Here's a fine business! It is my uncle who has got into trouble this
time! My aunt Eudoxia has found out everything, and I have just spent
two days in helping my aunt Van Cloth to pack up and get back to Holland
with my long string of cousins, the fat Dirkie, the cooking moulds, and
the barrel-organ following by goods' train.
It was a veritable thunderclap!
I have told you all about this Dutch household and its patriarchal
felicity, its sweetmeat and sausage pastries, and its inimitable
tarts--less appetizing, however, than my aunt's fine eyes. I have told
you about their quiet family evenings with my uncle's pipe and
schiedam, in which domino-parties of three were varied by the delightful
treat of a symphony from one of the great masters, executed in a
masterly style by a pretty little plump hand covered with pink dimples.
Once or twice a week, as became a favourite and affectionate nephew, I
came into the midst of this idyll of the land of tulips; and always
quitted it full of sweetmeats and good advice.
However, the day before yesterday, Ernest, the second of my cousins, who
is five years old, suddenly caught a violent fever; he grew scarlet in
the face, and his stomach swelled up like a balloon.
My poor aunt, having exhausted all her arsenal of aperients and
astringents against what she reckoned to be an indigestion due to
preserved plums, quite lost her head. In the afternoon the child grew
worse. Where in Paris could she find a Dutch doctor? She could only
place confidence in a Dutchman. At the end of her wits with fear, she
thought she would go after my uncle or me; so, without thinking any more
about it, as she knew our address, she takes a cab and gets driven to
the Rue de Varennes, believing in her simplicity that this was where our
shops and offices were.
She arrives and asks for my uncle. Being seven o'clock, the hall-porter
tells her that the captain will soon be in, shows her to the staircase,
and rings the bell; one of the men-servants asks her for her name, and
then opens the folding doors, announcing--
"Madame Barbassou!"
It is my aunt Eudoxia who receives her.
My aunt Van Cloth, who is distracted with anxiety, thinks that she sees
before her some lady of my family, and in order to excuse herself for
disturbing her, begins by saying that she has come to see Captain
Barbassou, _her husband_.
Imagine the stupefaction of my aunt Eudoxia! But being too astute to
betray herself, she lets the other speak, questions her and learns the
whole story. Then, like the good soul that she is, and feeling sorry for
poor Ernest and his swollen stomach, she rings and orders the carriage
to be ready, so that she may go as soon as possible to her own doctor;
upon which my aunt Van Cloth, who is of an effusive nature, embraces her
most affectionately, calling her her dearest friend.
Just then my uncle arrives.
I was not present; but my aunt Eudoxia, who continues to laugh over it,
has related to me all the details of the affair. At the sight of this
remarkable fusion of "the two branches of his hymens," as she termed it,
the Pasha was positively dumbfounded. All the more so as my aunt Van
Cloth, who understood no more about this extraordinary position of
affairs than she did of Hebrew, threw herself into his arms, and
exclaimed:
"Ah! Anatole! here you are, dear!--Our Ernest is in danger!"
The bravest man will quail occasionally; and at this unfortunate and
unavoidable attack, which tore asunder the whole veil of mystery, the
splendid composure with which Nature has armed my uncle Barbassou really
deserted him for a moment. But, like a man who is superior to
misfortunes of this sort, when he found himself caught he did not on
this occasion, more than on any other, waste any time over spilt cream.
"Quick! we must go and fetch the child!" he said.
And taking advantage of the fact that my aunt Van Cloth was hanging to
him, he carried her off without any more ado, and went out by the door,
without leaving her time to kiss the Countess of Monteclaro, as she
certainly would have done out of politeness. From the ante-room he
dragged her down to the carriage, where he packed her in.
I was coming down from my own chambers just as he returned from this
summary execution. Although about the last thing I expected to come in
for was the climax of a tragic occurrence, I could see easily enough
that my uncle had experienced some little shock; but the announcement of
dinner and the ordinary tone of my aunt's reception creating a
diversion, I did not feel certain until we were seated at table that
there was some storm in the air which was only restrained from bursting
by the presence of the servants. The Pasha, sitting in silence with his
head bent down into his plate, seemed to be absorbed by some abstruse
considerations, which caused him that evening to forget to grumble at
the cook. My aunt, on the contrary, sparkling with humour, and in her
most charming and gracious mood, suggested by her smiles a certain
lightness of heart: he eyed her suspiciously from time to time, like a
man with an uncomfortable conscience.
