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[Illustration: fontispiece
_VIOLETTE RESISTS JÉRICOURT_
_Violette’s hands were active and strong; she put one of them to her
persecutor’s face and dug her nails in so far that the blood flowed
freely, and the pain forced the young man to relax his hold._]
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XV
THE FLOWER GIRL
OF THE
CHÂTEAU D’EAU
VOL. I
PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
[Illustration: colophon]
GEORGE BARRIE’S SONS
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._
THE FLOWER GIRL
OF THE CHÂTEAU D’EAU
I
PAPA’S BIRTHDAY
It was the month of May in the year 1853--you see that our subject is
not lost in the night of time--it was a Monday and there was a flower
market on Boulevard Saint-Martin, in front, or rather on both sides of
the Château d’Eau. The booths of the dealers extended as far as Rue de
Lancry, a favor which had been only recently accorded to the flower
girls, but upon which the passers-by had as much reason to congratulate
themselves as the dealers and the people of that portion of the quarter.
Is there anything more delightful to the eye than flowers? What is there
which charms the sight and pleases the sense of smell more?
Are there people who do not love flowers? If you should tell me that
there were, I would not believe it.
The weather was fine, which was a rare occurrence during that spring, as
you must remember as well as I. The sun had deigned to show himself, and
people were very grateful to him, because the sun for the last few
years had become too high and mighty a prince in France; he no longer
condescended to mingle with the people, he showed himself too rarely to
the inhabitants of this part of the globe. And yet, although we do not
adore him on our knees, like the Incas, we take no less pleasure in
seeing him, in feeling the pleasant warmth of his beams, and although we
are great friends of invention and of progress, we have not yet found
anything to replace the sun.
There were therefore many people on the boulevards, and particularly
near the flower market; everyone was anxious to take advantage of a fine
day, not being certain of another on the morrow; and everybody was
sensible: fine weather, pleasure and happiness we must seize you when
you come to us, and never say: “I will wait till to-morrow.”
Among all the people who were walking and sauntering and examining the
flowers displayed on the asphalt or the concrete, there were, as is
always the case at that market, more women than men. Do the ladies care
more for flowers than we do? I might say some very pretty things on that
subject, as for example: “Birds of a feather flock together,” or: “Where
can one be more at home than in the bosom of his family?” or again--but
no, I will not repeat what you have already seen or heard a hundred
times. Moreover, I think that François I said something better than any
of that.
Furthermore, if the ladies are fonder of flowers than we are, you see
they have much more time to attend to them. I once knew a bachelor, a
clerk in a business house, who adored flowers, and although of small
means, could not resist the temptation to purchase a handsome rosebush
or a wood-violet, which he instantly carried home and placed in triumph
on his window-sill. But that gentleman was a heavy sleeper, and when he
woke he had hardly time to dress and go to his office. He did not dine
at home, and when he returned at night he was always in a hurry to go to
bed. The result was that, after two or three days, when he attempted to
gloat over the flower that he had purchased, he was surprised to find it
dead.
“But why didn’t you water it?” someone would ask him.
“Why--why--because I have noticed that it always rains sooner or later.”
We will, with your permission, allow those of the passers-by who are
indifferent to us to go their way, and will follow the steps of a family
composed of a mother, her son and her daughter.
The mother’s name was Madame Glumeau; her first name was Lolotte. She
was a lady who had reached the wrong side of forty; she had once been
pretty, a piquant brunette, whose bright and mischievous eyes made many
victims. But time had passed that way! What a deplorable passage, that
of time,--a passage which should be well barricaded!
It was not that Madame Glumeau’s features had changed very much. No, her
eyes were still very bright, her nose rather delicate; her hair, which
was yet black, still fell in thick curls on each side of her face; but
she had grown enormously stout, so that her whole figure was changed and
her waist enlarged.
Even the face had undergone the influence of that exuberant health; the
cheeks had become rotund, the chin had trebled, the neck had shortened,
and the complexion had become purple; and there were people who were
cruel enough to say to her:
“What perfect health you enjoy! No one needs to ask you how you are!”
At that compliment, Madame Glumeau would try to smile, as she replied:
“That is true, I am not often ill!”
But in the depths of her heart she bitterly lamented having become like
a ball, and would willingly have submitted to a severe illness, in order
to recover her figure of earlier days. However, as one is always
inclined to flatter oneself a little, Madame Glumeau was very far from
considering herself a _tower_, as her dear lady friends called her; and
when she looked at herself in the mirror, she still bestowed upon
herself a satisfied smile.
Let us come to the two children; we are not speaking of little brats,
who have to be led along by the hand, but of a boy of nineteen and a
young lady of sixteen.
The young man was very ill-favored; he had no one of his mother’s
features, and squinted in too pronounced a fashion, a fact which
necessarily imparted more or less vagueness to his countenance; but one
might judge from the expression of his face that Monsieur
Astianax--that was young Glumeau’s name--was not displeased with his
little person, and still less with his wit. Unluckily, nature had not
bestowed upon him a figure corresponding to the advantages with which he
considered himself to be endowed; despite the high heels that he wore
and the double soles that he put in his shoes, Monsieur Astianax Glumeau
had been unable to make himself taller than his mother, who was four
feet nine.
