realized--what they themselves did not yet know--that they loved each
other, she felt as if everything about her were crumbling. And when her
dream lay at her feet, in a thousand fragments, she began to stamp upon
it in a rage. After all, he was quite right to prefer that little Aline
to her. Would a respectable man ever dare to marry Mademoiselle Ruys?
She with a home of her own, a family, nonsense! You are a strumpet's
daughter, my dear; you must be a strumpet yourself, if you wish to be
anything.
The day was drawing near its close. The crowd, moving more rapidly than
before, with gaps here and there, was beginning to stream toward the
exit, after eddying violently around the success of the year, surfeited,
a little weary, but still excited by the artistic electricity with which
the atmosphere was charged. A great ray of sunlight, the sunlight of
four o'clock in the afternoon, illuminated the rosework of the windows,
cast upon the gravelled paths rainbow-like beams that crept gently up
the bronze or marble of the statues, suffusing a lovely nude body with
bright colors and giving to the vast museum something of the aspect of a
garden. Felicia, absorbed in her profound, melancholy reverie, did not
see the man who came toward her, superb, refined, fascinating, through
the throng of visitors, who respectfully opened a passage for him, while
the name of "Mora" was whispered on every side.
"Well, well, Mademoiselle, this is a grand triumph. I regret only one
thing, that is the unpleasant symbolism that you have concealed in your
masterpiece."
When she saw the duke standing before her, she shuddered.
"Ah! yes, the symbolism," she said, looking up at him with a
disheartened smile; and, leaning against the pedestal of the great,
voluptuous statue, near which they happened to be standing, with her
eyes closed, like a woman who gives herself voluntarily or surrenders,
she murmured in a low, very low voice:
"Rabelais lied, as all men lie. The real truth is that the fox can go no
farther, that he is at the end of his breath and his courage, ready to
fall into the ditch, and if the hound persists in his pursuit--"
Mora started, became a little paler, as all the blood in his veins
rushed back to his heart. Two darkly flashing glances met, two words
were swiftly exchanged with the ends of the lips; then the duke bowed
low and walked away with a step as brisk and light as if the gods were
carrying him.
There was only one man in the palace as happy as he at that moment, and
that was the Nabob. Escorted by his friends, he occupied, filled the
main aisle all by himself, talking in a loud tone, gesticulating, so
proud that he seemed almost handsome, as if, by dint of gazing long at
his bust in artless admiration, he had caught a little of the splendid
idealization with which the artist had softened the vulgarity of the
type. The head at an elevation of three-fourths, free from the high
rolling collar, gave rise to contradictory opinions from the spectators
concerning the resemblance; and Jansoulet's name, which had been
repeated so many times by the electoral urns, was echoed by the
prettiest lips in Paris, by its most influential voices. Any other than
the Nabob would have been embarrassed by hearing as he passed the
exclamations of these curious bystanders, who were not always in
sympathy with him. But the platform and the springboard were congenial
to that nature, which was always braver under the fire of staring eyes,
like those women who are beautiful and clever only in society, and whom
the slightest admiration transfigures and perfects.
When he felt that that delirious joy was subsiding, when he thought that
he had drained the cup of his proud intoxication, he had only to say to
himself: "Deputy! I am a deputy!" and the triumphal cup was brimming
full once more. It meant the raising of the embargo from all his
property, the awakening from a nightmare of two months' duration, the
blast of the mistral sweeping away all vexations, all anxieties, even to
the insult at Saint-Romans, heavily as it weighed on his memory.
Deputy!
