planted himself in front of a short youth and his partner; and when the
youth remonstrated: "But, monsieur, this place is taken, we were here
before you," he replied, in a supercilious tone: "I don't know whether
you were before us, my good man; but I do know that I have the honor to
be here now with madame, and that I will not stir except at the point of
the bayonet!"
The young man dared not make any further resistance; moreover, the
guests were whispering to one another on all sides:
"That original is dancing with Aunt Merlin!"
"What! Aunt Merlin dancing?"
"Yes, with the man in Scotch trousers. This is going to be great fun!"
And all those who were not dancing ran to watch the set in which Cherami
and Aunt Merlin were to figure.
"Sapristi! I have lost one of my gloves!" cried Arthur, making a
pretence of feeling in his pocket, and looking on the floor. "Will you
pardon me, fair lady, for dancing with a single glove?"
"Oh! certainly, monsieur," replied the lady with the turban, in a
simpering tone; "you are forgiven; indeed, the same thing happened to
Monsieur Courbichon; when he arrived here for the ball, he discovered
that he had lost one of his gloves--only it was the left one, in his
case."
"Ah! that's very amusing! Then we have the pair between us! I shall
laugh a long while over that. It's our turn, fair lady."
The first figure passed off quietly enough, as the English chain and the
cat's tail gave Cherami no chance to display his talent; but in the
second, in the _avant-deux_, he began to take steps and attitudes of the
cancan in its purest and most unblushing form. The men laughed till they
cried, and the women as well, murmuring:
"Why, this is frightful! where does that fellow think he is, for
heaven's sake?"
The most amusing feature of the episode was that Cherami's partner,
spurred on by the strange evolutions and the eccentric steps of her
cavalier, thought that she ought to do as he did, and began to twist and
turn, and throw her legs to right and left, with an ardor which kept all
the flowers on her turban in commotion.
The laughter became more uproarious.
"I venture to believe that we are producing some effect," said Cherami
to his partner; "but I am not surprised; whenever I dance, the people
crowd to watch me."
Meanwhile, from one end of the room to the other, the guests were
saying:
"The man in the plaid trousers is dancing the cancan with Aunt Merlin;
it's most amusing!"
Some of the couples ceased dancing, in order to watch the performance of
Aunt Merlin and her partner. The uproar soon reached the ears of
Monsieur Blanquette, the uncle; the bride's mother, a most respectable
woman, said to him:
"I beg you, Monsieur Blanquette, go and tell my sister not to dance the
cancan. Everybody here is laughing at her, and she doesn't notice it.
Oh! what a mistake you made in inviting that tall man with the red
face!"
"Mon Dieu! madame, I assure you that I didn't invite him. He's a man who
owes me money--whom I knew when he was rich and well-dressed.--He has
ruined himself completely. He caught sight of me this morning, when we
were getting out of the carriages; and to-night he takes the liberty of
coming to our ball. I didn't dare tell him to leave--because, you
understand, that's an embarrassing thing to do. But if he presumes to
dance indecently--why, then I shan't hesitate."
Monsieur Blanquette walked toward the quadrille which caused such a
prodigious sensation. Cherami was in the act of executing the _chaloupe_
with his partner, who continued to second him as best she could. The
bridegroom's uncle sidled up behind her, and said in an undertone:
"Don't dance like that, Madame Merlin, I beg you; that's the way they
dance at low dance-halls. Decent people don't make such exhibitions of
themselves in a salon."
"It seems to me that I am dancing very well, monsieur," replied Aunt
Merlin, sourly; "and the way the people crowd to watch us proves it."
"I assure you, Madame Merlin, that it isn't proper, and your sister is
much annoyed."
"My sister's annoyed because she's got beyond dancing. Let her leave me
alone! I propose to dance, I tell you!"
"What is it, my nymph, eh?" cried Cherami; "what did old Pere Blanquette
say to you?"
"He declares that our dance isn't proper."
