I hardly fancy it would be possible to find in the whole of Paris, a
more lively and peculiar house than that of the sculptor Simaise. Life
there is one continual round of festivities. At whatever hour you drop
in upon them, a sound of singing and laughter, or the jingle of a piano,
guitar, or tamtam greets you. You can never enter the studio without
finding a waltz going on, or a set of quadrilles, or a game of
battledore and shuttlecock, or else it is cumbered with all the litter
and preparations for a ball; shreds of tulle and ribbons lying scattered
among the sculptor's chisels; artificial flowers hanging over the busts,
and spangled skirts spreading over groups of moist clay.
[Illustration: p134-145]
The fact is that four big t daughters of sixteen to twenty-five years
of age, all very pretty indeed, take up a great deal of room; and when
these young ladies whirl round with their hair streaming down their
backs, with floating ribbons, long pins, and showy ornaments, it really
seems as if instead of four there were eight, sixteen, thirty-two Misses
Simaise, as dashing the one as the other, talking and laughing loudly,
with the hoydenish manner peculiar to artists' daughters, with the
studio jests, the familiarity of students, and knowing also better than
anyone how to dismiss a creditor or blow up a tradesman impertinent
enough to present his bill at an inopportune moment.
[Illustration: p135-146]
These young damsels are the real mistresses of the house. From early
dawn the father works, chisels, models unceasingly, for he has no
settled income. At first he was ambitious and strove to do good work;
some early successful exhibitions promised him future fame; but the
necessity of providing for the support of his family, the clothing,
feeding and future establishment of his children, threw him back
into the ordinary work of the trade. As for Madame Simaise, she never
attended to anything.
Very handsome when she married, very much admired in the artistic world
into which her husband introduced her, at first satisfied with being
only a pretty woman, later on she resigned herself to the part of a
woman who had been pretty. A créole by birth, at least such was her
pretension--although it was asserted that her parents had never left
Courbevoie,--she spent the days from morning to night in a hammock swung
up in turn in all the different rooms of the house, fanning herself and
taking siestas, full of contempt for the material details of everyday
life. She had so often sat to her husband as model for Hebes and Dianas,
that she fancied her only duty was to pass through life carrying some
emblem of a goddess, such as a crescent on her head or a goblet in her
hand. Indeed the disorder of the establishment was a sight in itself.
The least thing necessitated a full hour's search.
"Have you seen my thimble? Marthe, Eva, Geneviève, Madeleine, who has
seen my thimble?"
The drawers, in which books, powder, rouge, spangles, spoons and fans
are tossed at haphazard, though crammed full, contain absolutely nothing
useful; moreover they belong to strange pieces of furniture, curious,
battered and incomplete. And how peculiar is the house itself! As they
are constantly changing their residence, they never have time to settle
anywhere, and this merry household seems to be perpetually awaiting the
setting to rights indispensable after a ball. Only so many things are
lacking, that it is not worth while settling, and as long as they can
put on a bit of finery, display themselves out of doors with something
of a meteor flash, a semblance of style and appearance of luxury, honour
is saved! Encampment does not in any way distress this migratory tribe.
Through the half-opened doors, their poverty is betrayed by the four
bare walls of an unfurnished chamber, or the litter of an overcrowded
room. It is bohemianism in the domestic circle, a life full of
improvidence and surprises.
At the very moment when they sit down to table, they suddenly perceive
that everything is wanting, and that the breakfast must be sent out for
at once. In this manner hours are spent rapidly, bustling and idling,
and herein lies a certain advantage. After a late breakfast, one does
not need to dine, but can sup at the ball, which fills up nearly every
evening. These ladies also give evening parties. Tea is drunk out of
all kinds of queer receptacles, goblets, old tankards, ancient glasses,
Japanese shells, the whole chipped and cracked by the constant moves.
