How happiness makes the time fly! A fortnight after I became Eugénie’s
husband it seemed to both of us that we had been married only the day
before. That fortnight had passed so rapidly! It would be very difficult
for me to say how we employed the time; we had no leisure to do
anything. In the first place, we rose late, we breakfasted
_tête-à-tête_, and then we talked; often I held Eugénie on my knees;
people can understand each other better when they are close together.
We made a multitude of plans, our conversation being often interrupted
by the kisses which I stole, or which she gave me. We were much
surprised, when we glanced at the clock, to find that it was almost noon
and that we had been talking for two hours. Then we had to think about
dressing to go to see Madame Dumeillan, and sometimes to take a walk or
drive. We continued to talk while we dressed. I would ask Eugénie to
sing me a song, or to play something on the piano. If I chanced to have
a visitor, or a client who kept me in my office fifteen minutes, when I
came out I would find my wife already impatient at my long absence, and
we would talk a few minutes more to make up to ourselves for the
annoyance caused by my visitor. At last we would go out; but we always
acted like school children and chose the longest way, so that it was
almost dinner time when we reached my mother-in-law’s. We had been to
the theatre twice since we were married; we preferred that to going to
parties. At the theatre we were still alone and could talk when the play
was dull; but in society one is never free to do whatever one pleases.
We always returned home early, and we were always glad to get home. But,
I say again, the time passed like a flash.
My wife found my apartment much to her liking; she told me that it was a
pleasure to her to live where I had lived as a bachelor. She often
questioned me about that period of my life, and listened to my answers
with interest and curiosity; but I did not tell her everything; I
slurred over many episodes; for I had discovered that Eugénie was
jealous. Her brow darkened when there were women in my adventures, and
she often interrupted me, saying angrily:
“That’s enough, hush! I don’t want to know any more!”
Then I would kiss her and say:
“My dear love, I didn’t know you then.”
But, despite my caresses, her ill humor always lasted some minutes.
However, it was necessary that we should do something else than talk and
embrace. Eugénie agreed to teach me to play on the piano, and I to give
her lessons in painting. But first of all, I began her portrait. That
was an occupation which took an endless time, for we were constantly
distraught; when I looked at my model, and she fastened her lovely eyes
upon me and smiled affectionately at me, how could I always resist the
desire to kiss her? And she would pout so prettily when I failed to lay
aside my brush for a long while! At that I would rise and rush to my
model and embrace her. Such episodes led me to think that painters must
be very self-restrained, to resist the temptations they must experience
when they are painting the portrait of a young and pretty woman. A woman
whom we are painting looks at us as we wish her to look; we request a
very sweet glance and smile, and she exerts herself to make her
expression as pleasing and amiable as possible; for a woman always
desires her picture to be fascinating.
For my own part, I had never needed to resist my desires, for I had
painted none but my mistresses; but when one must needs scrutinize in
detail innumerable charms, and stand quietly by one’s easel--ah! then, I
repeat, one must be most virtuous, and that particular sort of virtue is
not the characteristic quality of painters.
Despite our frequent distractions, I worked assiduously at my wife’s
portrait; in ten sittings it was finished, and I was delighted with my
work; the likeness was striking. Eugénie herself uttered a cry of
surprise when she saw herself; but she feared that I had flattered her.
No; I had not painted her, to be sure, as she was in company, when she
looked at everybody indifferently, but as she was when she looked at me
while I was painting her, with eyes overflowing with love. It seemed to
me that I had done wisely to select that expression; for it was for
myself and not for others that I had painted her portrait.
Next, I must needs paint my own; Eugénie insisted upon it. That was a
much less amusing task, and I feared that it would be a long one. I had
already given myself several sittings, and it seemed to me that it did
not progress satisfactorily. Eugénie was not satisfied; she said:
“You have given yourself a sulky, sober look; that isn’t the way you
look at me.”
“My dear love, it is because it is a bore to me to look at myself.”