"Ah! that's very fine! What box has he just come out of, to be shocked
at our dance? Doesn't he go to the play, I wonder? Hasn't he ever seen
the Spanish dancers? They've been at almost all the theatres. Ah! bigre!
if he'd seen those females do their _fandangos_, their _iotas_, and
their _boleros_, and indulge in all sorts of antics, showing their legs,
yes, and their garters too! that's much worse than the cancan. But that
doesn't prevent those Spaniards from drawing the crowd, wherever they
are. And you don't like it, because I dance the cancan, and yet you rush
to see licentious dances performed by women whose costumes add to the
effect of their dancing! Sapristi! for God's sake, try to make up your
mind what you want!--Our turn, my Terpsichore; attention! this is the
_pastourelle_, and I am saving a little surprise for you in the
_cavalier seul._"
Aunt Merlin darted off like an arrow, paying no heed to the
remonstrances of Pere Blanquette, who heaved sigh upon sigh when he saw
how easy it is to lead a woman on to make a fool of herself, even when
her age should make her sensible. But the time came for Cherami to
perform the _cavalier seul_; excited by all that he had drunk, and
recalling the feats of his younger days, he performed the evolution
called the _araignee_, which consists in throwing yourself flat on your
stomach in front of the opposite couple. This bit of gymnastics was
greeted with frantic laughter; and Aunt Merlin, turning to Papa
Blanquette, cried:
"What do you say to that? Could you do as much?"
"No, certainly not, madame; and I wouldn't try," retorted the uncle;
"but I consider it very presumptuous. Your partner must have the devil
in him, to do such crazy things!"
Aunt Merlin had ceased to listen; the last figure had arrived, that in
which the galop is the leading feature; and said Cherami, as he put his
arm about her waist:
"We'll just show the others how to galop. Fichtre! they'd better look
out for themselves. They ran into me when they were waltzing, but we'll
pay them back in their own coin."
With that, he started off with his partner, whirling her about as they
danced. Beau Arthur had been one of the most notable performers in the
formidable galops which are a feature of the masked balls at the Opera.
The punch renewed the vigor of his youth. Throwing himself headlong into
the midst of the assemblage, dancers and onlookers, he rushed through
the room like a whirlwind or an avalanche, hurling this one aside,
colliding with that one, and sowing confusion everywhere. In vain did
they shout to him:
"Stop, monsieur; stop at once! you're throwing the ladies down!"
Cherami kept on; not until Aunt Merlin's turban fell, would he consent
to deposit her upon a bench, with her eyes starting from her head. But
at that moment several gentlemen, boiling over with wrath, surrounded
the terrible galoper.
"Monsieur, you threw my partner down!"
"Monsieur, you have crushed my daughter's nose!"
"Monsieur, you upset my wife; when she fell, her elastic skirt sprang up
over her head, so that everybody could see--what I alone have the right
to see!"
"Monsieur, you must give me satisfaction!"
"Monsieur, you haven't seen the end of this!"
While he was thus apostrophized on all sides, Cherami calmly wiped the
perspiration from his face, and said:
"Sapristi! what's the matter with them all? They are delightful!--I
consider that you're a delightful lot! You ought to have got out of the
way; that's what I did, when you ran into me while you were waltzing
just now. Is it my fault, if you don't know how to keep on your legs?
What a terrible thing, if your estimable daughter's nose is a little
bruised; and if your wife, monsieur, did show some admirable things! It
seems to me that you ought to be flattered by the accident, for
everybody must envy your good fortune."
These retorts were far from appeasing the wrath of the husbands,
brothers, and fathers who had been maltreated in the persons of the
objects of their affections. But Uncle Blanquette forced his way through
the crowd, and said to him who had caused all the confusion, assuming a
tone which he strove to make dignified:
"Monsieur, you have caused a grave perturbation at my nephew's wedding
party----"
"Ha! ha! _perturbation_ is a pretty word; I must remember it. Never
mind; proceed, Papa Blanquette."
"People in our society do not indulge in such improper dances as those
you have performed, monsieur."
"But, if I remember right, Aunt Merlin seemed to enjoy that dance pretty
well."
"I didn't invite you to our ball, monsieur; so I consider it much
too--much too----"
"Presumptuous!--you can't find the word, but that's it, I fancy; eh?"
"Yes, monsieur; too presumptuous, to appear where you're not invited,
and especially in a costume so negligee as yours. You have thrown down
enough persons; we don't care to have any more of it, and I beg you to
go."
"Ah! that's your idea of politeness, is it? Very good! bonsoir! I will
go! Your party isn't so very fine, after all; I haven't seen a single
glass of punch. And you fancy that you do things in style, do you? No,
no! you're a long way behind the times!"
"Be good enough to remember also, monsieur, that you owe me four hundred
and ninety-five francs; and, if you don't quit, I will take harsh
measures----"
"Bravo! I expected that--that's the bouquet! The idea of talking about
your account at a ball! Look you, old Blanquette: you make me sick!