If young Glumeau was short, his sister, by way of compensation, at
sixteen, was as tall as a bean-pole, and threatened to attain the
stature of a drum-major. As thin as her mother was stout, Eolinde
Glumeau had at all events a face which did her honor; although she was
not so pretty as her mother had once been, she had regular features,
rather large eyes, a small mouth, fine teeth, and all the freshness of a
peach still on the tree. But--for there were always buts in that
family--Mademoiselle Eolinde was afflicted with a very noticeable defect
of speech; she stuttered in a way that was very tiresome to those who
listened to her. Her parents declared that that would cure itself, and
as a corrective to that infirmity they insisted that their daughter
should talk as much as possible. Mademoiselle Eolinde obeyed her parents
to an extent that was sometimes very terrible for her friends and
acquaintances.
The Glumeau family had been on Boulevard du Château d’Eau a long while,
going from one dealer to another, stopping in front of the flowers,
sticking their noses into the finest ones, asking the price,
hesitating, and not deciding.
At last Madame Glumeau turned about once more and halted in front of a
very handsome pomegranate tree, saying:
“I think I will buy this pomegranate for your father. A pomegranate will
please Honoré; he will like it very much.”
“But, mamma, what connection is there between this shrub and my father?”
queried young Glumeau, looking toward Boulevard du Temple and Porte
Saint-Martin at the same moment.
“What’s that! what connection? What do you mean by that, Astianax? Isn’t
to-morrow your father’s fête-day, as his name is Honoré? We are going to
give him flowers as usual. I select this pomegranate, which is very
handsome; I don’t see what there is in that to surprise you.”
“It isn’t that, mamma; I said: ‘what connection is there between a
pomegranate--_grenadier_--and my father, who has never been a soldier?’
Oh! if he had been a soldier, I could understand your choice of this
shrub and the allusion, but----”
“But, my dear boy, you are terribly tiresome with your allusions; you
want to put allusions in everything; just wait until you are a man.”
“Excuse me, dear mamma, but flowers have a language; so in your place I
should have thought that a myrtle, the emblem of love----”
“My dear boy, I have been giving your father myrtles for twenty years
and he must have had enough of them. Everything in life goes by, and we
have used the myrtle long enough; it seems to me that I can properly
vary it a little. After twenty years one is not forbidden to change
bouquets. I have decided, I am going to buy this pomegranate.--Don’t you
think, Eolinde, that this will please your father?”
“Oh! ye--ye--yes, it will pl--please him very mu--u--uch.”
“But what are you going to buy for him? You must make up your mind,
children, for we intend to go to the play after dinner, and it is
getting late.”
“B--b--bless me!” replied the tall young lady, “I would li--i--ike that
fl--fl--flower--you know--you know--it’s the--I d--d--don’t see it.”
“But what flower? tell us its name.”
“I d--d--don’t reme--e--ember.”
“In that case, ask the woman if she has any,” said Monsieur Astianax,
smiling maliciously, for he very often made fun of the difficulty which
his sister had in speaking.
“What a stu--u--u--pid you are, Astianax!” cried the girl, shrugging her
shoulders and looking down at her brother as if she were searching for a
little dog. “Let me alo--o--one; it’s a flow--ower with b--b--bells.”
“Bells?”
“No, little bell-flowers--brown.”
“Oh, I know what you mean, daughter; it is a--I don’t know the name; but
come, I saw some over yonder.”
And the stout lady, having paid for the pomegranate and hired a porter
to carry it, led her daughter to the booth of a dealer who had a large
assortment of tulips. Mademoiselle Eolinde examined them for some time,
then murmured:
“This isn’t what I wanted. No matter, let me see. Oh! they don’t
smell--they don’t smell of anything; I’d rather get something else.”
“Well, what? Come, choose.”
“Oh! see that fl--flower over there; a m--m--mag--no----”
“The name makes no difference, let us go and buy it.”
Mademoiselle Eolinde stopped in front of a magnificent magnolia, which
had already flowered in the heat of a greenhouse; she placed her nose
upon the lovely white egg-shaped blossom, which, as it opened, exhaled a
delicious odor of orange and lemon; then she raised her head and said:
“That smells too strong.”
“Look here, mamzelle!” cried the flower woman, irritated to see the tall
girl take her mother away in another direction, “you mustn’t stick your
face on our flowers like that! Did anyone ever see such a bean-pole as
that creature who buries her muzzle in the blossom of my magnolia, and
then walks off, as if she had been sniffing at my poodle’s tail! Go on,
you long-legged cockroach! Go somewhere else and buy Indian pinks,
they’ll suit you better!”
The Glumeau family did not hear, or rather pretended not to hear the
somewhat forcible complaints of the woman with the magnolia; they had
stopped in front of a booth where there was a large quantity of laurel.
Mademoiselle Eolinde, whom the lesson which she had just received had
not corrected, smelled several laurel bushes and cried:
“Ah! that sm--smells nasty!”
This time Madame Glumeau hastily dragged her daughter away, saying in
her ear:
“Why, Eolinde, do you want to get into a row and have scenes with all
these flower women? You shouldn’t say such things as that, my girl,
especially when you don’t buy; and if you won’t decide upon what you
want, we will go away and you won’t have a flower to give your father,
who is so fond of them. That will be very nice on his birthday!”
“If you will take my advice, sister,” said Monsieur Astianax, “you’ll
give our father a pot of immortelles, because you see the immortelle
means that he will live a long time, and the allusion is easily
understood.”
