daughter, she is an excellent musician, I adore music, we will sing
together all day; I have no profession, but I have fifteen thousand
francs a year in government securities, and with that one can live
comfortably when one isn't ambitious; and music is a pleasure which
necessitates very small expense. It has seemed to me that Mademoiselle
Adolphine does not care for balls and great parties, like her sister; so
I may hope that she will be happy with me. You will give her a _dot_ of
twenty thousand francs; I know it, and it's enough for me; I don't ask
for any more.'--So much for number one.--Monsieur de la Beriniere was
more eager, more impetuous, in his suit. 'I adore Mademoiselle
Adolphine,' he said, 'I am mad over her; her delightful voice has turned
my head, and I renounce my liberty for her. Indeed, I believe I am
destined to enter your family, for I will not conceal from you that I
was deeply in love with your other daughter; but Monleard was quicker
than I, and stole her away from me.--So, this time I declare myself
promptly, because I don't propose that your younger daughter shall
escape me as her sister did; unless, of course, she will have none of
me; but I venture to hope the contrary; I am no longer in my first
youth, but my heart is as easily touched as it was at twenty. In short,
I offer your daughter thirty thousand francs a year, and the title of
countess--which always flatters a young woman's ear; I lay these at her
feet, with the most ardent love. Be good enough to communicate my offer
to her, and I will come to-morrow for your answer.'"
"Oh! mon Dieu! And what answer did you make to all that, father?"
"My dear child, the only answer that a father should make to honorable
men, of good standing in society, who ask him for his daughter's hand:
'Your offer flatters me, does me honor, and, for my part, I will
interpose no obstacle to the fulfilment of your wishes; but, as marriage
is an act which has a decisive influence upon the happiness of one's
whole life, I have determined to allow my daughters absolute freedom in
the matter of choosing a husband, and never to enforce my wishes in
opposition to theirs.'"
"Oh! my dear, good father! how good it is of you, not to force your
children to marry!"
"Now, my dear love, it is for you to choose. These two offers are
equally advantageous. Monsieur de la Beriniere makes you a countess,
with thirty thousand francs a year--that is very attractive. To be sure,
he is sixty years old, which lessens the attraction. Monsieur Anatole de
Raincy is not a count; but he is of a very old family; he has only
fifteen thousand francs a year, but he is only twenty-seven, and that's
a valuable asset. Now, you are fully posted as to these two aspirants to
your hand. Reflect and choose."
"Oh! the reflecting is all done, father! I want neither of them."
"What! you refuse?"
"I refuse them both."
"But you are unreasonable, my child!--Either of the two marriages would
be honorable; it would be hard to find a better match in respect to
fortune; indeed, I am afraid that you'll never do so well."
"You know, don't you, father, that I care nothing about money?"
"My dear girl, it isn't well, perhaps, to love money as your sister
loves it; but it isn't well to despise it, either. It is a great help to
happiness. Come, between ourselves, why do you refuse both of these two
offers? The count, I can understand; he's too old for you; but Monsieur
Anatole is young, not a bad-looking fellow----"
"I refuse them, father, because I want to love my husband, and I shall
never love Monsieur de la Beriniere or Monsieur de Raincy."
"So you are quite determined, are you?"
"Absolutely. You can tell them that I don't want to marry now. A
well-bred man understands that that's a polite way of refusing."
"Very good, since you have made up your mind. Gad! you're not much like
your sister! You see, she is rich, and happy! always at some festivity,
always enjoying herself!"
"I don't envy her happiness; I should not be happy in the life she
leads."
"Well, let's say no more about it."
Monsieur Gerbault left his daughter; but she could read in his eyes that
he was not pleased that she had refused the two eligible husbands who
had offered themselves. As for Adolphine, she said to herself:
"I cannot marry either of those men, for I love someone else. The man I
love will never marry me,--I know that,--for he never thinks of me! But
I choose to have the right to think of him always."
XXV
GUSTAVE'S UNCLE
After his duel with Auguste Monleard, Cherami returned to his lodgings,
whistling a polka. He found his hostess where he had left her, standing
in her doorway.
Madame Louchard was very inquisitive; it had stirred her curiosity to
the highest pitch to see her tenant go away with the young exquisite who
owned a cabriolet; and when the former returned alone, she cried:
"Well! what have you done with him?"
"With whom? with what?"
"Why, with that elegant gentleman who went away with you on foot,--a
strange thing to do when he has a cabriolet at his command. You might
just as well have got into it, both of you, as it followed you."