He laughed all by himself as he thought of the baron's face when he
heard the news, of the bey's stupefaction when he was taken to look at
his bust; and suddenly, at the thought that he was no longer a mere
adventurer gorged with gold, arousing the senseless admiration of the
vulgar like an enormous nugget in a money-changer's window, but that he
was entitled to be looked upon as one of the chosen exponents of the
national will, his good-natured, mobile face assumed an expression of
ponderous gravity suited to the occasion, his mind was filled with plans
for the future, for reform, and the longing to profit by the lessons he
had lately learned from destiny. Already, mindful of the promise he had
made de Gery, he exhibited a certain contemptuous coldness for the
hungry herd that fawned servilely about his heels, and seemed to have
adopted deliberately a system of peremptory contradiction. He called the
Marquis de Bois-l'Hery "my good fellow," sharply imposed silence on the
Governor, whose enthusiasm was becoming scandalous, and was inwardly
making a solemn vow that he would rid himself as speedily as possible of
all that begging, compromising horde of bohemians, when an excellent
opportunity presented itself for him to begin to put his purpose in
execution. Moessard, the handsome Moessard, in a sky-blue cravat, pale
and puffed-up like a white abscess, his bust confined in a tight frock
coat, seeing that the Nabob, after making the circuit of the hall of
sculpture a score of times, was walking toward the exit, forced his way
through the crowd, sprang to his side and said, as he passed his arm
through Jansoulet's:
"You are to take me with you, you know--"
Of late, especially during the period of the election, he had assumed an
authority on Place Vendome almost equal to Monpavon's, but more
impudent; for, in respect of impudence, the queen's lover had not his
equal on the sidewalk that extends from Rue Drouot to the Madeleine. But
on this occasion he had a bad fall. The muscular arm that he grasped
violently shook itself free, and the Nabob answered him very shortly:
"I am very sorry, my dear fellow, but I have no seat to offer you."
No seat, in a carriage as big as a house, which had often held five of
them!
Moessard gazed at him in utter stupefaction.
"But I had something very urgent to say to you. On the subject of my
little note. You received it, did you not?"
"To be sure, and Monsieur de Gery should have answered it this morning.
What you ask is impossible. Twenty thousand francs!--_tonnerre de Dieu!_
how fast you go."
"It seems to me, however, that my services--" stammered the fop.
"Have been handsomely paid. So it seems to me too. Two hundred thousand
francs in five months! We will stop at that, if you please. You have
long teeth, young man; we must file them a bit."
They exchanged these words as they walked along, pushed by the crowd
which flocked like sheep through the door of exit. Moessard stopped:
"That is your last word?"
The Nabob hesitated a second, seized by a presentiment of evil at sight
of that pale, wicked mouth; then he remembered the promise he had given
his friend.
"That is my last word."
"Very well, we will see," said Beau Moessard, while his cane cleft the
air with a noise like a snake's hiss; and, turning on his heel, he
strode rapidly away like a man who has very important business awaiting
him.
Jansoulet continued his triumphal march. On that day it would have
required something much more serious to disturb the equilibrium of his
happiness; on the other hand he felt encouraged by the beginning so
successfully accomplished.
The great vestibule was filled with a compact crowd, whom the approach
of the hour for closing impelled toward the outer world, but whom one of
the sudden downpours which seem an essential part of the opening of the
Salon detained under the porch with its floor of hard-trodden gravel,
like the entrance to the Circus where the lady-killers disport
themselves. It was a curious, thoroughly Parisian spectacle.
Outside, the sunbeams shining through the rain, attaching to its limpid
threads those sharp, brilliant blades of light which justify the proverb
"It rains halberds;" the young verdure of the Champs-Elysees, the clumps
of dripping, rustling rhododendrons, the carriages drawn up in line on
the avenue, the oilcloth capes of the coachmen, all the splendid
accoutrements of the horses to which the water and the sunbeams imparted
vastly greater richness and effect, and everywhere a gleam of blue, the
blue of the sky, smiling in the interval between two showers.
Within, laughter, idle chatter, salutations, impatience, skirts turned
up, satins puffing vaingloriously over the narrow pleats of petticoats
and delicately striped silk stockings, oceans of fringe, of lace, of
flounces, held with one hand in too heavy bundles, and torn beyond
recognition. Then, to connect the two sides of the picture, the
prisoners framed by the arched doorway and standing in its dark shadow,
with the vast background of light behind them, footmen running about
under umbrellas, shouting names of coachmen and names of masters, and
coupes slowly approaching, into which terrified couples hastily jump.
"Monsieur Jansoulet's carriage!"