“A pot of immortelles!” cried the mother; “they are lovely flowers, upon
my word! You are mad, Astianax! You might as well give your father a pot
of sweet-basil such as the cobblers have in their stalls.--Look,
Eolinde, there is a superb rosebush! come, let us buy that,--that will
be your bouquet.”
“Oh! but a ro--o--osebush; I wanted s--s--something else.”
“That is to say, you don’t know what you do want; and this unfortunate
messenger who is following us with that huge pomegranate in his arms,
looks as if he were swimming in perspiration.”
“Why, it isn’t so ve--ve--very hot, mamma!”
Madame Glumeau, paying no heed to the lamentations of her daughter, who
did not want the rosebush, but did not know what she did want, ordered
her messenger to take the flower, then turned to her son and said:
“Now, Astianax, you are the only one who has not chosen a flower, but I
believe you told me that you preferred to give your father a bouquet to
carry in the hand.”
“Yes, dear mamma, because in a bouquet for the hand, you choose
different flowers, which have even more meaning when placed side by
side. The Turks call that a _selam;_ I mean to give my father a
_selam._”
“But in what connection? Your father never has claimed to be a Turk, so
far as I know! He won’t have any idea what your bouquet means.”
“I beg your pardon, dear mamma, I will explain the allusion to him.”
“All right, but make haste; it seems to me that you might very well have
selected your oriental bouquet while we were choosing our plants!”
“I’ve been looking, but haven’t found what I want!”
“But there certainly is no lack of flower girls here. Ah! there is one
who is very pretty indeed; if her bouquets resemble her, I think that
you will find what you want.”
II
VIOLETTE
Madame Glumeau had said nothing beyond the truth, when she observed that
the flower girl to whom she pointed was very pretty, for she was
speaking of Violette.
Let us then make Violette’s acquaintance; it is always pleasant to know
a pretty girl, even though she sells bouquets, but especially when she
sells nothing else.
Violette was from eighteen to nineteen years of age; her figure was
slender and shapely; she was tall enough but not too tall, which, in
women, is rather a defect than an advantage; but there was grace in all
her movements, and refinement in her simplicity.
Her face was oval; her fine brown hair left bare a forehead which was
instinct with innocence and pride. Her eyes too were brown, but their
expression was immeasurably sweet and they were fringed by long lashes
which imparted to them an infinite charm; the eyebrows were but slightly
marked. Her mouth was not very small, but it was intelligent; small
mouths, which are unintelligent, of which there are so many, are not
nearly so desirable. Lastly, her teeth were white and very regular. As
you see, all these things must have combined to make a very pretty girl.
Still there are many who possess all Violette’s advantages, but whom we
pass without being charmed by them; the reason is, that it is not always
sufficient to be beautiful in order to attract; a woman must also have
in herself that indefinable something which fascinates, which surprises,
which allures, which gives expression to the face and charm to the
voice. That something is a gift of nature, which coquetry tries in vain
to supply, and the flower girl had that gift. Moreover, there was in her
speech and in her manners something which distinguished her from her
companions. She expressed herself in better language and she was always
courteous, even when one did not buy of her. So that Violette was
noticed first for her beauty and then for her courtesy. Courtesy is a
thing so rare among street peddlers, and even elsewhere! There are so
many people who think that they acquire the air of being somebody by
affecting an insolent tone and a contemptuous glance! Poor fools! If
they did not arouse laughter, they would arouse compassion.
But was this flower girl, who expressed herself in better language than
others of her trade, the child of rich people stricken by misfortune?
Was it to support destitute and infirm parents that that pretty girl had
decided to take up a business for which she was not born?
Not at all. Violette did not know her parents, she did not know whether
they still lived, but what she did know perfectly was that they had
abandoned her.
Put out to nurse in a small village of Picardie, near Abbeville, she
evidently possessed little interest for them, for they had forgotten to
pay the woman who had undertaken to replace her mother. The nurse was
patient for a long while, but after three years, hearing nothing from
her nursling’s parents, and being too poor to add a little stranger to
her numerous family, the woman was about to leave the child at the
Foundling Hospital, when an old lady who was passing through the
village, touched with compassion for the deserted little one, offered
the nurse to take charge of her and to take her to Paris with her.
The nurse assented, and took the lady’s address, in order that she might
write to her if the child’s parents should ever claim her.
But who were her parents?
To the lady’s question the peasant woman replied:
“Faith, I hardly know, or rather I don’t know, at all. As to the mother,
I am very sure I never saw her. I was at the nurses’ bureau on Rue
Sainte-Apolline; a fine gentleman--I guess he was a servant--came into
the place, while I was taking the air in the yard; I was the first one
he saw, and he asked me if I wanted to take a brat that was born the
night before. I says yes; then he says: ‘I don’t need to look any
further; you’ll do as well as another; take your bundle and come.’--I
went with him; there was a carriage at the door, and I got in with the
swell servant. We drove to a street I don’t know the name of, he took me
into a house, with a concierge, and up to the second floor, into a
handsome room. I found a gentleman there, very well dressed, a pretty
man with a fine figure; he had a splendid gold chain sticking out of
his fob. He was a young man, about thirty-two or thirty-three, more or
less. And when he saw the man come in who had brought me there, he says:
“‘Come, make haste, Comtois! I don’t know what to do with the child! It
has been crying until it has burst the drum of my ear, but I can’t nurse
it. Have you brought a nurse at last?’
“‘Yes, monsieur, here’s one who will take charge of the little girl.’
