It is with the most extreme mortification that I record my ensuing
experiences, for I felt that I could not honourably accept my salary
without earning it by carrying out the parent Poor's wishes. That first
morning I endeavoured to direct my pupil's steps toward the Musee de
Cluny, with the purpose of inciting him to instructive study; but in the
mildest, yet most immovable manner, he proposed Longchamps and the races
as a substitute, to conclude with dinner at La Cascade and supper at
Maxim's or the Cafe' Blanche, in case we should meet engaging company.
I ventured the vainest efforts to reason with him, making for myself
a very uncomfortable breakfast, though without effect upon him of any
visibility. His air was uninterruptedly mild and modest; he rarely
lifted his eyes, but to my most earnest argument replied only by
ordering more eggs and saying in a chastened voice:
"Oh no; it is always best to begin school with a vacation. To
Longchamps--we!"
I should say at once that through this young man I soon became
an amateur of the remarkable North-American idioms, of humour and
incomparable brevities often more interesting than those evolved by the
thirteen or more dialects of my own Naples. Even at our first breakfast
I began to catch lucid glimpses of the intention in many of his almost
incomprehensible statements. I was able, even, to penetrate his meaning
when he said that although he was "strong for aged parent," he himself
had suffered much anguish from overwork of the "earnest youth racquette"
in his late travels, and now desired to "create considerable trouble for
Paris."
Naturally, I did not wish to begin by antagonizing my pupil--an
estrangement at the commencement would only lead to his deceiving me, or
a continued quarrel, in which case I should be of no service to my
kind patron, so that after a strained interval I considered it best to
surrender.
We went to Longchamps.
That was my first mistake; the second was to yield to him concerning
the latter part of his programme; but opposition to Mr. Poor, Jr. had
a curious effect of inutility. He had not in the least the air of
obstinacy,--nothing could have been less like rudeness; he neither
frowned not smiled; no, he did not seem even to be insisting; on
the contrary, never have I beheld a milder countenance, nor heard a
pleasanter voice; yet the young man was so completely baffling in his
mysterious way that I considered him unique to my experience.
Thus, when I urged him not to place large wagers in the pesage, his
whispered reply was strange and simple--"Watch me!" This he conclusively
said as he deposited another thousand-franc note, which, within a few
moments, accrued to the French government.
Longchamps was but the beginning of a series of days and nights
which wore upon my constitution--not indeed with the intensity of
mortification which my former conspicuosity had engendered, yet my
sorrows were stringent. It is true that I had been, since the age of
seventeen, no stranger to the gaieties and dissipations afforded by the
capitals of Europe; I may say I had exhausted these, yet always with
some degree of quiet, including intervals of repose. I was tired of all
the great foolishnesses of youth, and had thought myself done with them.
Now I found myself plunged into more uproarious waters than I had ever
known I, who had hoped to begin a life of usefulness and peace, was
forced to dwell in the midst of a riot, pursuing my extraordinary
charge.
There is no need that I should describe those days and nights. They
remain in my memory as a confusion of bad music, crowds, motor-cars and
champagne of which Poor Jr. was a distributing centre. He could never be
persuaded to the Louvre, the Carnavalet, or the Luxembourg; in truth, he
seldom rose in time to reach the museums, for they usually close at
four in the afternoon. Always with the same inscrutable meekness of
countenance, each night he methodically danced the cake-walk at Maxim's
or one of the Montemarte restaurants, to the cheers of acquaintances of
many nationalities, to whom he offered libations with prodigal enormity.
He carried with him, about the boulevards at night, in the highly
powerful car he had hired, large parties of strange people, who would
loudly sing airs from the Folie-Rouge (to my unhappy shudderings) all
the way from the fatiguing Bal Bullier to the Cafe' de Paris, where the
waiters soon became affluent.
And how many of those gaily dressed and smiling ladies whose bright
eyes meet yours on the veranda of the Theatre Marigny were provided with
excessive suppers and souvenir fans by the inexhaustible Poor Jr.! He
left a trail of pink hundred-franc notes behind him, like a running boy
dropping paper in the English game; and he kept showers of gold louis
dancing in the air about him, so that when we entered the various cafes
or "American bars" a cheer (not vocal but to me of perfect audibility)
went up from the hungry and thirsty and borrowing, and from the
attendants. Ah, how tired I was of it, and how I endeavoured to discover
a means to draw him to the museums, and to Notre Dame and the Pantheon!
And how many times did I unwillingly find myself in the too enlivening
company of those pretty supper-girls, and what jokings upon his head-top
did the poor bald gentleman not undergo from those same demoiselles with
the bright eyes, the wonderful hats, and the fluffy dresses!
How often among those gay people did I find myself sadly dreaming of
that grey pongee skirt and the beautiful heart that had understood!
Should I ever see that lady? Not, I knew, alas! in the whirl about Poor
Jr.! As soon look for a nun at the Cafe' Blanche!