_Adieu, Rome, I go!_--Mesdames, I lay my homage at your feet. I am sorry
to have jostled you a little; but, on my word of honor, it was the fault
of your partners; they didn't know how to hold you."
This fresh insult to the male portion of the guests renewed their wrath,
and they threatened to attack Cherami. He removed his yellow glove and
threw it at their feet, saying:
"Here, this is all I can do for you! I expect you all to-morrow morning.
My friend Blanquette[C] of veal will give you my address. Bring pistols,
sabres, swords, what you please. I shall have nothing but a rabbit's
tail, understand, and with that rabbit's tail I defy you all!"
This heroic challenge seemed to calm the wrath of his adversaries to
some extent. But, while they were staring at one another, a little, bald
man darted forward and picked up the glove.
"That's my glove," he cried; "I recognize it; it's the left-hand glove
that I lost; it has been mended on the thumb; this is the very one!"
Cherami did not hear Monsieur Courbichon. He left the ballroom, passed
rapidly through the cardroom, and, taking a hat from a nail and a cane
from a corner, left the last of the rooms and descended the stairs,
saying to himself:
"I snap my fingers at them. I'm not sorry I went to that party. I have
my cue!"
And Cherami patted the pocket in which were the gold pieces he had won
at ecarte.
At the foot of the staircase, he saw several ladies standing, waiting
for their carriages; they were guests of the party on the first floor,
just leaving the ball. In a moment, another young couple appeared, and
one of the ladies said to another:
"What does this mean? the bride going away already?"
"Yes, I believe she doesn't feel very well."
"Aha! that's the bride, who goes so early!" cried Cherami, putting his
head forward. "Yes! it's she! it's the faithless Fanny! I recognize
her."
These words were hardly out of his mouth, when the husband, who had his
wife on his arm, left her abruptly, looked about, and rushed up to
Cherami, to whom he said in a voice that trembled with emotion:
"Was it you who just spoke, monsieur?"
"What's that! Suppose it was? Well, yes, I did speak. Do you mean to say
that it isn't my right?"
"Was it you who said: 'It's the faithless Fanny'?"
"Yes, pardieu! it was. Oh! I never deny my words."
"This is neither the time nor the place for an explanation, monsieur;
but I will call on you to-morrow, and, if you're not a coward, you will
give me satisfaction."
"I, a coward! Arthur Cherami, a coward! Well, well! that's a good one!
And I have just challenged the whole Blanquette wedding party! I am
always ready to fight with whatever anyone chooses--from a pin to a
cannon, I'm your man!"
"We will see about that to-morrow. Your address?"
"There it is. I always carry a card about me with a view to affairs of
this sort."
Monleard took the soiled yellow card which Cherami drew from his pocket,
and hastened after his wife, who was already in the carriage. This
little scene had taken place so rapidly that the persons who were
standing had been able to catch only a few words.
The carriage which contained the newly married pair drove away. Cherami
looked about for a cab, and having finally found one, jumped in, and
called out to the driver:
"Rue de l'Orillon, Barriere de Belleville. I will tell you when we reach
my hotel."--Then he stretched himself out comfortably on the back seat,
with his feet on the other, murmuring: "The day has been complete. An
excellent dinner, punch, cards, a ball, and a duel! And this morning I
hadn't the wherewithal to buy a small loaf! In my place, a fool would
have jumped into the water. But, with clever people, there is always
some resource."
XVII
FURNISHED LODGINGS ON RUE DE L'ORILLON
Rue de l'Orillon, which is outside the barrier, near the Belleville
theatre, bears not the slightest resemblance to Rue de Rivoli, or to Rue
de la Paix. There is much mud there at almost all seasons, and there are
very few shops of the Magasin du Prophete variety; indeed, I think that
I can safely say that there are none.
It was in a wretched furnished lodging on this street outside the walls
that the ci-devant Beau Arthur, who had once dwelt in the fashionable
precincts of the Champs-Elysees and the Chaussee d'Antin, had been
compelled to take up his abode. He did not often pay his rent; however,
on the day when he received his quarterly stipend, he sometimes
persuaded himself to give two or three five-franc pieces to his
landlady, and she waited patiently for her arrears, because she was
proud to furnish lodgings to a man who had once had thirty-five thousand
francs a year, and who still retained a trace of his former social
position in his manners and his language.
The room occupied by Cherami was not furnished like the apartments of
the Hotel du Louvre. A blue wallpaper, at thirteen sous a roll, took the
place of hangings; but this paper, already old, was torn in several
places, and the breaches were concealed by scraps of paper of a
different design, and, in many instances, of a different color, which
gave to the room a sort of Harlequin aspect which was not altogether
disagreeable--especially to those persons who like that costume. Now,
Harlequins are very popular in Rue de l'Orillon.