"It wasn't worth while to ride; we only went a little way."
"Oho! where did you go?"
"To that vacant lot over yonder, by the theatre."
"What in the world did you go there for? Does your friend think of
buying the lot?"
"Not at all. We went there to fight. It's a very convenient place for
that."
"To fight? Is it possible!"
"As I have the honor to tell you."
"With your fists?"
"Madame Louchard, you always imagine that you are talking to the clowns
who are your usual associates. Understand, pray, that a man like me
doesn't fight with his fists! I sometimes send the toe of my boot into
the fleshy part of an upstart who bores me--but when it's a question of
a duel, that's another affair."
"What did you fight with, then?"
"With swords."
"You didn't have any."
"That gentleman had a whole arsenal in his carriage."
"Mon Dieu! And which of you was killed?"
"Why, your question is rather beside the mark. Do I look like a dead
man?"
"Ah! that's so. It was the other man, then? Poor young man!"
"Don't be alarmed; he isn't dead, and he won't die. A simple wound--and
I warned him, too; I said: 'You strike down too much!'--He fences rather
well, but he isn't in my class yet."
"You villain! always in trouble--fighting duels. But what if he had
killed you, eh?"
"In that case, superb Louchard, I should not, at this moment, have the
pleasure of gazing upon your strongly-marked features."
"And the cause of your duel?"
"A trifle--a mere nothing--a jest. But that young man's coming prevented
me from breakfasting, and I feel the need of attending to that important
function. I go to my room to get my pretty cane with the agate head, and
I fly to the Vefour of the Quarter. But, no; there isn't one here, and,
as I wish to breakfast very well indeed, I will go as far as Passoir's."
"Anyone can see that you're in funds."
"Indeed, it is true, divine hostess."
"And you don't leave me a little on account."
"We will talk of that later."
Cherami took his new cane, placed his new hat on the side of his head,
and with his pockets lined with the money he had won at ecarte the night
before, left the house, saying:
"I have my cue!"
According to his custom, Cherami spent his gold pieces freely. But it
seemed that that money had brought him luck. Being a great lover of the
game of billiards, he did not fail, after dinner, to go and play pool at
a cafe where he knew that there was always a game in progress in the
evening; and for some days fortune favored him so persistently, that all
the frequenters of the cafe frowned when he appeared, muttering:
"Here comes the pool-shark!"
But one evening the luck turned; Cherami left the cafe with empty
pockets.
"Palsambleu!" he said to himself; "here I am reduced to extremities
again!--For I shall not receive my quarterly income for a fortnight, and
that stingy Bernardin wouldn't pay me a single day in advance. But why
wouldn't this be a good time to pay a little visit to our young friend
Gustave, in whose behalf I fought a duel, and who has not even come to
thank me? By the way, I think I didn't give him my address, and, on the
other hand, he didn't give me his. But he lives with his Uncle
Grandcourt; he's a banker, or a merchant, no matter which; I ought to
find his address in the _Almanack du Commerce._ To-morrow I will obtain
it, and I will go and bid friend Gustave good-day. And if he is still in
the depths, I'll dine with him again. He will tell me his woes, and I
will order the dinner. And at dessert he certainly will lend me a
hundred francs to carry me to my next quarterly payment--that will be
easy to manage. Indeed, I am convinced that dear Gustave is surprised at
my non-appearance, and that he is looking for me everywhere.--But, to
make up for my neglect, I'll not leave him for a fortnight."
The next day, Cherami found Monsieur Grandcourt's address, and lost no
time in betaking himself thither. Having arrived at a handsome house in
Faubourg Montmartre, he tapped on the concierge's window with his pretty
cane.
"Monsieur Grandcourt, the banker?"
"His offices are on the ground floor, at the rear, right-hand door."
"Very good. Shall I find Monsieur Gustave Darlemont in the office?"
"Monsieur Gustave?"
"Yes, the banker's nephew, who is employed by his uncle."
"Faith! monsieur, I don't know; there are several clerks; I don't know
their names."
"You don't seem very well posted, that's a fact. All right; I'll go to
the office, and it's to be hoped that someone will be able to answer me
there."
Cherami walked to the rear of the building, and entered a room where an
elderly clerk, half reclining on a ledger, was adding columns of
figures.
"Will you kindly tell me where I can find my friend Gustave?"