For some reason I came to be persuaded that she had left Paris, that she
had gone away; and I pictured her--a little despairingly--on the borders
of Lucerne, with the white Alps in the sky above her,--or perhaps
listening to the evening songs on the Grand Canal, and I would try to
feel the little rocking of her gondola, making myself dream that I sat
at her feet. Or I could see the grey flicker of the pongee skirt in
the twilight distance of cathedral aisles with a chant sounding from
a chapel; and, so dreaming, I would start spasmodically, to hear the
red-coated orchestra of a cafe' blare out into "Bedelia," and awake to
the laughter and rouge and blague which that dear pongee had helped me
for a moment to forget!
To all places, Poor Jr., though never unkindly, dragged me with him,
even to make the balloon ascent at the Porte Maillot on a windy evening.
Without embarrassment I confess that I was terrified, that I clung to
the ropes with a clutch which frayed my gloves, while Poor Jr. leaned
back against the side of the basket and gazed upward at the great
swaying ball, with his hands in his pockets, humming the strange ballad
that was his favourite musical composition:
"The prettiest girl I ever saw
Was sipping cider through a straw-aw-haw!"
In that horrifying basket, scrambling for a foothold while it swung
through arcs that were gulfs, I believed that my sorrows approached a
sudden conclusion, but finding myself again upon the secure earth, I
decided to come to an understanding with the young man.
Accordingly, on the following morning, I entered his apartment and
addresses myself to Poor Jr. as severely as I could (for, truthfully,
in all his follies I had found no ugliness in his spirit--only a
good-natured and inscrutable desire of wild amusement) reminding him
of the authority his father had deputed to me, and having the
venturesomeness to hint that the son should show some respect to my
superior age.
To my consternation he replied by inquiring if I had shaved my head as
yet that morning. I could only drop in a chair, stammering to know what
he meant.
"Didn't you suppose I knew?" he asked, elevating himself slightly on his
elbow from the pillow. "Three weeks ago I left my aged parent in London
and ran over here for a day. I saw you at the Cafe' de la Paix, and even
then I knew that it was shaved, not naturally bald. When you came here I
recognized you like a shot, and that was why I was glad to accept you
as a guardian. I've enjoyed myself considerably of late, and you've been
the best part of it,--I think you are a wonderation! I wouldn't have any
other governess for the world, but you surpass the orchestra when you
beg me to respect your years! I will bet you four dollars to a lead
franc piece that you are younger than I am!"
Imagine the completeness of my dismay! Although he spoke in tones the
most genial, and without unkindness, I felt myself a man of tatters
before him, ashamed to have him know my sorry secret, hopeless to
see all chance of authority over him gone at once, and with it my
opportunity to earn a salary so generous, for if I could continue to
be but an amusement to him and only part of his deception of Lambert R.
Poor, my sense of honour must be fit for the guillotine indeed.
I had a little struggle with myself, and I think I must have wiped some
amounts of the cold perspiration from my absurd head before I was able
to make an answer. It may be seen what a coward I was, and how I feared
to begin again that search for employment. At last, however, I was in
self-control, so that I might speak without being afraid that my voice
would shake.
"I am sorry," I said. "It seemed to me that my deception would not cause
any harm, and that I might be useful in spite of it--enough to earn
my living. It was on account of my being very poor; and there are two
little children I must take care of.--Well, at least, it is over now. I
have had great shame, but I must not have greater."
"What do you mean?" he asked me rather sharply.
"I will leave immediately," I said, going to the door. "Since I am no
more than a joke, I can be of no service to your father or to you; but
you must not think that I am so unreasonable as to be angry with you. A
man whom you have beheld reduced to what I was, at the Cafe' de la Paix,
is surely a joke to the whole world! I will write to your father before
I leave the hotel and explain that I feel myself unqualified--"
"You're going to write to him why you give it up!" he exclaimed.
"I shall make no report of espionage," I answered, with, perhaps, some
bitterness, "and I will leave the letter for you to read and to send, of
yourself. It shall only tell him that as a man of honour I cannot keep a
position for which I have no qualification."
I was going to open the door, bidding him adieu, when he called out to
me.
"Look here!" he said, and he jumped out of bed in his pajamas and came
quickly, and held out his hand. "Look here, Ansolini, don't take it that
way. I know you've had pretty hard times, and if you'll stay, I'll get
good. I'll go to the Louvre with you this afternoon; we'll dine at
one of the Duval restaurants, and go to that new religious tragedy
afterwards. If you like, we'll leave Paris to-morrow. There's a little
too much movement here, maybe. For God's sake, let your hair grow, and
we'll go down to Italy and study bones and ruins and delight the aged
parent!--It's all right, isn't it?"
I shook the hand of that kind Poor Jr. with a feeling in my heart that
kept me from saying how greatly I thanked him--and I was sure that I
could do anything for him in the world!