“Oh! wait a moment, I have an idea. I will sit beside you; then, when
you look in the glass, you will see me too, and I trust, monsieur, that
you will not make faces at me.”
Eugénie’s idea impressed me as a charming one. Thanks to her invention,
I was no longer bored when I sat for myself; for she was always there
beside me, and when I looked in the mirror she was the first thing I
saw; my portrait gained enormously thereby; I was able to paint myself
as she wished, and she was as well pleased as I had been with hers.
I had her portrait set in a locket which I always wore; she had mine set
in a bracelet which she always had on her arm. We were not content to
have each other in reality, we must needs have each other’s image as
well; if we could have possessed each other in any other way, we would
have done it. But is it a mistake to love too dearly? Her mother and
mine both declared that we were unreasonable, that we were worse than
lovers; but Eugénie and I were determined never to change; we liked
each other well enough as we were.
My wife insisted that I should begin to learn the piano; and I showed
her how to use a brush. Those lessons were most delicious to us; and
they occupied a large part of the day. I realized however that piano
playing and painting would not make me eminent at the bar. Since my
marriage I had neglected the Palais, and paid almost no attention to
business; but when I would propose to study, to shut myself up in my
office, Eugénie would detain me, saying:
“What is the use of worrying yourself, of tiring your brain over your
Code and your Pandects? Are we not rich enough? Are we not happy? What
is the need of your trying cases, of your tormenting yourself for other
people? Stay with me, give me a lesson in painting, and don’t go to the
Palais.”
I could not resist my wife. My mother scolded me sometimes for what she
called my laziness. Love is not laziness, but a happy love makes us
unfit for anything except making love.
Three months passed almost as rapidly as the first fortnight of our
married life. But I had learned to play _On Dit qu’à Quinze Ans_ on the
piano, and Eugénie was making rapid progress in painting. A new subject
of rejoicing added to our happiness: my wife was enceinte. We leaped for
joy, we danced about the room, thinking that we were to have a child. We
talked of nothing else, we made no plans for the future in which our son
or daughter had not a share. Good Madame Dumeillan shared our delight;
my mother complimented me, but without enthusiasm, and as if it were a
very trifling matter; whereas it seemed to me that it ought to mark an
epoch in the world’s history.
We went into society very rarely, and we had been to but two balls since
our wedding. But one morning we received cards and an invitation to the
wedding party of Monsieur Ferdinand de Bélan and Mademoiselle Armide de
Beausire. Eugénie was not far enough advanced to fear that dancing would
injure her; moreover, she promised to dance only a little; so we
determined to go to Bélan’s wedding, where I had an idea that we should
find something to laugh at. My wife agreed with me. Bélan had been to
see us twice since we were married, and Eugénie considered that he made
himself rather ridiculous by his chatter and his affectations. As for
the Beausire family, the little that I had seen of them seemed to me
rather amusing.
The invitation included, upon a separate sheet, an intimation that we
were expected to attend the breakfast also.
That was a pleasure of which we determined to deprive ourselves. We
mistrusted wedding breakfasts, which are about as amusing as an amateur
concert or a parlor reading; we had made up our minds to go to the ball
only, when Bélan appeared in our apartment.
The little dandy bowed to the floor before my wife, which was not a
difficult feat for him; then he shook hands with me and said with an air
of triumph:
“Did you receive our invitations?”
“Yes, my dear fellow. First, let us congratulate you.”
“I accept your congratulations with pleasure. I certainly have reason to
be flattered by the preference accorded me. I had seventeen rivals,
three of whom were millionaires who owned iron foundries, factories or
coal mines; and two marquises, one of them with six decorations; but I
beat them all; and like Cæsar, _veni, vidi, vici_. We may rely upon you,
may we not?”
“Oh yes, we shall be at your ball.”
“And at the breakfast?”
“As to the breakfast, we cannot promise.”