“‘Ah! that is very lucky!’
“And with that the gentleman, without even looking at me to see how I
was built and whether I had much milk, motioned to me to go with him
into another room, where I saw a little girl, just come into the world,
wriggling on a sofa with cushions; they didn’t even have a cradle for
her. The gentleman says to me:
“‘Take this child and carry it away at once, for it cries enough to
split one’s head.’
“To that I answers:
“‘It will be twenty francs a month, without counting sugar and soap!’
“‘All right, that’s understood,’ he says; and he puts a hundred francs
in my hand, saying: ‘This is for the first expenses; don’t you be
afraid, I’ll send you money, you shall have plenty of it.’
“At that I makes another reverence and says:
“‘I am a Picarde, monsieur, from the village of Coulange, near
Abbeville; my name is Marguerite Thomasseau; my husband raises donkeys,
and we’ve had four nurslings already.’
“‘All right, take this little one and go.’
“‘But, monsieur,’ I says, ‘what about the _layette;_ where’s the little
one’s _layette?_’
“At that, the handsome gentleman looks at his swell servant as if he was
surprised, and says:
“‘What’s this woman talking about? What’s a _layette?_’
“The servant who was better instructed than his master, says:
“‘Monsieur, it is the child’s trousseau, the little things that people
give to dress it in.’
“‘Oh! the devil! I didn’t know that myself, and it seems she didn’t
think of it either! Never mind, Comtois, give her some of my trousers
and waistcoats, give her my old dressing-gown and some linen; the nurse
can make them over and we’ll send her something else later. Make haste,
Comtois. Here, put in this handkerchief too, which belongs to the
child’s mother, and which I put in my pocket by mistake yesterday.’
“The servant made me up a bundle in a hurry; and a queer _layette_ it
was, I tell you! I don’t believe that any young one ever had one like
it; it consisted of a woolen dressing-gown lined with silk, three pairs
of broadcloth trousers, six cravats, two white piqué waistcoats and one
black satin one, six fine shirts, a pair of suspenders, and a white
handkerchief embroidered with a cipher, with a coronet on it. As for the
handkerchief, I still have that, I have kept it so that the child might
have something that belonged to her parents. However, all that stuff was
better than nothing; I took the bundle and they were already turning me
out of the room with my nursling, when I remembered that I didn’t know
anybody’s name.
“‘Well, monsieur, what’s the little one’s name, and yours, and your
wife’s?’
“At that the gentleman made a funny kind of face; he hesitated a long
while, as if he was trying to think what answer he could make, and
finally he said:
“‘The child’s name is Evelina--Evelina de Paulausky.--Now go; I will
write to you.’
“At that he pushed me out with the child and the bundle. I started back
the same day; and since then, and that was three years ago, not a word
from the child’s parents. Evelina they called her, but we found that
name too long and too hard to pronounce, and so, as the child when she
was a year old, loved violets and could pick them as she rolled about on
the grass, why we just called her Violette; you can call her so too, if
you choose. She answers to that name better than to Evelina!”
That is what the nurse had told the good woman who took Violette to
Paris. That charitable person was by no means wealthy, but she had given
the child some education. Violette had learned to read, to write, and to
do some kinds of sewing, but her protectress died before she was very
learned. The child was only eleven when she lost her.
Being left alone and without resources, and having too much pride to beg
her bread, she went from door to door, to all the people in the quarter,
saying:
“Please give me something to do; I am able to work; I know how to knit
and sew; I will do anything you want, but employ me, I beg you, for I
would rather starve to death than beg and live on the charity of
passers-by.”
These words indicated a certain pride and a lofty spirit; they indicated
above all else Violette’s horror of idleness, which is the most
dangerous of all faults. They were worth more than a letter of
recommendation.
A dealer in fruit said to her:
“I know a lady who is looking for a young maid to take her little ones
to walk. I will give you her address, you can go to see her, and perhaps
she’ll hire you. But oh, dear! I am afraid that she’ll think you a
little too young.--How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“You must tell her you’re fourteen.”
“Oh, no! I won’t lie, madame; my protectress always told me that that
was a very wicked habit.”
“Ah! my girl, anyone can see that you are young! If you pass your life
without lying, you’ll be a famous phenomenon, and they’ll exhibit you
later for two sous. However, that’s your business. You can do as you
choose.”
Violette went to see the lady who was looking for a young nursemaid. Her
first question, as she looked at Violette, was:
“How old are you?”
And when the girl told her the truth, she dismissed her, saying:
“Why, you are much too young! You are only a child yourself; how do you
expect me to give you my children to take care of?”
“Oh! I am very prudent, very sensible for my age, madame; inquire at
number thirty-two; and then you can give me whatever you please, madame,
I don’t care; so long as I can live without begging, that is all I ask.”
These last words caused the lady to reflect, for there are people who
calculate closely on every subject, even when the welfare of their
children is concerned; such people are ordinarily the ones who consider
it very hard that dogs are ordered to be muzzled. She called Violette
back and said:
“Come again to-morrow; I will make inquiries at the house you mention.”
The next day Violette became nursemaid, with a hundred francs a year.
That sum seemed enormous to the child, who would have taken the place
for nothing if it had been suggested to her. And as her mistress lived
on Rue de Bondy, she took the two little girls of three or four years to
walk every day on the Boulevard, near the Château d’Eau. When it was the
day for the flower market, Violette never failed to take the children
there, and then she was very happy, for she adored flowers, and even if
she had not the means to buy any, on that day she could see them and
gaze at them at her leisure.
