"Gut, gut, sehr gut; tudge lidely, holt te pow firm; lidely on te
shtrings!"
I turned and saw a hideous face looking first at the performer, then at
the company, making grimaces for tokens of approval, and rolling about a
pair of eyes that reminded me of Brunet's in the _Désespoir de
Jocrisse_. The owner of that extraordinary countenance was a tall man in
a threadbare green coat, of vulgar aspect, and with pretentious airs
which made him even more ridiculous.
"Who is that individual?" I asked one of my neighbors.
"That's the husband of the lady playing the 'cello."
"What! such a disgusting face approach that charming head! What an
outrage! It reminds me of a Satyr beside a Hebe."
"Still, the lady seems to be fond of her husband."
"It's easy to see that she's a foreigner. What does this husband of hers
do?"
"Nothing; he's a baron."
"A baron! I should never have suspected it; he looks more like a
cobbler. But in Germany everybody's a baron, just as in Russia all the
soldiers have decorations; it doesn't mean anything."
Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche, who, as he rolled his eyes about, had
doubtless observed that I was looking at him, came to me as soon as his
wife had finished, and began to converse with a smiling face. I have
observed that the Germans smile a great deal when they are talking. I
regretted that it was not courteous to laugh in a person's face, for
Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche was very amusing to look at,
especially when he wished to make himself agreeable. I wondered what he
wanted of me.
"I'll pet tat monsir is ein egsberd on te 'cello. Monsir is ein much gut
blayer himself, hein?"
"I, monsieur? you are mistaken; I do not play at all."
"Oh! you vish not to admit it; I can tivine all at once te innermost
toughts of bersons py tare faces."
"The deuce! you are very fortunate, Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche!"
"I haf shtudy te human heard; I am most egsberd in physsionomique."
"What do you say, monsieur le baron?"
"I say I am ein egsberd in physsionomique."
"I don't understand at all."
"In physsionomique."
"Oh! you mean physiognomy."
Monsieur le baron turned on his heel, without a smile. The best way to
rid one's self of a foreigner is to pretend not to understand him.
Meanwhile my little dialogue with Monsieur de Witcheritche had caused me
to miss Monsieur Crachini's romanza. I was sorry, for he always combined
with his singing an expressive pantomime which made it doubly
interesting. While various other amateurs entertained the company, I
looked about for Raymond; for being unable to find a seat beside Madame
de Marsan, I was anxious to obtain some information concerning her, and
my neighbor was the very man to give me that.
He was not in the salon. I went into the smaller room, where my entrance
brought to an abrupt close a whispered conversation between Vauvert and
a fair-haired lady who had been in the dining room an hour, looking for
her shawl amid a multitude of bonnets, mantles, and shawls which were
tossed pell-mell on the bed of the host and hostess.
"Are you leaving us already?" said Vauvert, in a melting voice, glancing
behind him to see if his wife was coming.
"Yes, it's very late; I must go home."
"My nephew will escort you.--Friquet! Friquet!"
Friquet appeared, and swore between his teeth at having to escort the
blonde lady; he spent an interminable time looking for his hat and
exclaiming in the lady's ears that it was a nuisance to go out so late
and go home with everybody. His uncle pulled his ears, and I joined
Raymond, who was exhaling his vexation at the dressing room window.
"Aren't you going to sing, neighbor?"
"Is it possible to do anything here, I should like to know? Did you ever
see such confusion? such disorder? I don't know where I am! I've told
Vauvert a hundred times to draw up a programme and paste it on a mirror;
then everything would go off in an orderly way. But, no; he won't listen
to anything! he amuses himself pinching and squeezing such little girls
as he can find in the corners, instead of attending to his concert."
"It is certainly true that it might be managed better."
"The idea of giving us a concerto for the 'cello that there's no end to;
just to grate on our ears! And then, I don't care what you may say, a
woman who plays the 'cello is always absurd! It reminds me of a man
darning stockings; and madame la baronne would do much better to stay at
home and darn hers than execute _staccatos_ and _arpeggios_."
"What do you say? a baroness darn stockings?"
"Oh! nonsense! a pretty baron he makes! I saw him the other day on
Boulevard du Temple, buying apples at a sou a bag; and he was haggling
too! He bought sausage by the yard for his dinner; and someone who's
been at his house told me that they gave him gooseberries for
refreshment! But this Vauvert's a star! he tries to make us believe that
he entertains princes, ambassadors perhaps! whereas his house is a
veritable Noah's Ark."
"By the way, you seem to know Madame de Marsan?"
"Madame de Marsan? yes, to be sure; I go to her parties. She's a fine
woman, rather a flirt, as you must have seen; but she has wit and good
breeding and style; she's a woman who calls herself twenty-eight, and is
really thirty-two. She is known to have had several passions; but as
she doesn't advertise them and is always regardful of decorum, there's
nothing to say: morals before everything. The husband is a good sort of
fellow, very sharp, they say, when his own interests are concerned. He's
in business; but he's not one of those poor devils who run about for a
fortnight to discount a note which will be worth a commission of seven
or eight francs to them; or one of those who offer you with an air of
mystery houses that are advertised in the _Petits-Affiches_. This fellow
knows what he's about, and makes a lot of money. He has a fine country
house, beyond Saint-Denis, in which madame has had a pretty little
theatre arranged; in fact, I am to act there very soon. She's a valuable
acquaintance; for there's lots of fun at her house. I myself have been
there twice, and I know that they think a great deal of me. If you
choose, my dear fellow, I'll take you there; if introduced by me, you
will be warmly welcomed."