When the meal was over we returned to the drawing-room, and coffee being
served, remained there alone. The Countess of Monteclaro, still as
gracious as ever, made some sly thrusts at him, the significance of
which escaped me somewhat. The captain evidently was keeping very quiet.
Finally, after half an hour, as I was about to leave, and he showed
symptoms of an intention to slip off, she said to him, in her most
insinuating manner--
"I will detain you for a minute, my dear; I must have a little
conversation with you about a matter on which I want to take your
advice."
I kissed the hand which she held out to me, and which indicated that my
presence was not wanted.
"Well, good night, old good-for-nothing!" she added, as she accompanied
me as far as the door of the adjoining room.
What passed after I left, none will ever know. My aunt, with her
exquisite tact, has only related to me the original and amusing side of
the matter, laughing at her unfortunate discovery in the lofty manner of
a noble lady who is smoothing over a family trouble. Apart from her very
genuine affection for my uncle, she entertains also a certain esteem for
him, which she could never depart from before his nephew.
As for myself, I remained still in ignorance of everything until nine
o'clock, when the Pasha joined me again at the club, where he had
particularly asked me to wait for him.
At the first glance I guessed that there had been a row. Without saying
a word, he led me into a little detached room: there he fell into an
arm-chair, and shook his head in silence, as he looked at me.
"Good gracious! what's the matter, uncle?" I asked.
"Pfuiii!" he replied, staring with his full eyes, and prolonging this
kind of whistling exclamation, like a man who is breathing more freely
after a narrow escape.
His gestures were so eloquent, his sigh so expressive and so
reinvigorating, that I waited until he had given complete vent to it.
When I saw him quite exhausted by it, I continued, feeling really
anxious--
"Come! what is it?"
"Oh, I've just had such a nasty turn!" he answered at last, "Pfuiii!"
I respected this new effort at relief, which, moreover set him right
this time.
"You've had some words with my aunt, I suppose?" I added, at a venture,
recollecting the cloud which seemed to hang over us at dinner.
"A regular earthquake!" he drawled out, in that appalling Marseilles
accent which he falls into whenever he is overcome by any strong
emotion. "Your aunt Eudoxia has discovered the whole bag of tricks! The
story of the Passy house, your aunt Gretchen, the children, Dirkie, and
the whole blessed shop!"
"But, perhaps she has only suspicions--the consequence of some gossip
she has heard?"
"Suspicions?" he exclaimed; "why, they have met each other!"
"Nonsense, that's impossible!--Are you really sure of this?"
"_Tê!_ Sure indeed? I should think so! I return home to dinner, come
into the drawing-room, and I actually find them both there, talking
together. They were kissing each other!"
"The deuce!" I exclaimed, quite alarmed this time.
"Well, that was a stunner, wasn't it, my dear boy?"
"It was indeed! Whatever did you do?"
"I separated them, carrying Gretchen back at once to her carriage."
"Then now I understand the chill which seemed to be over us all
dinner-time. So, after I went out, you had a heavy downfall?"
"Pfuiii!" my uncle began again.
This last sigh seemed to lose itself in such a vista of painful
souvenirs, that the whole of Théramène's narrative would certainly have
taken less time to tell. I proceeded as quickly as I could, foreseeing
that my intervention would be necessary.
"Had I not better run over to my aunt Gretchen's?" I asked him.
"Yes, I certainly think you had. I promised that, except in case of
Ernest's illness proving serious, they should all leave Paris to-morrow!
You may still have time to arrange that this evening," he added, looking
at the clock.
"All right, I'm off!" I replied, rising up.
As I was about to go out, he called me back.
"Ah! above all," he continued sharply, "don't forget to tell Eudoxia
to-morrow that it is you who have undertaken this business, and that as
for me, I have not stirred from here!"