[Illustration: p138-149]
The serene calm of both mother and daughters in the midst of this
poverty is truly admirable. They have indeed other ideas running through
the brain than mere housekeeping details. One has plaited her hair
like a Swiss girl, another is curled like any English baby, and Madame
Simaise, from the top of her hammock, lives in the beatitude of her
former beauty. As for father Simaise, he is always delighted. As long
as he hears the merry laugh of his daughters around him, he is ready
cheerfully to assume all the weight of this disorderly existence. To him
are addressed in a coaxing manner such requests as: "Papa, I want a
bonnet. Papa, I must have a dress." Sometimes the winter is severe. They
are in such request, receive so many invitations. Pooh! the father has
but to get up a couple of hours earlier. They will have a fire only in
the studio, where all the family will gather. The girls will cut out and
make their own dresses, while the hammock ropes swing slowly to and fro,
and the father works on, perched upon his high stool.
[Illustration: p139-150]
Have you ever met these ladies in society? The moment they appear there
is a commotion. It is long since the first two came out, but they are
always so well adorned and so smart, that they are in great request as
partners. They have as much success as the younger sisters, almost as
much as the mother in former days; moreover they carry off their tawdry
jewelry and finery so well, and have such charming easy manners, with
the giddy laugh of spoilt children, and such a Spanish way of flirting
with a fan. Nevertheless they do not get married. No admirer has ever
been able to get over the sight of that singular home. The wasteful and
useless extravagance, the want of plates, the profusion of old tapestry
in holes, of antique and ungilt lustres, the draughty doors, the
constant visits of creditors, the slatternly appearance of the young
ladies in slipshod slippers and dressing gowns, put to flight the best
intentioned. In truth, it is not everyone who could resign himself to
hang up the hammock of an idle woman in his home for the rest of his
life.
I am very much afraid that the Misses Simaise will never marry. They
had, however, a golden and unique opportunity during the Commune. The
family had taken refuge in Normandy, in a small and very litigious town,
full of lawyers, attorneys, and business men. No sooner had the father
arrived, than he looked out for orders. His fame as a sculptor was of
service to him, and as in the public square of the town there happened
to be a statue of Cujas done by him, all the notabilities of the place
wanted to have their busts done.
[Illustration: p141-152]
The mother at once fastened up the hammock in a corner of the studio,
and the young ladies organized a few parties. They at once met with
great success. Here at least, poverty seemed but an accident due to
exile; the disorder of the establishment was accounted for. The handsome
girls laughed loudly themselves at their destitution.
[Illustration: p142-153]
They had started off without anything; and nothing could be had now
Paris was closed. It lent to them an extra charm. It called to mind
travelling gipsies, combing their beautiful hair in barns, and quenching
their thirst in streams. The least poetical compared them in their minds
to the exiles of Coblentz, those ladies of Marie-Antoinette's court who,
obliged to fly in haste, without powder or hoops, or bedchamber women,
were driven to all sorts of makeshifts, learning to wait upon themselves,
and keeping up the frivolity of the French court, the piquant smile of
the lost patches.
[Illustration: p143-154]
Every evening a throng of dazzled lawyers crowded Simaise's studio. To
the sounds of a hired piano, all this little world danced the polka,
waltzed, schottisched,--they still schottische in Normandy. "I shall
end by marrying off one," thought old Simaise; and the fact is if one
had gone off, all the others would have followed suit. Unluckily the
first never went off, but it was a near touch. Amongst the numerous
partners of these young ladies, in that corps de ballet of lawyers,
attorneys and solicitors, the most rabid dancer was a widowed lawyer,
who was extremely attentive to the eldest daughter. He was called by
them "the first dancing attorney," in memory of Moliere's ballets, and
certainly, considering the rate at which the fellow whirled round, Papa
Simaise might well build the greatest hopes on him. But then business
men do not dance like everybody else. This fellow, all the time he was
waltzing, reflected silently: "The Simaise family is charming. Tra, la
la, la la la, but it's useless their trying to hurry me on, la la la, la
la la. I shall not propose till the gates of Paris are reopened. Tra la
la, and I shall be able to make all necessary inquiries, la la la!" Thus
thought the first dancing attorney, and in fact, directly the blockade
of Paris was raised, he got his information about the family, and the
marriage did not come off.
Since then, the poor little creatures have missed many other chances.
However, this has in no way spoilt the happiness of the singular
household. On the contrary, the more they live, the merrier they are.
Last winter they changed quarters three times, were sold up once, and
notwithstanding all this, gave two large fancy balls!
[Illustration: p145-156]
[Illustration: p146-157]
[Illustration: p149-160]