”What strange delicacy in the midst of so much degradation!” cried Lady d'Harville. ”They have a profound sense of their degradation?”