“Oh! I beg your pardon, but I insist upon a promise. It would be horrid
of you to fail us. We have invited only a small number of people for the
morning, but most select. Two of my wife’s uncles, three cousins, and
five aunts, all of whom are women of my mother-in-law’s type. Great
heaven! my mother-in-law has done nothing but weep since our wedding day
was fixed; she drenches at least four handkerchiefs a day, and she
doesn’t let her daughter out of her sight. That embarrasses me a little
in my effusions of sentiment, but my time will come. However, you must
attend all the festivities. I address my entreaties to you, madame;
Henri will not refuse you.”
Eugénie had not the heart to refuse; she glanced at me and we promised.
Bélan thanked my wife and kissed her hand, then he asked me for two
minutes in my office.
“Have you any lawsuit on hand?” I asked him when we were alone.
“No, but I want to consult you. Having just married a woman whom you
adored, you will be able to tell me----”
“Tell you what?”
“I don’t know just how to put it. You know that I have been, like you, a
lady’s man, never embarrassed in a _tête-à-tête___. I was like a flash
of powder.”
“Well?”
“Well, it is very strange, but with Mademoiselle de Beausire, although I
adore her, the effect is entirely different. It seems to me that I dare
not squeeze the end of her finger. In short, I do not feel the slightest
inclination to be enterprising. I confess that that worries me and
makes me anxious; I don’t sleep at night; and the nearer my wedding day
approaches, the more apprehensive I feel.”
“Ha! ha! Poor Bélan! nonsense! don’t be afraid! Real love, love that is
too ardent, sometimes produces the effect which you complain of; but it
does not last. And besides, what have you to fear with your wife? You
are sure that she won’t escape you. She isn’t like a mistress, who often
refuses to give you a second assignation when she is not pleased with
the first. With one’s wife, what doesn’t happen the first night, will
happen the second.”
“True; it might not happen till the eighth even. You make me feel a
little easier in my mind. You see, Mademoiselle de Beausire--such a
well-bred young woman as she is--isn’t like a grisette. Oh! with a
grisette, it goes all alone.--And then the mother-in-law is always
there!”
“I imagine that she won’t be there on your wedding night.”
“Faith! I wouldn’t swear to it. She does nothing but talk about not
being parted from her daughter, and says that she can’t sleep away from
her. I believe that she means to sleep in a closet adjoining our
bedroom.”
“That will be very amusing for you!”
“It is that sort of thing that keeps going through my head and takes
away my natural ardor. But no matter, between now and my wedding I will
have everything I eat flavored with vanilla; I will even have some put
in my soup. Adieu, my dear Blémont. We rely upon you. Your wedding was
very fine, but just wait till you see mine. That’s all I have to say.”
Bélan went away. So we were simply compelled to attend the breakfast; we
had promised. However, perhaps it would be more amusing than we
thought. Indeed, there are parties which are so tiresome that they are
actually comical. The only remedy was to make the best of things; they
say that there is a good side to everything.
Eugénie gave her attention to her dresses; for she must have two for
that day. I urged her not to lace herself too tightly; you can guess
why. A woman should think about being a mother rather than try to make
herself slender; but that is what she often forgets.
Bélan’s great day arrived. A carriage came for us, the coachman, and the
groom behind, both dressed in apricot livery. I was compelled to admit
that that feature already excelled my wedding, and I expected to see
some magnificent things. We were to meet at Madame de Beausire’s, where
I had never been. It was an old house, on Rue de la Roquette. We passed
an old concierge; we ascended an old staircase, upon which rose leaves
had been scattered profusely. I was sure that that was an idea of Bélan,
and I did not consider it a very happy one, for it nearly caused my wife
to fall; but I caught her in time, and she said with a smile:
“We were married without rose leaves, my dear.”
“Yes, my dear love; it was less romantic, but there was no slipping.”