A miserable cot-bed, surmounted by a rod which had never been gilded,
and over which was thrown a curtain of yellow cloth much too narrow to
surround the bed, stood opposite the window. At the foot of the bed was
a screen four feet high, which was supposed to be a protection against
the wind that came in under the ill-fitted door. A Louis XVI commode, an
old Louis XV armchair, and a desk which claimed to be Louis XIII, with a
few common chairs, were all the furniture that the apartment contained.
On the mantel were two kitchen candlesticks, a small box of matches, and
several cigar-butts, but not a single pipe: Arthur would have deemed
himself a dishonored man if he had put a pipe to his lips.
It was noon, and Cherami lay on his bed, having just waked up. He
stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and, glancing at the window, said
to himself:
"On my word, I believe I've had quite a nap! Yes, if I can judge by the
sun, which is shining in at my window, the morning must be well
advanced. It is often unpleasant not to have a watch; but, at all
events, in a furnished lodging-house there should be a clock on each
mantel. That villainous Madame Louchard, my landlady, promises me every
month that indispensable complement of my furniture, and I am like
Sister Anne, I see nothing coming. _Par la sambleu!_ as they say in
Marivaux's plays, the rest has done me good, for yesterday was a
tiresome day! But it seems to me that I had at least a dozen duels on
hand for this morning; the deuce! and I don't know what time it is."
Thereupon Cherami began to knock loudly on the thin partition beside his
bed, shouting at the top of his voice:
"Madame Louchard! I say there! Goddess of Cythera! Landlady of the
Loves! Venus of La Courtille! hasten hither, I beseech thee.--Come, lady
fair; I await thee! I await thee!--Damnation! start your boots, will
you!"
After some five minutes, heavy footsteps were heard in the corridor, and
a tall woman, thin as a lath, whose flat hips indicated a most profound
contempt for every sort of hoop-skirt, entered the room occupied by
Cherami. This woman had a huge nose, huge mouth, huge teeth, huge ears,
and feet and hands to correspond. A child who had heard the tale of
Little Red Riding Hood would inevitably have been afraid of her,
mistaking her for the wolf disguised as the grandmother.
To complete the portrait, we may add that Madame Louchard had a yellow
complexion, bleared eyes, and a nose always smeared with snuff; that her
costume consisted of a long dressing-gown, shaped like an umbrella case
(a reminder of the style in vogue under the Directory); and, finally,
that her head-dress was a white cap, around which was tied a colored
cotton handkerchief.
"Well! what's the matter? What are you shouting and hammering for?
Couldn't you get up, Monsieur Lazy-bones? I should think it had been
light long enough."
Such was this lady's way of bidding her tenant good-morning.
"You are right as to that point, Queen of Cythera," replied Cherami,
half rising.
"God forgive me! I believe he intends to get up before me! Was that why
you called me--to let me see that sight? That strikes me as a strange
kind of joke!"
"Nay, nay, virtuous Louchard; I will not rise in your presence. I know
the rigidity of your morals, and I respect them! I know that with you
Richelieu and Buckingham would have wasted their time."
"I don't know those gentlemen, but it would be just the same with them
as with others! I have told you a hundred times that, since my husband's
death, the late Louchard, men are nothing to me!"
"It would seem that the late Louchard was a phoenix, a jewel, the very
pearl of husbands?"
"On the contrary, he had a lot of hidden drawbacks, and he was always
drunk. That's what made me take a dislike to your sex, in the matter of
love."
"Very good! I agree with you, on my honor. I think you did well to adopt
that course."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you resemble Dido. But let us change the subject; tell
me quickly what time it is."
"_Dame!_ it's a good half-hour--yes, at least half an hour--since I
heard the clock strike twelve."
"Then say at once that it's half-past twelve. Bigre! I have been lazy,
and no mistake; but when I came in last night, it was two o'clock in the
morning."
"No earlier; and you woke me up, too; you always make such a noise on
the stairs!"
"At all events, I didn't wake your concierge, as you haven't one."
"What's the good of a concierge?--Everybody knows the secret of the
passageway, and they can come in when they choose."
"And by feeling their way, which is often very imprudent."
"But I believe you rode home last night. Do the omnibuses run as late as
that nowadays?"