Everybody turned to look, but we know that that disturbed him but
little. And while the honest Nabob posed for a moment, awaiting his
people, amid those fashionable women, those famous men, that assorted
gathering of all Paris which was present there with a name to fit each
of its figures, a slender, neatly-gloved hand was held out to him, and
the Duc de Mora, who was about to enter his coupe, said to him as he
passed, with the effusiveness that happiness gives to the most reserved
of men:
"My congratulations, my dear deputy."
It was said aloud, and every one could hear,--"My dear deputy."
* * * * *
There is in the life of every man a golden hour, a luminous mountain-top
where all that he can hope for of prosperity, of joy, of triumph, awaits
him and is showered upon him. The mountain is more or less high, more or
less precipitous and difficult to climb; but it exists equally for all,
for the most powerful and the humblest. But, like the longest day of the
year, when the sun has reached the end of his upward journey and the
next day seems a first step toward winter, that _summum bonum_ of human
existence is but a moment to be enjoyed, after which we have no choice
but to descend. Poor man! you must remember that late afternoon in May,
that time of alternating rain and sunshine, you must fix its changing
splendor forever in your memory. It was the hour of your midsummer, when
the flowers were blooming, the branches bending beneath their weight of
golden fruit, and the crops whose gleanings you so recklessly threw
aside, were fully ripe. The star will fade now, gradually receding and
descending, and soon will be incapable of piercing the woeful darkness
wherein your destiny is about to be fulfilled.
XV.
MEMOIRS OF A CLERK.--IN THE RECEPTION-ROOM.
There was a grand affair last Saturday on Place Vendome.
Monsieur Bernard Jansoulet, the new Deputy for Corsica, gave a
magnificent evening party in honor of his election, with municipal
guards at the door, the whole house illuminated and two thousand
invitations strewn broadcast through fashionable Paris.
I was indebted to the distinction of my manners, to the resonance of my
voice, which the president of the administrative council has had a
chance to appreciate at the meetings of the _Caisse Territoriale_, for
the privilege of taking part in that sumptuous festivity, where I stood
for three hours in the reception-room, amid flowers and draperies,
dressed in scarlet and gold, with the majestic bearing peculiar to
persons who exert some little authority, and with my calves exposed for
the first time in my life, and sent the name of each guest like the
report of a cannon into the long line of five salons, a resplendent
footman saluting each time with the _bing_ of his halberd on the floor.
How many interesting observations I was able to make that evening, what
jocose sallies, what quips, all in most excellent taste, were tossed
back and forth by the servants, concerning the people of fashion who
passed! I should never have heard anything so amusing with the
vine-dressers of Montbars. I ought to say that the worthy M. Barreau
caused us all to be served with a hearty, well-irrigated lunch in his
office, which was filled to the ceiling with iced drinks and
refreshments, thereby putting every one of us in an excellent humor,
which was maintained throughout the evening by glasses of punch and
champagne whisked from the salvers as they passed.
The masters, however, were not so contented as we were. When I reached
my post, at nine o'clock, I was struck by the anxious, nervous face of
the Nabob, whom I spied walking with M. de Gery through the
brilliantly-lighted, empty salons, talking earnestly and gesticulating
wildly.
"I will kill him," he said, "I will kill him."
The other tried to soothe him, then Madame appeared and they talked
about something else.
A magnificent figure of a woman, that Levantine, twice as powerful as I
am, and dazzling to look at with her diamond diadem, the jewels that
covered her huge white shoulders, her back as round as her breast, her
waist squeezed into a breastplate of greenish gold, which extended in
long stripes the whole length of her skirt. I never saw anything so
rich, so imposing. She was like one of those beautiful white elephants
with towers on their backs that we read about in books of travel. When
she walked, clinging painfully to the furniture, all her flesh shook and
her ornaments jangled like old iron. With it all a very shrill little
voice and a beautiful red face which a little negro boy kept fanning all
the time with a fan of white feathers as big as a peacock's tail.