We entered an apartment of extraordinary height, on the first floor. It
was so high that I could hardly distinguish the mouldings of the
ceiling. We were announced by an old servant, who seemed to have been
weeping; perhaps that was a custom of the house. We were ushered into an
immense salon, where Bélan, who was doing the honors, produced the
impression of a dwarf amid a lot of Patagonians. We discovered a row of
old faces, a sort of continuation of the tapestry of which Madame de
Beausire had given me a specimen. The men were solemn, sententious and
pretentious; the women stiff, affected and painted. There were a few
people of our own set, but only a few. I concluded that Bélan had not
obtained permission to invite many of his acquaintances. The poor fellow
did not seem at his ease amid the Beausire family; he was afraid to be
jovial, he dreaded to be dismal; he hovered about his new kindred, who
did not talk for fear of compromising their dignity.
The groom was delighted when we arrived; he felt more at ease with us.
“You will see my wife presently,” he said to us; “just now she is with
her mother, who is finishing her toilet, weeping.”
“What! is your mother-in-law weeping still?”
“Yes, my friend, that woman is a regular fountain.”
“But what is she weeping for?”
“Grief at separating from her daughter. And yet she does not propose to
separate from her, for she declares that she will sleep in the same room
with us.”
“In the same room? Ha! ha! that is rather strong.”
“I swear to you that that is what she says. Indeed, I believe that she
hoped that I would not sleep with my wife; but on my word, despite all
my respect for Madame de Beausire, I refused to give in on that point,
and I think that Armide was glad of it. But here come the ladies.”
The bride entered, escorted on one side by an old aunt with a nose like
a snail’s shell, and on the other by her mother, who, with her tall,
spare figure, her red eyes, and her leaden complexion, really looked
like a ghost.
From the sighs heaved by those ladies, one would have thought that they
were leading a second Iphigenia to the sacrifice. The relations came
forward and delivered congratulations of the same style as their
costumes. In the midst of it all, the bridegroom was the person to whom
the least attention was paid. When he addressed his wife, she made no
answer; when he turned to his mother-in-law, she took out her
handkerchief and turned her back on him; and if he accosted any of the
relations, they pretended to pay no attention to him.
We started for the church, each man escorting a lady; I gave my arm to
my wife; for I did not see why I should deprive myself of that pleasure
in favor of those creatures. We went downstairs, in the conventional
order, Bélan at the head, escorting his mother-in-law. The rose leaves
produced a wonderful impression.
“This is lovely!” said an old aunt; “it’s like a procession!”
“It’s an idea of mine!” cried Bélan; “I thought of it last night, while
thinking of my wedding; and I am delighted that----”
Bélan had reached this point in his speech, when a tall cousin, who was
escorting the bride, slipped down two steps and fell, dragging the fair
Armide after him.
Shrieks arose on all sides. Thank heaven, Armide had fallen decently,
and had made no exposé for the benefit of the company, which would have
been most unpleasant for the husband, who hoped to be the first to
behold her charms; and which would probably have made the mother-in-law
sob anew.
The bride was quickly assisted to her feet, and the tall cousin rose
unassisted, uttering a most vulgar oath and exclaiming:
“The devil take the rose leaves! A man must be an infernal fool to
scatter them on a staircase! I have hurt my scrotum.”
Bélan was speechless with confusion at the accident due to his idea.
“Monsieur de Bélan, you must have all this swept away,” said the
mother-in-law; and the bridegroom replied with a low bow:
“Yes, Madame de Beausire, I will look after it.”
Our betrothed were united in a small church in the Marais. Nothing
extraordinary took place during the ceremony, except that the
mother-in-law used two handkerchiefs, and that Bélan made horrible faces
in his attempts to weep with her, but without success.
I had hoped that the breakfast would be at a restaurant; but we were
bidden to return to the mother-in-law’s. That certainly required
courage. Eugénie and I looked at each other, vowing, albeit a little
late, that we would never be caught in such a scrape again.
The bridegroom went ahead, doubtless to have his rose leaves swept away.
I was sure that he would do the sweeping himself rather than expose
himself to his mother-in-law’s wrath.
A long table was laid in the dining-room. We took our seats; I was
between the old aunt with a nose like a snail’s shell and the tall
cousin who had fallen so hard on the stairway; my wife was a mile away
from me, between two old uncles with lace cuffs and curly wigs. How we
were likely to enjoy ourselves!