More than three years passed thus. Violette’s mistress had never had to
find fault with her little maid, for she had never left for a single
instant the children whom it was her duty to take to walk. However, her
wages were not increased; to be sure, Violette did not ask for an
increase, and to obtain distinction in this world, it is not sufficient
to behave oneself well, to have merit or talent--one must ask, ask, and
then--ask. And as people who are out of the line do not understand that,
they prefer to be undistinguished except by their talent.
The mother of the two little girls whom Violette had in charge left
Paris and France; she took her children, but did not take the young
nurse. So that Violette was left once more without a home and without
occupation. While waiting until chance should throw employment in her
way, the girl as a matter of habit went to the Boulevard du Château
d’Eau, where she had taken the children so often; and on market days she
stopped in front of the flowers and sometimes remained there all day
long.
One day, one of the flower women, an honest old soul, who had often
noticed the little nurse when she was taking the two children to walk,
said to Violette, who seemed to be admiring her bouquets:
“Well, my girl, what have you done with the brats that you always
brought here to walk? For I know you, I have looked after you very
often; and bless my soul, it don’t seem to me that anyone had any reason
to complain of you. You didn’t run about from one place to another. You
didn’t talk with a lot of people, as most of the nurses do that have
children to take care of! Mon Dieu! if nothing happens to the young
ones, it isn’t the fault of those young women, who attend to everything
else except the children that are in their care!”
“Alas! madame, my mistress has gone to England with her children.”
“And you didn’t want to leave your country, eh?”
“Oh! I would have been glad to go with madame, but she didn’t choose to
take me!”
“And she left you like that, without getting another place for you--a
girl of your age, who took such good care of her little ones? Ah! that
isn’t right, that isn’t. That mistress of yours can’t be good for
much!--But what are you doing now, my child?”
“I am looking for another place, madame, but I haven’t found it yet.
Luckily I saved money at my mistress’s; I earned a hundred francs a
year!”
“Is that all? Well, upon my word! she wasn’t very generous, that
mistress of yours!”
“Oh! I had quite enough; I didn’t spend anything except to dress myself;
and now I have some clothes and sixty francs of my own; I spend so
little to live; I get along with five or six sous a day.”
“Poor child! In that case, you’re not much of a glutton; why, you must
live on bread and water.”
“I beg pardon, I have a sou’s worth of milk every morning; bread dipped
in milk is so good!”
“Bless my soul! It is good for those who like milk! But no matter, that
diet will soon take away your fresh color. I say, you must be very fond
of flowers to look at them so long, as if you wanted to kiss them!”
“Flowers! oh! I am mad over them, madame, I am never tired of gazing at
them.”
“So, so! and how would you like to sell them, to make bouquets as I do?”
“Make bouquets! live among flowers! you ask me if I would like that? Oh,
madame! that would be the happiest life for me. It seems to me that one
has nothing more to wish for when one is a flower girl!”
“Well, my child, sit down here, by my side. I am alone, I have no
children, and no one depending on me; I am beginning not to be so smart
as I used to be; if you choose to stay with me and always be as
good--as--as you were when you took the two little girls to walk, why, I
will keep you, I will give you part of my profits; in fact, I will make
a flower girl of you; does that suit you?”
“Does it suit me,--to be a flower girl! such a pleasant trade! Is it
really true, madame? You are not making fun of me?”
“As true as my name is Mère Gazon; and yours?”
“My name is Violette.”
“Violette! You see you were destined to be a flower girl.”
So Violette took her place beside Mère Gazon; and she was so pleased
with the skill and taste with which the girl made her bouquets, that she
congratulated herself every day upon having taken her into her employ.
Violette reached the age of fifteen, sixteen, and became so pretty and
her figure assumed such graceful proportions that people began to notice
the young flower girl, and Mère Gazon’s business constantly increased.
Then came the lady-killers, the oglers, the gallants, who tried to make
love to Violette, but she did not listen to them, or at all events paid
no heed to what they said. Moreover, Mère Gazon was there and said to
those who paid her companion compliments:
“For heaven’s sake, let the child alone! You see well enough that you
bother her with your fine words, without head or tail! Go and get your
hair curled, that would be better.”
But one night, Mère Gazon, who had rather abused currant brandy, which
she adored as a cordial, felt an oppression that compelled her to keep
her bed. The next day she was worse, and she said to her young
companion:
“My dear Violette, I believe I am going to pack up and not open shop any
more. I leave you all I have; my stock, my flowers, my furniture, my
customers. Always be honest and virtuous, don’t let anyone cajole you
and I have an idea that you will prosper. If I myself had been more
prudent with currant brandy, I might have kept shop much longer! but
never mind! that’s a small matter! I am glad, at all events, to have you
with me to close my eyes.”
That is Violette’s whole story; that is how the little girl abandoned by
her parents had become a flower girl.
III
GEORGET AND CHICOTIN
“We would like a magnificent bouquet, mademoiselle,” said Madame Glumeau
to Violette.
“Yes,” said Mademoiselle Eolinde, “a su--su--superb bou--bou----”
“That isn’t all,” said Monsieur Astianax, doing his utmost to look at
the pretty flower girl with both eyes at once. “I wish to express a
certain meaning in presenting a bouquet to my father, so that the
flowers must interpret my meaning; I would like a _selam_, mademoiselle;
give me a _selam_.”
