When we try to picture to ourselves, nowadays, what was called a
"financier" in times gone by, we invariably imagine enormous corpulence,
short legs, a gigantic wig, and a broad face with a triple chin,--and it
is not without reason that we have become accustomed to form such a
picture of such a personage. Everyone knows to what great abuses the royal
tax-farming led, and it seems as though there were a law of nature which
renders fatter than the rest of mankind those who fatten, not only upon
their own laziness, but also upon the work of others.
Monsieur Godeau, among financiers, was one of the most classical to be
found,--that is to say, one of the fattest. At the present time he had the
gout, which was nearly as fashionable in his day as the nervous headache
is in ours. Stretched upon a lounge, his eyes half-closed, he was coddling
himself in the coziest corner of a dainty boudoir. The panel-mirrors which
surrounded him, majestically duplicated on every side his enormous person;
bags filled with gold covered the table; around him, the furniture, the
wainscot, the doors, the locks, the mantel-piece, the ceiling were gilded;
so was his coat. I do not know but that his brain was gilded too. He was
calculating the issue of a little business affair which could not fail to
bring him a few thousand louis; and was even deigning to smile over it to
himself when Croisilles was announced. The young man entered with an
humble, but resolute air, and with every outward manifestation of that
inward tumult with which we find no difficulty in crediting a man who is
longing to drown himself. Monsieur Godeau was a little surprised at this
unexpected visit; then he thought his daughter had been buying some
trifle, and was confirmed in that thought by seeing her appear almost at
the same time with the young man. He made a sign to Croisilles not to sit
down but to speak. The young lady seated herself on a sofa, and
Croisilles, remaining standing, expressed himself in these terms:
"Sir, my father has failed. The bankruptcy of a partner has forced him to
suspend his payments and unable to witness his own shame he has fled to
America, after having paid his last sou to his creditors. I was absent
when all this happened; I have just come back and have known of these
events only two hours. I am absolutely without resources, and determined
to die. It is very probable that, on leaving your house, I shall throw
myself into the water. In all probability, I would already have done so,
if I had not chanced to meet, at the very moment, this young lady, your
daughter. I love her, from the very depths of my heart; for two years I
have been in love with her, and my silence, until now, proves better than
anything else the respect I feel for her; but to-day, in declaring my
passion to you, I fulfill an imperative duty, and I would think I was
offending God, if, before giving myself over to death, I did not come to
ask you Mademoiselle Julie in marriage. I have not the slightest hope that
you will grant this request; but I have to make it, nevertheless, for I am
a good Christian, sir, and when a good Christian sees himself come to such
a point of misery that he can no longer suffer life, he must at least, to
extenuate his crime, exhaust all the chances which remain to him before
taking the final and fatal step."
At the beginning of this speech, Monsieur Godeau had supposed that the
young man came to borrow money, and so he prudently threw his handkerchief
over the bags that were lying around him, preparing in advance a refusal,
and a polite one, for he always felt some good-will toward the father of
Croisilles. But when he had heard the young man to the end, and understood
the purport of his visit, he never doubted one moment that the poor fellow
had gone completely mad. He was at first tempted to ring the bell and have
him put out; but, noticing his firm demeanor, his determined look, the
fermier-général took pity on so inoffensive a case of insanity. He merely
told his daughter to retire, so that she might be no longer exposed to
hearing such improprieties.
While Croisilles was speaking, Mademoiselle Godeau had blushed as a peach
in the month of August. At her father's bidding, she retired, the young
man making her a profound bow, which she did not seem to notice. Left
alone with Croisilles, Monsieur Godeau coughed, rose, then dropped again
upon the cushions, and, trying to assume a paternal air, delivered himself
to the following effect:
"My boy," said he, "I am willing to believe that you are not poking fun at
me, but you have really lost your head. I not only excuse this proceeding,
but I consent not to punish you for it. I am sorry that your poor devil of
a father has become bankrupt and has skipped. It is indeed very sad, and I
quite understand that such a misfortune should affect your brain. Besides,
I wish to do something for you; so take this stool and sit down there."
"It is useless, sir," answered Croisilles. "If you refuse me, as I see you
do, I have nothing left but to take my leave. I wish you every good
fortune."
"And where are you going?"
"To write to my father and say good-bye to him."
"Eh! the devil! Any one would swear you were speaking the truth. I'll be
damned if I don't think you are going to drown yourself."
"Yes, sir; at least I think so, if my courage does not forsake me."