I expected to see Giraud and his wife at the breakfast, for Giraud had
been declaring everywhere that it was he who had arranged Bélan’s
marriage. But evidently the mother-in-law had not deemed them worthy of
that honor, and we should not see them until evening.
The bride kept her eyes on the floor and did not eat. The mother-in-law
looked at her daughter, wiped her eyes, and seemed not to realize that
there was anybody there. We sat at the table two minutes without
touching anything, no one having been requested to serve. Bélan,
uncertain whether he was expected to do the honors, glanced at his wife
and his mother-in-law in turn, and faltered:
“Who is to serve? Does Madame de Beausire desire me to serve?”
But Madame de Beausire replied only by blowing her nose and sighing.
I looked at my wife; I had such a mad desire to laugh that I dropped my
knife and fork on the floor, so that I might indulge it a little while
fumbling under the table. I chose to be considered awkward rather than
discourteous.
At last an old uncle, who had not come to the wedding simply to look at
the dishes, although that would have been more dignified than to eat
them, drew an enormous pie toward him and gave the signal for the
attack. We decided to breakfast, notwithstanding Madame de Beausire’s
sighs; but we did it with a decorum and gravity which were interrupted
only by the noise of the plates and the forks.
When the first edge of the appetite was dulled, some of the uncles and
cousins were pleased to indulge in various significant phrases, dwelling
upon every word they uttered, as if they considered that necessary in
order that we should understand them. Bélan put in a word here and
there, but it was not noticed. I discovered that he was trying to lead
the conversation around to the subject of poetry. I felt certain that he
had written some, or had had some written, and that he did not know how
to set to work to recite it. Whenever he reached the subject, an uncle
or an aunt would cut him short by speaking of something else. I felt
sorry for him and said:
“My dear Bélan, has anyone written any poetry for your wedding?”
“Yes, just so; I myself have dashed off something in honor of this day,
and with your permission, I will----”
“What! do you mean to say that you are going to sing, Monsieur de
Bélan?” cried Madame de Beausire, with an almost threatening glance at
her son-in-law. “For shame, monsieur! what sort of people have you lived
with, where it was customary to sing at the table?”
“I never had any idea of singing, mother-in-law; nor have I any desire
to. I meant simply to recite some verses,--verses which do not in the
least degree resemble a song.”
“Verses at a wedding! You should leave that to the Almanach des Muses,”
said the tall cousin, who sat beside me, and who still bore the groom a
grudge on account of his fall on the stairs. At the same instant Madame
de Beausire shrieked aloud:
“You are pale, Armide! Don’t you feel well, my child?”
I had not noticed that the bride had changed color; but as her mother
told her that she had, Armide probably thought it best not to feel well.
She passed her hand over her eyes and said in a faltering tone:
“No, I feel----”
Her mother did not allow her to finish. She sprang to her feet, crying:
“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Armide is dying! We must carry her to her bed.”
Instantly there was a general uprising. The aunt who was at my side
thrust her elbow in my face in her attempt to rise quickly in order to
go to the assistance of her niece, who thereupon concluded that she had
best be ill altogether. While they were taking Armide to her room, and
Bélan was running hither and thither like a madman, I went to my wife,
took her hand and led her to the door, saying:
“This is quite enough for one morning.”
Bélan overtook us on the stairs, and called out to us:
“What! going already? Why, my wife will come to herself in a minute; I
am not worried about her health; my mother-in-law is forever telling her
that she is going to die, when she has no idea of doing anything of the
kind.”
“We have an engagement.”
“Until this evening, then.”
“The ball is not to be at your mother-in-law’s, is it?”
“No, at Lointier’s. It will be magnificent.”
“We will be there.”
How glad we were to be alone again! We had plenty to laugh about, as we
passed in review the original creatures whom we had met; and although my
wife is not malicious, she was fully alive to the absurdities of the
company.
We had promised to attend the ball, so we had no choice but to go;
moreover, it was impossible that it should be so dreary a function as
the breakfast; and then it was to take place in the same salons in which
we had given ours, and we were not sorry to see them once more.