Violette stared at him as she replied:
“I don’t know that flower, monsieur; does it grow in boxes or in pots?”
“A _selam_ is not a single flower, mademoiselle; it is an arrangement of
flowers, which means something particular; it’s an oriental bouquet.”
“I have no oriental flowers, monsieur.”
“But you don’t catch my meaning, I mean----”
“Upon my word, Astianax, you are insufferable; you will keep us here two
hours when you know that we are in a hurry; select yourself the flowers
that you want, and she will make them into a bouquet for you.”
Monsieur Astianax, confused by the flower girl’s lovely eyes, turned
very red and began to rummage among the flowers on the counter,
stammering:
“But I don’t see--I am looking--I don’t find--I would like--haven’t you
got any?”
“Tell me what flowers you want, monsieur; that will be better than
upsetting my whole stock.”
But the little fellow could not admire the pretty flower girl enough,
and he had no idea what he wanted.
The porter who had in his arms the box with the pomegranate, which was
very heavy, and the rosebush, which was not light, said to Madame
Glumeau:
“If you’re going to be here long, lady, I am going to get a basket to
put these things in.”
“Oh, no! it isn’t worth while, messenger; we are going at once.--Well,
my son, have you chosen your flowers?”
“I don’t find what I am looking for.”
“Bless my soul! Eolinde, is not that Cousin Michonnard, standing over
there?”
“Yes, yes, mamma, it is she.”
“Ah! if she sees us, we are lost; she will follow us wherever we go; we
shall not be able to get rid of her, for she is quite capable of
inviting herself to dinner. You know that your father doesn’t like her
because she always says that he doesn’t look well. Let’s go along at
once before she sees us.--Come, Astianax.”
“But my dear mother, I haven’t any bouquet.”
“It is your own fault, you take too long to decide. You can present your
father with a Savoy cake with his monogram, that will be just as
respectful. Come, come!--Follow us, messenger.”
And this time, without listening to the remonstrances of her son, who
declared that a cake did not express his meaning, the stout lady took
his arm and dragged him away, but not until the little fellow had darted
a random glance in Violette’s direction. In a few moments the Glumeau
family had disappeared.
Thereupon, a young man in a blouse, with a cap on his head, and with a
shrewd, clever face and a slender figure which denoted sixteen years at
most, although he was past seventeen, began to laugh as he looked at the
pretty flower girl, beside whom he had stopped, and said to her:
“Well, my word! there’s customers for you! They come here and handle and
move your flowers and spoil them, and then go away without buying
anything.”
“Dear me, Monsieur Georget, that’s the way it is in business; one can’t
always sell.”
“But the young man would have liked to stay, I fancy. What eyes he made
at you, zigzag! A man shouldn’t be allowed to squint like that! I am
sure it would exempt him from the conscription; for when a man looks all
ways at once, he can hardly fire straight at the enemy.--But no matter,
you have turned his head.”
“Mon Dieu! to hear you, Georget, one would think that everybody is in
love with me!”
“Well, it seems to me that you don’t lack suitors and gallants. There
are days when a fellow can’t get near your shop, there are so many
people around you!”
“I have no reason to complain, that is true. I sell a great deal. My
bouquets seem to please.”
“Oh! your bouquets--and yourself too. When the dealer is good-looking,
that makes business good; and deuce take it! you are mighty
good-looking.”
“You know very well, Georget, that nothing tires me so much as
compliments!”
“Then you must get tired very often! you receive them all day!”
“I can’t prevent the gentlemen who buy flowers of me from talking
nonsense to me! but it seems to me that you might get along without it.”
“So what I say to you is nonsense, is it?”
“Instead of idling away your time every market day, walking back and
forth in front of my stand, wouldn’t you do better to work?”
“Do you mean that you don’t like to have me stop in front of your shop
sometimes, mamzelle?”
“I don’t say that, but I ask you if you would not do better to work.”
“All right, mamzelle, that’s enough. I won’t stand near you any more,
never fear! If you don’t like it, why, I----”
“Oh! how wrong-headed you are, Monsieur Georget! a body can’t give you a
little advice, eh?”
But the young messenger was no longer listening to the pretty flower
girl; he walked away with a very pronounced frown, and sat down upon one
of the steps of the Château d’Eau. He had hardly settled down when
another youngster of nineteen, tall, strong and active, with his cap
cocked over one ear in true roistering fashion, came and stood in front
of him, crying:
“Ah! here’s Georget! here’s my little Georget! I am glad of that; I
thought he must have been swallowed by the whale on exhibition over
yonder, behind us. To be sure, I know that it isn’t alive; but never
mind, you might have crawled into its mouth. I say, Georget, have you
seen the whale?”
“Let me alone, I don’t feel like talking!”