The clerk made no reply, but continued to mutter:
"Forty-five, fifty-two, four, six, sixty."
"Is this old fossil afflicted with deafness, I wonder?" said Cherami to
himself.--"I ask you, monsieur," he added aloud, "to direct me to the
desk--the office--the chamber of my friend Gustave; don't you hear me?"
"Eight and eight are sixteen--and sixteen, thirty-two."
"Sacrebleu! we've known for a long while that eight and eight are
sixteen! Is it such nonsense as that that keeps you from answering me?"
As he spoke, Cherami seized the old clerk's collar and shook him
roughly. He turned upon his assailant in a rage, exclaiming:
"I am adding my balances, monsieur; and when I am adding, no one has any
right to disturb me--do you hear?"
"Well, well! you are another pretty specimen, you are! They ought to
frame you and hang you up in the water-closet!"
"Monsieur! What do you mean?"
"There, there, my old mummy; let's not lose our temper. Where is
Monsieur Grandcourt's nephew?"
"As if I knew, monsieur! I keep accounts, and nothing else, and I can't
talk. You have put me out; I must begin all over again!"
"Very well, you shall begin again; nothing trains the youthful mind like
addition. But you must answer my question first."
"Monsieur Grandcourt's private office is at the end of this passage,
monsieur. Go and tell him what you want, and leave me to my accounts."
"All right! Do you know, I believe that excessive adding has hindered
you sadly in your growth."
Cherami followed the passage, and, upon turning the knob of a door at
the end, found himself in the banker's office. Monsieur Grandcourt was
writing at his desk; being accustomed to the frequent coming and going
of his clerks, he went on writing without looking up.
Cherami closed the door, examined Monsieur Grandcourt for a moment, and
said to himself:
"That's our uncle--I recognize him. I never saw him but once, but that's
enough. Besides, he has one of those peppery faces which have a certain
_chic_."
He walked to the desk and removed his hat, saying:
"Good-morning, dear uncle! You are at work, I see. Bigre! it seems that
dig's the word in your shop; for I found outside here an old pensioner
so buried in his figures that I couldn't see the end of his nose.--Well,
how does it go?--Don't you know me? I am Arthur Cherami."
Monsieur Grandcourt raised his head, and stared in utter amazement at
the individual before him.
"Might I know, monsieur," he rejoined, "what you want, what brings you
here? for I probably didn't understand what you said."
"Ah! you didn't understand, eh? Are you adding figures, too? That
occupation seems to deaden the intellect. But, never mind about that! So
you don't recognize me, dear uncle?"
"No, monsieur, no; and I confess that I fail to understand this title of
_uncle_ which you persist in giving me."
"That is a title of affection, because I am a friend of your
nephew--dear Gustave--who was so desperate on the day that his faithless
Fanny married another. And on that same day, I dined with him at
Deffieux's. He was absolutely determined to speak to the lovely bride,
when you fell into our private room like a bombshell, and dragged the
poor fellow away."
"Ah! very good, monsieur! now I understand, and I recognize you. Yes, it
was you who were at the restaurant with my nephew--and you attempted to
interfere with my taking him away."
"_Dame!_ he was so anxious to see his Fanny! I have always protected
love affairs."
"And do you realize, monsieur, all that might have resulted from an
interview between Gustave and that young woman?"
"Why, no more, I fancy, than did actually happen--a duel, that's all!"
"What do you mean, monsieur? My nephew fought no duel; that I know; I
didn't leave him until the very moment of his departure."
"Well, I don't say that it was he who fought; it was I; but it amounts
to the same thing."
"What! you fought a duel--you?"
"Just a little, nephew--I mean, uncle. Indeed, I administered to the
young husband a very neat sword-thrust in the arm. However, he's a stout
fellow; but he holds himself back too much in fencing; that's very
dangerous."
"You fought with Monsieur Monleard?"
"Why, yes! what of it? You open your eyes like porte cocheres! One would
say that it was a most extraordinary thing!"
"But, monsieur, it's a horrible thing for you to have done! You have
compromised that young woman, you have compromised my nephew, you
have----"
"Sacrebleu! do you know that you make me tired! Where the devil did I
get an uncle like this, who doesn't appreciate the services I have
rendered his nephew?"
"A little less noise, monsieur, if you please!"
"Ah! you don't like that! Very good! but, no! You are Gustave's uncle; I
cannot fight with you; it would grieve him. After all, my business isn't
with you; and if that old baked apple out yonder had told me where I
could find your nephew, you wouldn't have had a call from me. Tell me at
once, and I'll make my bow."