It was the first time that that indolent savage had made her appearance
in Parisian society, and M. Jansoulet seemed very proud and very happy
that she had consented to preside at his fete: a task that involved no
great labor on the lady's part, however, for, leaving her husband to
receive his guests in the first salon, she went and stretched herself
out on the couch in the little Japanese salon, wedged between two piles
of cushions, and perfectly motionless, so that you could see her in the
distance, at the end of the line of salons, like an idol, under the
great fan which her negro waved with a clocklike motion, as if by
machinery. These foreigners have the brass for you!
The Nabob's irritation had impressed me all the same, and as I saw his
valet going downstairs four steps at a time, I caught him on the wing
and whispered in his ear:
"What the deuce is the matter with your governor, Monsieur Noel?"
"It's the article in the _Messager_," he replied, and I had to abandon
the idea of finding out anything more for the moment, as a loud ring at
the bell announced the arrival of the first carriage, and it was
followed by a multitude of others.
Intent upon my business, giving close attention to the proper
pronunciation of the names given me and to making them ricochet from
salon to salon, I thought of nothing else. It is no easy matter to
announce properly people who always think that their names must be well
known, so that they simply murmur them through their closed lips as they
pass, and then are surprised to hear you murder them in your most
sonorous tone and almost bear you a grudge for the unimpressive
entrances, greeted with faint smiles, that follow a bungling
announcement. The task was made even more difficult at M. Jansoulet's by
the swarm of foreigners, Turks, Egyptians, Persians, Tunisians. I do not
mention the Corsicans, who were also very numerous on that occasion,
because, during my four years of service at the _Caisse Territoriale_, I
have become accustomed to pronouncing those high-sounding, interminable
names, always followed by the name of a place: "Paganetti of
Porto-Vecchio, Bastelica of Bonifacio, Paianatchi of Barbicaglia."
I enjoyed dwelling upon those Italian syllables, giving them their full
resonant value, and I could see by the stupefied expressions of those
worthy islanders how surprised and delighted they were to be introduced
in that fashion into the best continental society. But with the Turks,
the pachas and beys and effendis, I had much more difficulty, and I must
often have pronounced them awry, for M. Jansoulet, on two different
occasions, sent word to me to pay more attention to the names given me,
and especially to announce them more naturally. That command, uttered in
a loud voice at the door of the reception-room with unnecessary
brutality, annoyed me exceedingly, and prevented me--shall I confess
it?--from pitying the vulgar parvenu when I learned, during the evening,
what sharp thorns had found their way into his bed of roses.
From half-past ten till midnight the bell did not cease to ring, the
carriages to rumble under the porch, the guests to follow on one
another's heels, deputies, senators, councillors of state, municipal
councillors, who acted much more as if they were attending a meeting of
shareholders than an evening party in society. What did it all mean? I
could not succeed in puzzling it out, but a word from Nicklauss the
door-keeper opened my eyes.
"Do you notice, Monsieur Passajon," said that worthy retainer, standing
in front of me, halberd in hand, "do you notice how few ladies we have?"
_Pardieu!_ that was it. And we two were not the only ones who noticed
it. At each new arrival, I heard the Nabob, who stood near the door,
exclaim in consternation with the hoarse voice of a Marseillais with a
cold in his head:
"Alone?"
The guest would apologize in an undertone. _M-m-m-m-m-m_--his wife not
very well. Very sorry indeed. Then another would come; and the same
question would bring the same reply.
We heard that word "alone" so much, that at last we began to joke about
it in the reception-room; outriders and footmen tossed it from one to
another when a new guest entered: "Alone!" And we laughed and enjoyed
ourselves. But M. Nicklauss, with his extended knowledge of society,
considered that the almost universal abstention of the fair sex was by
no means natural.
"It must be the article in the _Messager_," he said.
Everybody was talking of that rascally article, and as each guest paused
before entering the salon to look himself over in the mirror with its
garland of flowers, I overheard snatches of whispered dialogue of this
sort:
"Have you read it?"
"It's a frightful thing."
"Do you believe it can possibly be true?"
"I have no idea. At all events I preferred not to bring my wife."
"I felt as you did. A man can go anywhere without compromising himself."