“Well! I paid to see the whale, because as I’d never seen the sea, I
said to myself: ‘That will give me an idea of its inhabitants.’--But
confound it! how I was sold! Just fancy--I went into a long, narrow
place, like a corridor with boarded walls. I couldn’t see anything, no
water at all. I said to myself: ‘Where in the deuce is the whale?’ but
there was a fellow in a sailor’s suit, walking up and down the corridor,
singing out at the top of his lungs: ‘See, ladies and gentlemen, look,
examine this rare animal! It’s the first whale that’s been seen in
France since the Roman conquest! It was harpooned at Havre and would
have been brought to Paris alive, if there had been room enough for it
in a first-class carriage!’--When I heard that, I squinted up my eyes to
find the marine monster. When I first went into the corridor, I had
noticed something like a pile of earth, on the floor between two boards,
and I said to myself: ‘It seems that they are going to plant flowers in
the place to brighten it up!’ But not at all: that black thing, between
two boards, was the whale! I discovered it when I reached the end of the
corridor, because then I saw a kind of head, with a beard, at one end of
what I had taken for earth. I was mad, I tell you! I regretted my money,
and I said to the sailor: ‘If you’d told me beforehand that I was going
to see a whale in a box, and dry as a herring, I wouldn’t have come into
your old barrack!’--Well, little Georget, why don’t you laugh?”
“I tell you to let me alone, I don’t feel like laughing!”
“Why, what under the sun is the matter with the little mummy! He’s got
to be as melancholy as an empty stomach for some time past! Come, I
propose to cheer you up; I’ll treat you to a glass at the wine
merchant’s on Rue Basse.”
“Thanks, I am not thirsty.”
“And then you will come to the theatre this evening with me. I don’t
mean the Délasses, or the Funambs, or the Petit-Lazare; I go to the big
theatres now; I have become an habitué of the Folies-Dramatiques!
Nothing less! You see, when one has seen Mamzelle Duplessis, in _‘Une
Mauvaise Nuit Est Bientôt Passée,’_ one doesn’t care to see anything
else! It is magnificent! Mamzelle Duplessis is in a night jacket
embroidered with lace, like a bride preparing to retire. Dieu! how
lovely she is! I dream of her every night as I go to bed! And then,
Monsieur Christian, in _‘La Perruque de Mon Oncle!’_ When he says: ‘Ah!
fichtre! sacrebleu! hush or I will thrash you!’ or something else in
that line, I tell you it’s amusing! I laugh until I make a show of
myself! And just now Monsieur Christian passed here--you didn’t see
him--the real man, the one who plays at the Folies; and he bought a
bunch of violets, and smiled because I said to him: ‘Monsieur Christian,
do you want me to carry you?’--Ha! ha! that made him laugh!--Well,
Georget, I say, Georget! you little wretch of a Georget! what in the
world has somebody been doing to you, Gringalet?”
“If you call me Gringalet, I’ll punch your head, do you understand?”
“Oho! how ugly the little rascal is! What have you been treading on
to-day?”
“I may be small without being a Gringalet, or a wretch. I am seventeen
years, eight months and ten days.”
“You look as if you were about twelve or less!”
“The looks make no difference; I am not a child any more, and I don’t
propose to be treated like an urchin.”
“Ah! you wish to be looked up to, perhaps?”
“If anyone insults me, he must fight me.”
“Tell me what you have eaten this morning? You are not so ugly as this
usually!”
“But you are teasing me! saying things that make me angry!”
“Then as I am in the wrong, thrash me right away and let’s have it over
with! But I don’t propose to fight with you, because I am your friend,
and I like you with all your ill-humor! Come, strike me!”
As he spoke, Chicotin Patatras--for such was the name of this last
individual--coolly planted himself in front of his friend, and stooped
as if he were all ready to be beaten. But when he saw that, Georget
rose, his anger vanished, and he offered his hand to his comrade,
saying:
“Can you think of such a thing? I, strike you! that would be pretty!
Come, it is all over, I am not angry any more; nor you either, are you?”
“Oh! I haven’t been at all!”
“You see, Chicotin, there are many people who say that you are a
ne’er-do-well, a brawler, and a sot; they have nicknamed you Patatras,
because wherever you go, you always arrive like a bomb and turn
everything topsy-turvy! But I do you justice, and I have always defended
you; and if you are noisy, and if you do sometimes throw a whole company
into confusion, you have a good heart all the same, and when you are
fond of anybody, he can always rely on you.”
“Pardi! a man is a good friend, or he isn’t. A door is open or shut, one
or the other! that’s all I know!--Well, will you go to the
Folies-Dramatiques with me to-night? I’ll treat you; I have some cash; I
carried a bouquet to the young lady! Ah! bless my soul! that bouquet
evidently gave pleasure, for she put five francs in my hand; the
gentleman had given me as much! in all, two hind wheels, six times as
much as the bouquet was worth! But these lovers! tell me who else is so
generous, when they are satisfied, and are in funds? ‘Tis love, love,
love, that makes the world go round!”
“Oh, yes! the rich lovers, they are happy enough! they can make their
sweethearts handsome presents!”
“Bah! they are not the ones I envy, especially as I have noticed that
the ones who are loved the best are not the ones who give the most
presents! A little more pains is taken to deceive them, that’s all! I
see so many things, when I am doing errands, opening carriage doors, or
asking for theatre checks! But the actors! Oh, the actors! when I can be
employed by one of them, then I am perfectly happy! I went on the stage
once, that is to say, under the stage, at the Ambigu! It’s mighty
amusing, I tell you, and you see a lot of things--that you don’t expect
to see!--But you are not listening to me, Georget. Ah! I can guess what
you’re thinking about, with your eyes always turned in that direction!
So it is all over, is it? You’re in love for good and all!”
“Hush, Chicotin, don’t say that, I beg you!”
“I say it because I see it; I don’t need to be a sleep-walker to guess
that! You’re in love with the pretty flower girl, Mamzelle Violette!”
