Mated from the Morgue: A Tale of the Second EmpireO'Shea, John Augustus
History
Mated from the Morgue: A Tale of the Second Empire
O'Shea, John Augustus
France -- History -- Second Empire, 1852-1870 -- Fiction
'But we mustn't be stopping here too long, Pat, though our time isn't
very precious. George Francis Train says the next best thing to money is
the suspicion of money, and I say the next best thing to occupation is
the suspicion of occupation; and, by my word, they lock you up for
having no occupation in England, though you may be wearing the soles off
your feet to get one. In the great world they go to the theatre or the
opera or the circus after dinner to promote digestion, and I think I
know where we can enjoy ourselves cheaply after our banquet. Hi! Pat,
come along.'
And, rising, our friend retraced his steps towards the bridge, stopping
for a moment at a tobacco-shop, where he purchased and lit a cigar at a
sou, at the same time giving loud expression to his regret that he had
forgotten his Turkish pipe.
'We must be economic, you know, and tobacco goes farther than a weed,'
and seeming mentally to calculate the state of his finances--'three sous
for milk and two for bread, five, that leaves five'--previous to
hazarding the investment.
The open space in front of the Morgue is a favourite 'pitch' of the
mountebanks who earn their livelihood on Paris streets. At the time our
pair made their appearance, it was occupied by a number of the tribe in
full swing. In one corner a low-sized, deformed figure, recalling the
Quasimodo whom Victor Hugo's genius has made historic in connection with
the neighbouring church of Notre Dame, was appealing to a crowd of
bystanders to jerk ten sous more into the ring, and he would transfer
the hump on his back to his breast. O'Hara did not wait for the tardy
money to come in; he had no taste for the crooked talents of the
posture-master.
A group in another corner surrounded a tanned fellow, with long hair
and an eye like an onyx, who beat time on a drum, as he chanted a merry
skit on a Paris by-word of the season--'_Avez-vous vu Lambert?_' to the
air of '_Maman, le mal que j'ai_,' while the woman who accompanied him
sold copies of it by the sheaf to laughing workmen, soldiers, and
nursery-maids.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account