"That's a bright idea! Fie on you! How can you be such a fool? Sit down,
sir, I tell you, and listen to me."
Monsieur Godeau had just made a very wise reflection, which was that it is
never agreeable to have it said that a man, whoever he may be, threw
himself into the water on leaving your house. He therefore coughed once
more, took his snuff-box, cast a careless glance upon his shirt-frill, and
continued:
"It is evident that you are nothing but a simpleton, a fool, a regular
baby. You do not know what you are saying. You are ruined, that's what has
happened to you. But, my dear friend, all that is not enough; one must
reflect upon the things of this world. If you came to ask me--well, good
advice, for instance,--I might give it to you; but what is it you are
after? You are in love with my daughter?"
"Yes, sir, and I repeat to you, that I am far from supposing that you can
give her to me in marriage; but as there is nothing in the world but that,
which could prevent me from dying, if you believe in God, as I do not
doubt you do, you will understand the reason that brings me here."
"Whether I believe in God or not, is no business of yours. I do not intend
to be questioned. Answer me first: where have you seen my daughter?"
"In my father's shop, and in this house, when I brought jewelry for
Mademoiselle Julie."
"Who told you her name was Julie? What are we coming to, great heavens!
But be her name Julie or Javotte, do you know what is wanted in any one
who aspires to the hand of the daughter of a fermier-général?"
"No, I am completely ignorant of it, unless it is to be as rich as she."
"Something more is necessary, my boy; you must have a name."
"Well! my name is Croisilles."
"Your name is Croisilles, poor wretch! Do you call that a name?"
"Upon my soul and conscience, sir, it seems to me to be as good a name as
Godeau."
"You are very impertinent, sir, and you shall rue it."
"Indeed, sir, do not be angry; I had not the least idea of offending you.
If you see in what I said anything to wound you, and wish to punish me for
it, there is no need to get angry. Have I not told you that on leaving
here I am going straight to drown myself?"
Although M. Godeau had promised himself to send Croisilles away as gently
as possible, in order to avoid all scandal, his prudence could not resist
the vexation of his wounded pride. The interview to which he had to resign
himself was monstrous enough in itself; it may be imagined, then, what he
felt at hearing himself spoken to in such terms.
"Listen," he said, almost beside himself, and determined to close the
matter at any cost. "You are not such a fool that you cannot understand a
word of common sense. Are you rich? No. Are you noble? Still less so. What
is this frenzy that brings you here? You come to worry me; you think you
are doing something clever; you know perfectly well that it is useless;
you wish to make me responsible for your death. Have you any right to
complain of me? Do I owe a son to your father? Is it my fault that you
have come to this? Mon Dieu! When a man is going to drown himself, he
keeps quiet about it--"
"That is what I am going to do now. I am your very humble servant."
"One moment! It shall not be said that you had recourse to me in vain.
There, my boy, here are three louis d'or: go and have dinner in the
kitchen, and let me hear no more about you."
"Much obliged; I am not hungry, and I have no use for your money."
So Croisilles left the room, and the financier, having set his conscience
at rest by the offer he had just made, settled himself more comfortably in
his chair, and resumed his meditations.
Mademoiselle Godeau, during this time, was not so far away as one might
suppose; she had, it is true, withdrawn in obedience to her father; but,
instead of going to her room, she had remained listening behind the door.
If the extravagance of Croisilles seemed incredible to her, still she
found nothing to offend her in it; for love, since the world has existed,
has never passed as an insult. On the other hand, as it was not possible
to doubt the despair of the young man, Mademoiselle Godeau found herself a
victim, at one and the same time, to the two sentiments most dangerous to
women--compassion and curiosity. When she saw the interview at an end, and
Croisilles ready to come out, she rapidly crossed the drawing-room where
she stood, not wishing to be surprised eavesdropping, and hurried towards
her apartment; but she almost immediately retraced her steps. The idea
that perhaps Croisilles was really going to put an end to his life
troubled her in spite of herself. Scarcely aware of what she was doing,
she walked to meet him; the drawing-room was large, and the two young
people came slowly towards each other. Croisilles was as pale as death,
and Mademoiselle Godeau vainly sought words to express her feelings. In
passing beside him, she let fall on the floor a bunch of violets which she
held in her hand. He at once bent down and picked up the bouquet in order
to give it back to her, but instead of taking it, she passed on without
uttering a word, and entered her father's room. Croisilles, alone again,
put the flowers in his breast, and left the house with a troubled heart,
not knowing what to think of his adventure.