“I never told anybody so!”
“You don’t need to tell it, it’s plain enough; that’s what upsets you
so, and changes your whole disposition, and gives you a sour look, a
dismal expression, like Monsieur Goujet of the Gaîté, when he plays the
traitors, the abductors who carry off young girls! Ah! how magnificent
he was in _‘Martin et Bamboche!’_ I was a little bit of a fellow when I
saw that, but I still have the piece in my head all the same, it
impressed me so. He had on a white coat, rather neat, did Monsieur
Goujet; he played the part of a well-dressed son, who treated his father
like the deuce!--Confound it! He isn’t listening to me because I’ve
stopped talking about the flower girl! Why, is this passion of yours
making you an idiot? As if a man ever fell in love for good at your age!
For my part, I like pretty girls too; but it doesn’t make me so stupid
as it does you! it never lasts more than a week! Let your beard grow,
then you’ll have the right to pose as a sentimental lover! Ah! now he
turns as red as a turkey-cock! What is going on? Ah! I see; because two
fine gentlemen, two swells have stopped and are looking at the flower
girl’s wares. I suppose you’d like it if nobody ever bought anything of
your pretty dealer? She’d do a fine business then!”
“Oh! but I know those two young men; they come very often to buy flowers
of her and they always talk nonsense to her; especially the tallest one!
He actually dared one time to ask her to be his mistress! Ah! if big
Chopard hadn’t held me back, I’d have jumped on him; I’d have scratched
him and bitten him!”
“Hoity-toity! is that the way you propose to treat Mamzelle Violette’s
customers? You’ll give her shop a good reputation!”
“That’s what Chopard said, to calm me down!”
“Besides, don’t all these dandies--that is what they call these
fellows--don’t all these dandies talk that way to women, especially when
they are pretty? It’s their way; they must always play the lady-killer;
if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be dandies! But I know one of those young
men, too; the tallest one is an author,--that means a man who writes
plays; his name is Jéricourt; I’ve carried letters to his room sometimes
from the other one, who isn’t so tall; that one has employed me often;
just now he’s very attentive to an actress at the Folies, a little
blonde with black eyes, who plays such parts as Rigolette,--Mademoiselle
Dutaillis. I’ll bet that she’s the one he’s going to buy a bouquet for,
and then he’ll take her to dinner at Bonvalet’s; and when she’s in the
cast, they keep sending me to the theatre, to the box office, to ask how
far they have got. I always ask a handsome man who is sitting inside the
office, and he answers with a sly look: ‘Go and tell mademoiselle that
she has time enough to eat another course, provided that it isn’t carp,
because the bones might make her lose her cue.’”
“Oh, yes! I know well enough that it isn’t the light-haired one who is
dangerous to Violette; it’s the other one!”
“And why should the other one be dangerous, when everyone says that the
little flower girl is virtuous? You yourself told me so a hundred
times.”
“Certainly she is virtuous, perfectly virtuous. If she wasn’t, if she
was anything else, do you suppose I’d be mad over her as I am?”
“Then what difference does it make to you whether people pay her
compliments and make love to her? She won’t listen to them.”
“Who can tell? A young girl sometimes ends by allowing herself to be
deceived by all these soft speeches. They offer her dresses, jewels,
entertainments, love--it’s all very tempting. Look, see how that tall,
scented fellow is leaning over her counter to speak to her! I don’t
care; no matter what happens, I am going to tell that man to act
different from that!”
“Upon my word! be good enough to stay here. You don’t like to see him
talking with the flower girl; very good, let me fix him; I haven’t been
nicknamed Patatras for nothing!”
IV
TWO WELL-KNOWN YOUNG MEN
Two young men had, in fact, stopped in front of the pretty flower girl’s
booth; each of them was from twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age;
their eccentric costumes marked them out as dandies, or at least as
persons who strove to appear to be such.
Especially the shorter one, who wore plaid trousers of very bright
colors, each plaid being so large that a single one extended from the
thigh to the calf; his light sack coat hardly came below his waist, and
when he bent forward a little, disclosed the whole seat of his trousers.
He wore on his head a broad-brimmed gray hat with a long nap; and he
had stuck in one eye a small bit of glass, set in tortoise shell, which,
when not in use, hung down over his waistcoat of buff piqué, at the end
of a black ribbon. He was, for all this dandified equipment, a very
good-looking youth, with black eyes, a shapely aquiline nose, a small
mouth with red lips, fine teeth, a pretty pink and white complexion, a
little dimple in his chin, very light whiskers, a pointed beard, and
with all that, a stupid expression which was not in the least
misleading.
This young man had been a clerk in a business house with a salary of
eight hundred francs, and a slight bonus at the end of the year; at that
time, as may be imagined, his dress was much less elegant, and it was
difficult for him to follow the fashions. But a distant relative died,
and unexpectedly left him sixty thousand francs in cash. This
unhoped-for fortune, which enabled him to gratify his dearest wishes,
his fondest hopes, had almost turned his brain.
First of all, he began by correcting his certificates of baptism; his
name was Benoît Canard, a name which struck the ear unpleasantly, and
had nothing romantic or refined about it; he adopted the name of Alfred
de Saint-Arthur, which was certain to attract the attention of the
ladies. When a man’s name is Alfred de Saint-Arthur, he must inevitably
belong to the _haute_, as the lorettes of the Bréda quarter say.