"Thanks; but, as you know, I don't like to be presented in that way."
Raymond left me, to return to the piano; he had not lost all hope of
getting himself heard. I knew all that I wanted to know concerning
Madame de Marsan. I returned to the salon. I had reason to believe that
the lady was questioning my neighbor about me, and I knew that I need
not be afraid of losing her good opinion through Raymond's description
of me, for he was one of those men who like to pretend that they have
none but the most desirable acquaintances. I was in comfortable
circumstances, and he had probably represented me as very wealthy; I was
born of respectable parents, and he had probably placed me in one of
the oldest families in France; and so on. To be sure, Madame de Marsan
might have been told that I was fickle, inconstant, treacherous; but
those failings never do a man any harm with the ladies.
A selection had just been performed on the harp; the performer had made
but one mistake, had had to tune her instrument but twice, and had
broken but four strings; we had no cause of complaint. Raymond had left
Madame de Marsan, to find an accompanist, and threatened, if he failed
in his quest, to accompany himself; by dint of hunting, urging, and
entreating, he succeeded in bringing young Martin to the piano; he began
to cough and expectorate, changed the position of the candles, ordered
the windows to be closed, and struck an attitude supposed to represent
Joconde. But a murmur arose on all sides; the young women ran to
Monsieur Vauvert, the young men surrounded his wife; they had been
promised a contradance; it was almost twelve o'clock, and if it was
postponed any longer there would be no dancing. The hosts acceded to the
prayers of their younger guests.
"We are going to dance!" shouted Vauvert, as the court bailiff cries:
"Silence, please!"
Instantly everything was in a ferment in the salon; the young men
hastened to engage partners, the chairs were moved away to make room,
and the guests who did not dance were requested to retire to the
corners.
Raymond stood at the piano with his mouth open; he thought that he must
be mistaken; he could not believe his eyes; I believe that he was
actually going to begin his aria; but instead of the prelude from
_Joconde_, young Martin struck up a figure of Pantalon. My neighbor
could not digest this final blow; he seized his music in a hand which
shook with wrath, and, thrusting it under his arm, rushed across the
salon like a madman, colliding with the dancers, and receiving kicks
from the young men who were in the act of balancing to partners; I am
convinced, however, that he did not feel them.
"Monsieur Raymond is going away in a rage," observed a lady to Madame
Vauvert, with a laugh; a lady whose hair was dressed _à la_ Ninon, but
had lost its curl and was floating in the air in long wisps, although
she had taken the precaution not to remove her curl papers until she was
on the staircase.
"Bah! I don't care for that," replied Madame Vauvert; "he bores us to
death with his songs, and with the poetry he insists on reading to us;
it's always the same thing!"
At that moment, Raymond, whom I supposed to have left the house,
appeared at the door of the salon and called out angrily:
"My hat, Madame Vauvert, I want my hat, where is it? It's a lamentable
fact that one can never find one's things in your house."
"Pardi! your hat isn't lost.--Mon Dieu! I don't see my cat! I put her on
a chair by the fireplace. Why did anyone move her--poor Moumoute? The
door of the landing is often open; she's gone out, and she'll be
stolen!--Moumoute! Moumoute!"
The dancing continued, no heed being paid to Madame Vauvert's
lamentations and Raymond's demands; the dancers were determined to
compensate themselves, by a moment's enjoyment, for several hours of
ennui; and those who were afraid that their turn might not come took the
precaution to move back the hands of the clock while Vauvert's back was
turned and his wife was looking for her cat.
I invited Madame de Marsan, and after much ceremony she consented to
dance with me.
"What an extraordinary house!" she said to me.
"I find it delightful, since I have met you here."
"But as it is probable that you will not meet me here again, and as I
desire to see you again, I trust, monsieur, that you will do me the
honor of coming to listen to a little music at my house."
I accepted, as may be imagined; and after the dance was over, I prowled
about the husband, with whom I entered into conversation. I talked of
speculation, houses, châteaux, and the stock market with him; I took
pains, without ostentation, to mention my name, to speak of my family
and my means. In any other house, I should not have done so; but in such
a mixed assemblage, I was not anxious that he should place me on a level
with people, who, although very estimable no doubt, were nothing more
than that; and in the opinion of many men that is not sufficient
distinction. On the whole, I was satisfied that Monsieur de Marsan found
me rather agreeable; it is so easy to catch people by the sensitive
spot--that is to say, when they have one.
When young women begin to dance, it is much the same as when a poet
begins to recite his verses: there is no reason why they should ever
stop. But Madame Vauvert, thinking that they were making too much noise,
and afraid of angering her landlord, had already said several times:
"This will be the last."