We went late, because we hoped to find the dancing well under way; but
we were surprised to find the salons almost empty, and only two
quadrilles in progress, so that everybody had plenty of room to dance.
And yet it was after eleven o’clock.
Bélan came to meet us. His face was a yard long, and he said to me:
“It is most annoying: my mother-in-law would not allow me to invite more
than thirty people; for she said that, with her family and
acquaintances, that would be quite enough; and you see how much empty
space there is. I am aware that the party is very select, but a few more
people would do no harm.”
“One result, my dear Bélan, is that it is much more comfortable to
dance.”
“Yes, that is so; the dancers will gain by it.”
“And madame is no longer ill?”
“No, that didn’t last. But now it is my mother-in-law’s turn to have
fits of suffocation. Just look at her eyes; she’s a regular rabbit; she
makes me sick. She is crying now because my wife dances every
contradance; she declares that her daughter will be killed. Great
heaven, what an emotional creature she is!”
“But I don’t see the Giraud family here, and that surprises me, for of
course you invited them?”
“Mon Dieu! my dear Blémont, don’t speak of it. I was distressed to
death, but my mother-in-law declared that the Girauds had manners which
would be entirely out of place with her family, and she would not allow
me to invite them.”
“But Madame de Beausire used to go to their house, if I remember
aright?”
“Yes, but since the little Giraud girl stuck her tongue out at her, she
has sworn that she will never put her foot inside their door.”
“I thought that Giraud was instrumental in arranging your marriage?”
“True, he did start the business.”
“And you haven’t invited him? He will never forgive you as long as he
lives.”
“What could I do? My mother-in-law--But excuse me, I believe that she is
motioning to me.”
We left Bélan, and I danced with my Eugénie. We were happy to dance
together, to be again in those rooms which had been the scene of our
own wedding. Our eyes expressed love and contentment. Surely we looked
more as if we were at a wedding than anybody else there.
To dance is the best thing that one can do at a ball where one knows
nobody. All those Beausires, who stalked solemnly about the quadrilles,
and the old aunts who sat against the wall, seemed almost displeased to
see other people apparently enjoying themselves. I felt sure that they
considered us very ill-bred.
Eugénie proposed to me that we should go before the supper; but I
preferred to remain, because I expected that there would be some amusing
scenes at the close of the festivity. The supper was not served as mine
was; the ladies alone were seated, and the men had to stand behind them.
Madame de Beausire insisted upon having it so, because it was much less
jolly than sitting at small tables.
The feast lasted a very short time. Madame de Beausire gave the signal
by rising, and the other ladies had no choice but to follow her example.
I heard one old aunt mutter as she rose: “This is ridiculous; I didn’t
have time to finish my chicken wing.”
As the fatal moment drew near, Madame de Beausire’s eyes became more and
more full of tears. At last, when the dancing drew to a close, Bélan
approached his Armide and suggested that they should go; whereupon
Madame de Beausire rushed between them, sobbing, and threw her arms
about her daughter.
“You shall not separate us, monsieur!” she cried.
Bélan stood as if turned to stone before his mother-in-law. The kinsfolk
surrounded them, and I heard the uncles and cousins say to one another:
“That little fellow is behaving in the most indecent way. It makes me
ill to have him come into our family.”
The aunts and the old maids had led Madame de Beausire away, and she
left the restaurant with her daughter, while Bélan remained. He saw us
and came to bid us good-night, faltering:
“I have let my wife and her mother go before, because, you know, they
have to put the bride to bed; and of course I cannot be there.”
“My dear Bélan, I am afraid that Madame de Beausire will make another
scene to-night.”
“Oh, no! At all events, if she does, I will show my spirit.”
We drove away, and as we returned home, Eugénie and I agreed that a man
is always very foolish to enter a family which thinks that it does him
much honor by allying itself with him. If chance has willed that he
should be born in a lower class, he should, by his intellect or his
character, show himself superior to those who try to humiliate him.
X