"You want to see Gustave?"
"That was my only reason for coming here."
"My nephew is not now in France, monsieur; he is in Spain."
"In Spain? Do you mean it? it isn't a sell?"
Monsieur Grandcourt made a gesture of impatience, whereupon Cherami
continued:
"Don't you like the word? You surprise me! It is adopted now in the best
society. It's like _balance._ You say: 'I have _balance_ So-and-so,'
which means: 'I have sent him about his business.' We have enriched the
French language with a lot of such locutions, more or less picturesque.
Ah! the Latin tongue is much more forcible, much more complete. You can
say things in Latin that you'd never dare to say in French. Look you,
for example, Plautus, in his comedies,--in _Casina_, I believe,--makes
an amorous old man say, when he thinks of his mistress:
"'Jam, Hercle, amplexari, jam osculari gestio!'
Ah! they were great jokers, those Latin and Greek authors! Write
comedies now like those of Aristophanes--you'd have a warm reception!
They are beginning already to find Moliere too free! We are becoming
very refined, very severe, in the matter of language! Does that mean
that we are growing more virtuous? Frankly, I don't think it. Habits,
customs, and manners change; but passions, vices, absurdities, are
always the same!"
The banker's brow lost some of its wrinkles as he listened to Cherami.
He scrutinized him more carefully, and said:
"How does it happen, monsieur, that, having received a good education,
knowing your classics as you do, in short, being a well-informed man,
you do not make use of your knowledge, to----"
"To do what? To buy a coat? Is that what you mean?"
"Faith! something like it."
"I love independence, liberty, monsieur."
"Those words have been sadly abused of late, monsieur. And if your love
of liberty compels you to go abroad in shabby clothes, it seems to me
that you would do well to prefer love of work to it."
"Look you, my dear monsieur, I believe that you are undertaking to
preach to me--and I have never stood that from anybody!"
"Perhaps that is the great mistake you have made."
"Corbleu! you are lucky to be the uncle of a young man for whom I felt
at once a sincere affection.--Let us say no more. Gustave is in Spain?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"For a long time?"
"I cannot tell exactly."
"That's as good a way as any of not telling me. But when he is in Paris,
I promise you that I shall not fail to find him."
"Have you anything important to say to him, monsieur? if so, tell it to
me, and I will transmit it."
Cherami reflected a moment, then pulled his hat over his eyes, and said:
"No, I simply wanted to shake hands with him, to inquire for his health,
and to find out whether he is finally cured of his love for the
faithless Fanny."
"His letters tell me that his health is good. As for his foolish passion
for a woman who never loved him, I like to believe that it has succumbed
to absence."
"Say rather to the glances of the Andalusians; for they have terrible
eyes, those Spanish women! I know something of them. I have known three,
who----"
"Pardon me, monsieur; but I am very busy, and, if you have nothing else
to say to me----"
"Ah! you dismiss me?--Very good; that's very polite. I have my cue!"
"You have your cue? What do you mean by that?"
"Oh! it's of no consequence. It's a little phrase which I often use;
it's as if I said: 'I see where I stand.'"
"That makes a difference, monsieur. I wish you good-morning!"
"And I wish you nothing at all!"
Thereupon Cherami left the banker's office, saying to himself:
"There's a tough old uncle for you! I think I won't borrow money of
him--I won't do him that honor. No, never! especially as he wouldn't
lend me any."
XXVI
A CAFE ACQUAINTANCE
Cherami strolled about at random for some time, seeking some person of
his acquaintance with whom he could negotiate a small loan. But he saw
few save unfamiliar faces, and if by chance he did espy some former
friend, that friend turned away to avoid meeting him.
"The devil!" said Cherami to himself; "the day opens badly! I counted on
Gustave for breakfast, and now it's after twelve o'clock, and I'm as
hungry as a cannibal. However, if I must, I will dispose of my new
cane. I shall be sorry to do it, for it's a pretty one--a genuine
rattan. But I should be still more sorry to go without breakfast. It
must have cost at least thirty francs. A dealer will give me six for
it,--they have all the cheek they need, those fellows,--and he'll act as
if he were doing me a favor! I prefer to leave it in pawn for a
beefsteak and its accessories. Come, let us look for a cafe where we can
get a good breakfast."