"Of course. While a woman--"
Then they would go in, their crush hats under their arms, with the
conquering air of married men unaccompanied by their wives.
What was this newspaper article, this terrible article which threatened
so seriously the influence of such a wealthy man? Unfortunately my
duties held me fast; I could not go down to the butlers pantry or the
dressing-room, to talk with the coachmen, the footmen and outriders whom
I saw standing at the foot of the stairs, amusing themselves by making
fun of the people who went up. What can you expect? The masters give
themselves too many airs. How could one help laughing to see the Marquis
and Marquise de Bois-l'Hery sail by with a haughty air and empty
stomachs, after all the stories we have heard about Monsieur's business
arrangements and Madame's dresses? And then the Jenkins family, so
affectionate, so united, the attentive doctor throwing a lace shawl over
his wife's shoulders for fear she may take cold in the hall; she,
tricked out and smiling, dressed all in velvet, with a train yards long,
leaning on her husband's arm as if to say: "How happy I am!" when I know
that, ever since the death of the Irishwoman, his lawful wife, the
doctor has been thinking of getting rid of his old incubus so that he
can marry a young woman, and that the old incubus passes her nights in
despair, in wearing away with tears what beauty she still has.
The amusing part of it was that not one of them all suspected the quips
and jokes that were spit out at them as they passed, the vile things
that their trains swept up from the vestibule carpet, and the whole crew
assumed disdainful airs fit to make one die with laughter.
The two ladies I have named, the Governor's wife, a little Corsican
woman whose heavy eyebrows, white teeth and ruddy cheeks, dark in the
lower part, make her look like a clean-shaved Auvergnat--a clever
creature by the way, and always laughing except when her husband looks
at other women--these with a few Levantines with diadems of gold or
pearls, less resplendent than ours but in the same style, wives of
upholsterers, jewellers, dealers who supply the household regularly,
with shoulders as extensive as shop-fronts and dresses in which the
material was not sparingly used; and lastly, several wives of clerks at
the _Caisse Territoriale_, with rustling dresses and devil a sou in
their pockets,--such was the representation of the fair sex at that
function, some thirty ladies lost among myriads of black coats; one
might as well say that there were none at all there. From time to time,
Cassagne, Laporte and Grandvarlet, who were carrying dishes, told us
what was going on in the salons.
"Ah! my children, if you could just see how gloomy, how mournful it is!
The men don't move from the sideboards. The women are all sitting in a
circle, way at the end, fanning themselves, without a word. La Grosse[1]
doesn't speak to any one. I believe she's taking a snooze. Monsieur's
the one who keeps things going. Pere Passajon, a glass of
Chateau-Larose. It will set you up."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Fat Woman, or "Fatty."
All those young fellows were delightful to me, and took a mischievous
pleasure in doing the honors of the cellar so often and in such bumpers
that my tongue began to grow heavy and uncertain; as they said to me, in
their slightly familiar language: "You're spluttering, uncle." Luckily
the last of the effendis had arrived and there was no one else to
announce; for it was of no use for me to struggle against it, every time
I walked between the hangings to launch a name into the salons, the
chandeliers whirled round and round with hundreds of thousands of
dancing lights, and the floors became inclined planes as slippery and
steep as Russian mountains. I must have spluttered, that is sure.
The fresh night air and repeated ablutions at the pump in the courtyard
soon got the better of that little indisposition, and when I betook
myself to the servants' quarters it had altogether disappeared. I found
a large and merry party gathered around a _marquise_ of champagne, of
which all my nieces, in fine array, with fluffy hair and cravats of pink
ribbon, took their full share, notwithstanding the fascinating little
shrieks and grimaces, which deceived no one. Naturally they were talking
about the famous article, an article by Moessard, it seems, full of
shocking disclosures concerning all sorts of degrading occupations that
the Nabob was engaged in fifteen or twenty years ago, at the time of his
first stay in Paris.
It was the third attack of that sort that the _Messager_ had published
within a week, and that rascal Moessard was malicious enough to send a
copy of each number under cover to Place Vendome.