"Omnibuses! Understand, Widow Louchard, that when I come home after
midnight, I always come in a coupe or a cab."
"Peste! so the funds have gone up, have they? You'd better give me
something on account."
"Don't bother me! I gave you ten francs."
"That was two months ago."
"That's not the question. Has anybody called to see me this morning?"
"No, not a cat."
"Not a cat! Oh! the cowards!"
"Why do you say that cats are cowards? Mine would fight a bulldog."
"I'm not talking about your cat, Widow Louchard; but about a lot of
braggarts, all of whom challenged me yesterday, and who don't dare to
call on me to-day."
"Do you mean that you wanted to fight again, pray? Good God! is it a
disease with you? It isn't so very long since you were cured of that
bullet in your side."
"Bah! a trifle, a scratch. I am not quarrelsome; but when a man seems to
look askance at me, that irritates me. After all, I am not particular
about seeing those walking rushlights of the Blanquette wedding party.
But there was another man; if he doesn't come, I shall be surprised.
However, it's not too late yet; he was only married yesterday, and a man
doesn't get up very early on the day after his wedding."
"What! you expect to fight with someone who was married yesterday?"
"Why not? We marry, we fight, we kill--or are killed! Such is life,
lovely Artemisia!"
"What makes you call me Artemisia? that isn't my name."
"Because she was a widow who profoundly regretted her husband."
"But I have never regretted mine a single minute."
"That makes no difference.--So you say it's half-past twelve? Sapristi!
Madame Louchard, when is that clock coming that you've been promising me
so long?"
"I'm waiting for a good chance. I want something to match the rest of
the furniture."
"In that case, my dear friend, as I have here a so-called Louis XIII
desk, a Louis XV armchair, and a Louis XVI commode, it seems to me that
you cannot do otherwise than procure a Louis XIV clock, to fill up the
inter-regnum and reestablish the continuity of the dynasty."
"Yes, yes; I've seen lately a little rococo Pompadour one, second-hand."
"Take care! you don't go back far enough; I didn't say Pompadour, which
would land you in the middle of Louis XV's reign! I said Louis XIV."
"Fourteenth or fifteenth! so long as it ain't too dear.--But what's all
this? when I said you were in funds, I wasn't mistaken, was I? You've
bought a new hat! I must say, you did well; for yours wouldn't have
lasted out a storm."
"A new hat! What are you talking about, my fair hostess? I have thought
of it more than once, but I have not yet carried out my project."
"Why, what's this, then?"
Madame Louchard took a hat from the commode and handed it to Cherami,
who stared at it with wide-open eyes; for the hat was quite new and of a
stylish shape.
"What the devil! is that my hat? That's a surprising thing; it has
changed, much to its advantage; it has grown at least two years younger;
and it fits me, pardieu! Yes, it fits me nicely; it's just the shape of
my head."
"Of course you bought it yesterday?"
"Oh! no, I didn't buy it, I tell you again. Ah! I see: when I left that
wedding ball, I was a little excited--a little angry; I seized the first
hat that came under my hand, thinking it was mine."
"Well, there's no denying that you've got a lucky hand; you haven't lost
by the change."
"Oh! dear me, such mistakes occur so often at balls and evening parties,
that, frankly, I shall not demand mine back."
"You will make no mistake; but the man who found your hat in place of
his--he may want his back."
"Very well! let him come; I am ready for him; I'll return his old tile,
and give him others to boot."
"Ah! but that isn't all."
"What else is there, Widow Louchard? Can it be that I came home with two
hats? I admit that that would astonish me."
"No, it isn't a hat this time; but this cane--this isn't your
clothes-beater, which wasn't worth six sous."
Madame Louchard picked up a cane which lay in a corner of the room; it
was a genuine rattan, with an agate head surrounded by gold rings, and
cut in very peculiar fashion. She showed it to Cherami, who exclaimed in
admiration:
"Oho! why, that's a beauty! A charming cane, excellent style--not too
heavy; I like this sort of cameo for a head very much."
"So you got your cane the same way you did your hat, eh?"
"Pardieu! that goes without saying. It stood beside the hat. You see, I
had placed my switch beside my beaver--so the joke was complete."
"Well, you're mighty lucky in your mistakes; that's sure. This cane must
have cost a lot of money."
"Oh! I have seen much finer ones than this, in the old days. What the
devil are you looking for on the floor and on the furniture, Madame
Louchard?"
"_Dame!_ I'm looking to see if you haven't brought something else home,
by mistake."
Cherami instantly sat up in bed, crying: