him, and he had my injury attended to; the surgeon went about it so
skilfully that I shall limp all my life. Thus the theatrical career was
closed to me, for you can't play Buridan or Kean with a limp. By way of
compensation, the manager offered me the post of prompter. I accepted.
'Prompting isn't acting,' I thought. 'But as I can't act any more, I may
as well prompt! it's a theatrical post; and although the audience
doesn't see you, still you're a useful member of the cast, for you
sometimes play all the parts.'--So I became prompter to the troupe; I
was not discontented, for, after my accident, they gave a performance
for my benefit, which was quite a success. I had passed more than a
month in that position, when--I may as well confess it--my fatal passion
for practical jokes attacked me with more violence than ever. We had a
young fellow for the lovers' parts, who claimed that he had never made a
mistake in his lines. One evening, when I was in rather a merry mood,
our lover was on the stage with a princess with whom the plot required
him to run away; and when she said to him, weeping bitterly: 'What are
you going to do with me?' he looked at me and motioned to me to help
him; so I whispered: 'Oh! how you tire me!'--and the poor devil made
that reply to the princess. You can imagine the effect that produced;
the audience laughed and yelled, and shouted _encore!_ and the actress
who took the princess's part boxed her lover's ears, with a: 'Let that
teach you not to say such things to me on the stage.'
"The _jeune premier_ succeeded, not without difficulty, in justifying
himself; it was discovered that I was the only culprit, and the result
was my dismissal. I returned to Paris, where I am reduced to the
necessity of prompting in what used to be the suburbs.--That's my story,
and this is what I have come to!"
"Pardieu! my poor Dodichet," said Dubotté, "it would seem as if this
ought to have cured you, at last, of your mania for practical jokes."
"What would you have, noble Phoebus? that seems to have been my real
vocation. But here comes our fourth man. Bless my soul! he must have
arrived; for he has a most radiant expression, and there's a great
change in his dress as well as in his face."
In truth, Lucien Grischard, who had just entered the café, was no longer
the poverty-stricken youth, in a threadbare coat, with traces of grief
and privation on his pinched features. To-day, his eyes were bright, and
the expression of his face announced the contentment of his mind; his
costume, while not dandified, denoted that its owner was in comfortable
circumstances; lastly, his face wore a cordial smile, as he shook hands
with the three persons whom he joined, and who had already noted with
pleasure the happy change that had taken place in him.
"Good-morning, messieurs, good-morning!" he said, with a joyous
intonation in his voice. "I am the last to come, but you will forgive me
when you know what has detained me."
"How are you, Lucien? This much we see already, with the greatest
pleasure--that your position has changed for the better; for you seem
perfectly content; we can read that in your face."
"And why should I not be, messieurs! I am going to marry the woman I
love. In a week, Juliette will be my wife. Monsieur Mirotaine has
consented at last to call me his son-in-law. My dearest wish is
fulfilled."
"How did you succeed in gaining your end? Tell us about it."
"By hard work and perseverance; my pins were a success, and I was making
money; I invented something else, so that I made still more, and I
succeeded in extending my business. But how was I to let Monsieur
Mirotaine know that, when he had forbidden me to go to his house? That
was the difficulty; it was absolutely necessary that I should see
Juliette, in order to tell her all that I was doing; it was necessary to
have a definite understanding with her, and to give her precise details
concerning my position and prospects, so that she could say to her
father: 'You can go to this place and that place, and there you will
learn where Lucien stands.'--Luckily, Juliette has a friend, who came to
our assistance. This friend obtained permission quite often to take
Juliette out with her, sometimes to bathe, sometimes to go shopping;
but, as a matter of fact, the two ladies would meet me at the Jardin des
Plantes; there I could arrange with Juliette what she was to say to her
father about my position."
"At the Jardin des Plantes!" interposed Adhémar; "you say those ladies
used to meet you there?"
"To be sure. And one day, when I had some very good news to tell
Juliette,--I wanted to tell her that I had succeeded in a new business
undertaking,--as she was not very well, her friend, Madame Dermont, was
kind enough to come alone to our usual place of meeting. I told her that
I had succeeded, and she lost no time in going to tell Juliette the good
news; and it was then that Monsieur Mirotaine, convinced at last that we
were not imposing on him and that I really was able to earn money,
opened his house to me again, and consented to give me his daughter's
hand."
Dubotté and Dodichet congratulated Lucien. But Adhémar did not say a
word to him; for what he had just heard had produced such a revolution
in his whole being, that he was like one turned to stone, and had not
the strength to speak.
"Well!" said Dubotté, rising and taking his hat; "it is a satisfaction
to me to know that we have all arrived at the goal we had in view. Poor
Dodichet alone has steadily fallen lower and lower. Though, after all,
it's his own fault! He shouldn't have prompted a lover to say: 'Oh! how
you tire me!'--But, no matter; you know my address, Dodichet, don't you?
And when you are--cleaned out, come and dine with me; I always have a
cover laid for an old friend who is in hard luck. Excuse me for leaving
you, messieurs; but I must go and make sure that Callé can take my wife
to the theatre to-night."
Dubotté having departed, Dodichet prepared to follow his example.
"No, indeed I wont go and dine with him!" he said. "If I should ever be
too hard up, I wouldn't apply to him. There are some people whose
benefactions are too heavy a load to carry. Au revoir, messieurs! I have
eleven acts to prompt to-night, and I must go to my post--or my
hole--it's the same thing. I sometimes am tempted to take a syringe with
me and prompt with that. That would be a good joke. I think I'll wait
till they play _Porceaugnac_."
"I don't ask you to dinner, Dodichet," said Lucien, "but I shall never
forget that you tried to help me. If you ever find yourself without
employment, come to see me; I shall always be able to find you something
at which you can earn your living."
"Thanks, my boy; a little tobacco with it, and it will be all right."
"My purse is at your service, Dodichet," said Adhémar.
"I know it; I know you, my friend! But I am going to try to take care of
myself. Besides, I am very fond of snails now, and they're cheap. I
have a mind to raise them in my hole; that will give me something to do
in the entr'actes. Au revoir, my children!"
When he and Adhémar were left alone, Lucien said:
"You haven't congratulated me on my good fortune, on my approaching
marriage. You have a very unhappy look; and yet I know you too well not
to be sure that you are glad for my happiness."
"Yes, Lucien; yes, I am, indeed! But if you knew what it has cost me! So
it was you whom Madame Dermont went to the Jardin des Plantes to meet?"
"To be sure. Juliette wasn't able to come that day."
"Did Nathalie come in a cab?"
"Yes, she left the cab at the gate; I took her back to it and put her
in, after thanking her for her kindness in coming."
"Oh! my friend, if you had only told me this sooner! I should not have
suspected a woman whom I adored."
"I couldn't tell you any sooner, as you had gone to England. I couldn't
go there after you! So you are at odds with Madame Dermont again, are
you?"
"Yes. My infernal jealousy! I wrote her a letter--which was utterly
without sense! I see it now."
"Have courage! she will forgive you."
"Oh, no! it's all over; she can't forgive me again; indeed, I feel that
I don't deserve to be forgiven."
"Adieu, my dear Adhémar! excuse me for leaving you so soon. But Juliette
is waiting for me, and we have so many preparations to make for our
marriage."
"Go, my friend, go! Because I am unhappy, I have no wish to delay the
happiness of other people."
XX
THE LITTLE STREAMS
Adhémar returned home alone. What he had learned, while it proved to him
that he had wrongfully suspected Madame Dermont's loyalty, caused him
more pleasure than pain, none the less; he was grieved, he was in
despair, because he had broken his repeated promises and had had no
confidence in Nathalie's love; but he was happy, very happy, to know
that she had not deceived him, and to be able to say to himself: "She
did love me!" So that, even in his grief, there was a something that
made his heart beat joyously, and that allayed in some degree the
bitterness of his regrets.
On reaching home, Adhémar attempted to work. But it is very difficult to
write novels or plays when the heart is full, when a single thought
forces itself constantly on the mind. As he reflected on what his three
friends and himself had done during the past year, he thought:
"Proverbs are always right: little streams make great rivers; for the
little streams act with equal effect for our good or our ruin. Philémon
Dubotté had a wife who adored him, who would have liked to be always on
his arm; instead of congratulating himself because he had found a
phoenix, he was always on the lookout for opportunities to go about
without his wife; he ridiculed her affection; he left her evening after
evening alone with a young man, who was infinitely more agreeable to her
than her husband was. All these ill-advised acts were the little
streams which were certain to bring about the result which husbands
ought, by every means, to try to avoid.
"Lucien Grischard was without means; but he had the most useful, the
most reliable of all the elements of fortune: courage, perseverance,
love of work. By dint of patience and privation, he succeeded in
starting a small business, in making himself known, and in winning
esteem by his probity; little by little, he has extended his connections
and increased his business, and, insignificant as it was at first, he
has made it lucrative. All these little streams have carried him on to
his goal--to happiness. He has well earned it!
"Dodichet had everything that might make a man happy: sufficient means,
health, and high spirits. But an unfortunate mania, an incessant
inclination to make sport of others, to play practical jokes on his
friends and acquaintances, led him into a path where he began by
spending all that he possessed, and ended by living at the expense of
other people. He was so incapable of behaving decently in any sort of
position that he actually found a way to lose his place as prompter at a
provincial theatre; and now he is reduced to poverty, as the result of
all these follies piled one upon another, which some day will carry him
off to the great river. For these _blagueurs_ who are so agreeable in
society often end in that way.
"As for myself--ah, me! if I am unhappy now, I have only myself to blame
for it. After many unimportant liaisons, I met such a woman as I had
dreamed of, and I had the good fortune to be loved by her; at last I
knew that true, genuine love, which is so sweet to the heart; that love
which leaves so far behind all those mad passions of a moment in which
our youth is drowned. I was happy, ah! yes, very happy! But my infernal
jealousy gave me no rest. Having been deceived a hundred times by women
who did not know the meaning of love, I could not persuade myself that a
woman was really faithful to me. My suspicions were unjust; that was
proved to me several times, and yet it did not prevent me from
conceiving new ones. These insults, so often repeated, have lost me
Nathalie's heart. She has forgiven me many times, but I cannot hope that
she will forgive me again, after that letter, in which, in my frenzy, I
did not hesitate to tell her that her treachery was shameful, when her
only purpose was to ensure Juliette's and Lucien's happiness! And I went
off, without seeing her, without even asking her to explain her conduct!
Oh! ghastly effects of jealousy! I had promised so solemnly to mend my
ways; and, instead of that, I kept repeating my offence! Oh! I did not
deserve to be loved sincerely!"
And Adhémar, whose arm was resting on his desk, laid his burning head on
his hand; and would perhaps have remained a long while in that position,
had he not felt the touch of a little hand upon his shoulder, while a
well-known voice said to him:
"And yet, she loves you still, monsieur!"
The words echoed in the depths of the poor fellow's heart. He raised his
head: Nathalie was beside him, smiling at him and looking into his face
as lovingly as ever.
He uttered a cry, and stammered:
"Is it possible? Can it be that you forgive me again?"
"Yes, my friend, I must. Look--at that scar--the burn on your wrist----
You see that I must forgive you always!"
"Great God! I am afraid that my happiness is a dream."
"No, monsieur. Lucien came just now and told me how sad and unhappy you
were. I thought that you were punished enough, so I came. Did I do
wrong?"
"Oh! how good you are! Really I do not deserve to be loved like this!"
"Are you going to begin again?"
"Oh! this time, Nathalie, I swear----"
"Don't swear! Believe me, oaths amount to nothing. It ought not to be
necessary to promise, in order to do what is right."
* * * * *
And now, readers, do you wish to know what has become of the small
number of persons who have played a part in this simple study of
contemporary manners?
First, Dubotté has continued to be perfectly content; his wife is no
longer constantly clinging to his arm, but lets him go out alone as much
as he pleases. Sometimes, indeed, she refuses to go with him; she has
taken a great fancy to the game of bézique, and young Callé is always
ready to come and play with her.
Lucien Grischard, on becoming Juliette's husband, did not cease to love
his wife and hard work; consequently, his business is flourishing, and
his married life is one long honeymoon.
Dodichet, having conceived the droll idea of smoking in his prompter's
hole, set the stage on fire and was found roasted, as a result of his
last practical joke.
Monsieur Mirotaine, being unable at last to find anybody who cared to
come to his evening parties in winter, where hot cocoa was served to the
company, concluded to provide no other refreshment than that caused by
opening the windows; but when he is invited to breakfast or dine at a
restaurant, he never fails to empty the salt cellars and pepper boxes
into little paper bags which he carries in his pocket.
Monsieur Brid'oison still goes into ecstasies over his son's skill and
agility in gymnastics. Little Artaban never enters a salon without
making a handspring, and his papa is confident that that fashion will
soon be adopted by the fair sex.
Madame Putiphar, the dealer in second-hand clothes, still arranges
marriages, in the interest, not of the young ladies concerned, but of
the second-hand cashmere shawls which she slips among the wedding gifts.
Mademoiselle Boulotte is still trying to make mineral rouge with--no
matter what!
We all have our inclinations, our _little streams_, which bear us on,
some toward good, some toward evil. We must try to avoid the latter, and
follow those whose water is pure and whose banks are bright with
flowers: they are the ones that lead to good.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] _Ficelle_, literally, "packthread": vulgarly, a "trick," or a
"trickster."
[B] _Pochetées_--that is, mellowed in the pocket.
[C] _Mistigri_, _misti_, or _misty_: in the game of bouillotte, the
knave of clubs.
[D] _Cateau_, an abbreviation of Catherine, used among the common
people; vulgarly, a girl of slovenly habits and loose life.
[E] There is, or was, a game called _brelan_; but the term was sometimes
applied, in bouillotte, to a hand consisting of two aces and a king,
when the other king of the same color was turned.
[F] Substantially a repetition, in thieves' slang, of the clause
beginning: "when the secretary----"
[G] As there were but twelve arrondissements in Paris, this expression
was used to denote an illicit connection.
[H] _Atelier_--usually, an artist's studio; also, workroom.
[I] A particular kind of roll.
[J] The word _marron_, in the original, has a significance here that
cannot be well rendered in English. It means, variously: an interloper,
a runaway, an unlicensed broker.
[K] _Cerf_, stag (in argot, cuckold); _cerf-volant_, kite (in argot,
thief).
[L] A female supernumerary in a ballet.
[M] Street walkers.
[N] Much obliged.
[O] Literally, "lioness."
[P] _Miroton_ is a dish in which onions are freely used.
[Q] The same French word--_broche_--means "brooch" and "spit."
[R]
Long have I travelled the wide world o'er,
And you have seen me, and you have seen me.