"That's quite understood, uncle," I answered, laughing to myself at the
blue funk he was in.
Needless to add, I did not lose any time. In a quarter of an hour I was
at Passy. It so happened that a favourable crisis had come over Ernest
and relieved him, and he gave no further cause for anxiety. My aunt
Gretchen, who had gone through all this business as a blind man might
pass under an arch, without knowing anything about it, did not evince
the least surprise on hearing that my uncle "having received a telegram
which had obliged him to leave Paris that evening, had commissioned me
in his absence to send her off immediately to Amsterdam." She entrusted
me with no end of compliments for the Countess of Monteclaro, whose
acquaintance she was charmed to have made.
The next morning she was rolling away in the express, delighted to have
made such an agreeable and enjoyable visit.
A week has now passed since this affair, and beyond that my uncle is
still quite humiliated by a malicious sort of gaiety affected by my
aunt, who often calls him "The Pasha," instead of "The Captain," which
is the title she always gave him formerly, everything has resumed the
harmonious tranquillity of the best regulated household. Attentions,
politenesses, gallantries, &c., are quite the order of the day. Only he
is ruining me with all the presents he lavishes upon her; and I have
been forced to make serious complaints on the subject to my aunt, who
has laughed insanely at them, maintaining that it is "the sinner's
ransom." Still, some kind of restrictions are necessary in families, and
I have warned her that, if it continues, I shall stop "the late
Barbassou's" credit, seeing that he is dead.
"You see what a simple matter it is, as my uncle says," I added.
But she only laughed again, louder than ever. We have got on no further.
Louis, go and hang yourself! I was married yesterday, and you were not
there!
The ceremony was very fine. It was at the church of Sainte Clotilde; all
the Faubourg St. Germain was there, delighted at Kondjé-Gul's
conversion, and with her beauty, her charming manners, and the romance
connected with our marriage. Everyone was there who has made any name in
the world of art, not to speak of that of finance. There was Baron
Rothschild, who had a long conversation with my uncle. Three special
correspondents for London newspapers were present, and all our own Paris
reporters. High Mass, full choral; Fauré sang his _Pie Jesus_, Madame
Carvalho and Adelina Patti the _Credo_.
At the entrance, the crowd nearly crushed us. Barbassou-Pasha, Count of
Monteclaro, gave his arm to the bride. Poor Kondjé, what agitation, what
emotion, what delight she evinced! I escorted Madame Murrah in a
splendid costume, tamed but very dignified still, and playing her part
with noble airs, like a fatalist. "It was written!" She started off the
same day to Rhodes, where my uncle is finding a position for her--as
head manager of his Botany Bay.
The Countess of Monteclaro was there, and Anna Campbell was smiling all
over as she acted, in company with Maud and Susannah Montague, as
bridesmaid to her friend Kondjé-Gul.
It took them all exactly an hour to pass in procession through the
vestry. We had to sign the register there, and my uncle headed it with
his self-assumed title of "_The late_ Barbassou," to which he clings.
Then came the deluge of congratulations, my beautiful Christian wife
blushing in her emotion, with her garland of orange-flowers. (Well, yes!
And why not? It's the custom, you know.)
At two o'clock, back to the house, a family love-feast, and preparations
for the flight of the young couple to Férouzat. Peace and joy in all
hearts. My uncle, at last admitted to absolution, quivering with
pleasure at hearing my aunt Eudoxia calling him no longer "Pasha," but
"Captain," as of old.
Everywhere Love and Spring!
Come now, Louis, quite seriously, are you, who have made the experiment,
quite sure that one heart suffices for one veritable love? I am anxious
to know.
When evening arrived, the Count and Countess of Monteclaro accompanied
us to the railway station. They will join us at the end of the month.
I leave you to imagine for yourself all the kisses and salutations,
promises and grandparents' advice.
While my aunt was exhorting Kondjé-Gul, my uncle favoured me with a few
words on his part.
"You see," he said to me quietly, standing by the side of our carriage,
"there is one thing which it is indispensable for you not to forget, and
that is never on any account to have _two wives_--in the same town!"
Louis, I think my uncle is a little wanting in principle.
[Illustration]