But the last never came to an end.
Friquet, who had returned in high dudgeon because he had been obliged to
escort a lady home, stole behind the dancers and looked at the clock;
then he hastened to inform his uncle that the hands had been set back,
so that they marked only twelve o'clock when it was nearly one. Vauvert
consulted his watch, saw that his nephew was right, and concluded that
it was incumbent on him to show some resolution, and that his dignity
required him to turn his guests out of doors at once.
He immediately extinguished the lamps in the four corners of the salon,
leaving only a few candles lighted; and the young men were about to
extinguish them as well, and thus make the scene more amusing, when
Vauvert took possession of them and harangued the company thus:
"I have already told you that it is time to go; my wife is indisposed,
and I am surprised that anyone should continue to dance against our
wishes."
This courteous speech made everybody laugh, and they hurried into the
dressing room to prepare for departure. But there the confusion and
disorder reached their climax. The ladies called for their shawls,
mantles, bonnets, and slippers; the singers demanded their music or
their instruments; they made mistakes, and many could not find what they
wanted; the young men hovered about the ladies, on the pretext of
assisting them, but really because such crushes are most propitious to
lovers and amateurs. One tied a ribbon, another put on an overshoe,
another held a little foot while the slipper was being removed. Amid the
tumult, mothers called their daughters, husbands their wives, brothers
their sisters. But those ladies were far too busy to answer. They were
whispering, squeezing hands, making appointments, arranging other
meetings; in truth, the moment of departure is not that at which the
guests enjoy themselves least.
I tried to save Madame de Marsan the trouble of looking for her shawl in
that crowd; I went into the bedroom, and succeeded, not without
difficulty, in reaching the bed, on which the bonnets and wraps were
piled; my hand, seeking a shawl, came in contact with a firm and
well-rounded form, which I was not seeking, but which I embraced as a
matter of habit, and because I thought that it belonged to a lady with
whom I was very intimate. But the lady, who was stooping over the bed,
and whose back only could I see, turned suddenly. Horror! it was not she
whom I thought! I proceeded to entangle myself in apologies, but she
gave me a most tender and amiable smile, which seemed to invite me to
continue. Faith! I admit that I should not have expected it on the part
of the lady in question, who, in the salon, played the prude, the
straitlaced, stern moralist. Trust appearances, who will! I have already
said that I never would; but a great many people say that, and still
allow themselves to be deceived.
At last everyone had succeeded in finding what he or she sought.
Friquet, who was anxious to go to bed, had been standing a long while on
the landing, candle in hand, ready to light us downstairs. As for the
master and mistress of the house, they had manifested clearly enough
their desire to see the last of us; so we started down. It was quite a
little procession; everyone took the hand of his favorite and descended
the stairs, laughing heartily over the evening's entertainment. The
young men were very noisy, because Vauvert had urged them to be silent
on account of his neighbors. On the second floor, a young man upset the
candlestick that Friquet carried, and we found ourselves in utter
darkness.
We all roared with laughter. The mammas scolded the perpetrator of the
mischief, the young ladies did the same, but I have reason to believe
that many of them were not very angry.
"Idiot! he's always doing such things!" Vauvert shouted at his nephew
from the top of the stairs.
"I didn't do it, uncle," replied the clerk; "somebody knocked my candle
out of my hand on purpose."
"I not untershtand vy tay do amuse temselfs py making us near fall town
and may pe hurt ourselfs," muttered the Baron de Witcheritche, whom I
believed to be very jealous of his wife, and who was made uneasy by the
darkness.
"Holt tidt to te rail, my tear," said the baroness, in a flutelike
little voice, "and tague care ov my Shtradifarius."
"Your Shtradifarius is chust te ting tat makes me frighted."
We went down carefully and very softly. I held Madame de Marsan's hand,
and I did not complain of the darkness; but the little clerk, who had
relighted his candle at the porter's lodge, returned with his light just
as we reached the lowest stair. I noticed then some changes in the order
of departure; some mantles awry, some faces very much excited, and many
eyes fastened on the ground, doubtless because the light made them
smart; but I do not mean to suggest any implications unfavorable to the
virtue of the ladies in question, married or single.
The moment to say farewell had arrived. I saw diverse poor fellows who
lived near the Palais-Royal doomed to act as escort to feminine families
from the heart of the Marais. I saw young ladies manoeuvre to take the
arms of their chosen friends; I saw many a wife sigh as she took her
husband's arm. I should have seen much else, no doubt, if it had not
been dark. But Madame de Marsan and her husband were in their carriage;
and he, learning that I lived on Rue Saint-Florentin, obligingly offered
me a seat. I accepted without hesitation. Decidedly Monsieur de Marsan
was a most agreeable man.
"There's no one else!" Friquet shouted to the concierge, as he closed
the porte cochère.
"That's very lucky," replied the concierge, closing his door. "Past one
o'clock. Your uncle will have notice to quit, I promise you. He makes a
great show, gives evening parties, and keeps people up all night, and
all for nothing! When a man wants to cut such capers, he should have a
house to himself."