Cherami was then on the boulevard, where there is no lack of cafes; for
one cannot walk thirty feet without passing one. The ex-Beau Arthur
entered the establishment which had the most modern show-front, seated
himself at a table, hung up his hat, laid his cane on the seat, and
summoned the waiter with that resounding voice and in that arrogant tone
which never fail to produce their effect on the waiters in a cafe.
"What does monsieur wish?"
"Radishes, sardines, and butter; then a beefsteak-chateaubriand, rare,
with roquefort and a bottle of bordeaux. After that, we will see.
Go!--That cane is certainly worth all that I have ordered," he said to
himself; "yes, and I can safely add a cup of coffee and a _petit verre._
At all events, if they are not satisfied, I will do like Bilboquet in
_Les Saltimbanques_, I will pledge my signature.--I am annoyed, all the
same, to find that my young friend Gustave is in Spain. But is he really
in Spain? That is what I must find out."
Cherami had eaten his hors-d'oeuvre, and was about to attack his
beefsteak-chateaubriand, when a short man, dressed with some pretension,
with a stupid face and a bald head which seemed to beg for a wig, took
his place at the table next to his, and sat down on the cane which
Cherami had laid on the bench.
The new-comer jumped to his feet, putting his hand to his posterior, and
exclaiming:
"Great heaven! what am I sitting on?"
Cherami picked up his cane and stood it on the floor, between himself
and his neighbor.
"It's lucky for you that you didn't break it," he said; "for it would
have cost you a pretty penny!"
"I didn't do it purposely, monsieur."
"No matter! if you had broken it, you'd have paid for it!"
"And I hurt myself, too."
"If it had been a blackthorn stick, it would have hurt you much more."
The gentleman did not seem to be consoled by that reflection; he paid no
attention to the cane, but was intent only upon rubbing the wounded part
of his anatomy. Then he ordered a glass of grog, picked up a newspaper,
and began to read, in evident ill-humor. But Cherami, who loved to
converse, kept on talking while he ate.
"I went into a public house one day," he said; "I had ridden horseback
six leagues without dismounting, and was naturally very tired. I walked
into the common-room, and threw myself into an easy-chair near the
fireplace. But as I sat down, a piercing shriek escaped me. Everybody
crowded around me: 'What is it, monsieur? what's the matter? what has
happened to you?'--But I could only point to my posterior, saying: 'I
don't know what I sat down on, but I am wounded--badly wounded!'--The
hostess wanted to look and see what it was--she wanted to dress the
wound. She was a bright-eyed hussy, with a buxom figure. I would gladly
have done as much for her, if she had been wounded. But the husband
interposed, considering the location of the wound. He declared that he
was the only one of the family who ought to meddle with it. Well, they
investigated.--I had sat down on a nail, a huge carpenter's nail. How
did it happen to be there--with the point up? That is something nobody
could explain. But the important thing was to remove it. The landlord
couldn't do it. He sent for a locksmith with his pincers, and he had
such hard work pulling the infernal spike out of my rump, that, when he
did get it out, it looked more like a corkscrew than a nail!"
The bald party made no other comment on this story than a low grunt, and
continued to read his newspaper.
Cherami scrutinized him for some minutes, saying to himself: "Where in
the devil have I seen that phiz? I can't remember, but this certainly
isn't the first time that I have had the misfortune to meet this
bald-headed boor.--It seems that the story of my nail didn't affect you,
monsieur?" he said aloud to his neighbor, who was stirring his grog.
"I paid very little attention to it, monsieur. When I am reading the
paper, I am engrossed by my reading."
"And you believe everything you find in it, I suppose?"
"Why not, monsieur?"
"Ah! I should judge that you were quite capable of it!--But you don't
know how to fix your grog, monsieur."
"What! I don't know how to fix my grog?"
"No, not at all. You keep stirring and stirring; but you don't crush the
piece of lemon-peel with your spoon and squeeze out the juice."
"How does it concern you, monsieur, whether I crush my lemon-peel or
not? If it suits me to drink my grog like this, am I not at liberty to
do it?"
"Oh! to be sure! I give you good advice--you don't want it. As you
please! I'll bet that you're looking through the advertisements in the
paper to find something to make the hair grow?"
"No, monsieur. Let me tell you that if I wanted hair, I could have as
much as anybody."
"I don't doubt it, with your money; you could wear three wigs, one on
top of another; that would give you a superb head of hair!"
"But I don't like artificial things, monsieur; I detest what is false!
The truth before everything!"