And let me tell you, Georget, you would do better to play now than to
pass your time sighing and looking up at the sky, and always having a
dismal expression; you are better looking when you laugh.”
“Do you think so, mamzelle? Well! it isn’t my fault, it isn’t by
preference that I am dismal sometimes; but you always treat me like a
child, and that annoys me. However, I am seventeen and a half, and I
believe that I am almost as old as you.”
“No, I am more than eighteen; and at that age, a girl is much older than
a boy and ought to have more common sense.”
“Oh! that’s all nonsense! on the contrary, there are men of seventeen
who are already soldiers, and who have been in the army. Why, there’s a
little drummer, who was lately stationed at the barracks in Faubourg du
Temple, who was not more than eighteen years old, and he had been to
Africa, where he passed three years, and was in battles with the Arabs.”
“Does that tempt you? Are you inclined to go as a drummer?”
“I don’t say that; still, if I didn’t have my mother, and if there
wasn’t any hope of my being loved by the person I love, why, then----”
“Come, come! go and do your errand, Georget; you forget that that
gentleman paid you in advance!”
“You are right, mamzelle; I stand here talking, and the time passes so
quickly when I am talking with you! But I mean that you shall be
satisfied with me; I won’t be sad any more, and I won’t loaf any more.”
“We shall see!”
“Then will you have a little affection for me?”
“Haven’t I already? do you doubt it? Yes, I have affection for you,
because I know that you are not a ne’er-do-well, a good-for-nothing,
like so many others of your age, and because you are so fond of your
mother, whose only support you are. Ah! how lucky you are to have your
mother, Georget, and to be able to work for her! If I only knew mine, I
would take such pleasure in giving her the fruit of my work, in kissing
her and coddling her and taking every care of her! Oh, yes! I would have
loved my mother dearly! but I never had one, or rather she is dead; or
else--she deserted me!”
“There, now it is you who are sad! don’t think about all that any more,
mamzelle; they say that children without parents, and without a name,
are the ones who always make their fortune.”
“Why! that is easily understood, because then the good Lord takes the
place of their family, He never loses sight of them, and gives them good
inspirations; and with a protector like Him, they can never fail to make
their way.--But you must go, Georget!”
“Yes, mamzelle. Ah! I am happy this morning! my heart is full of joy; I
have talked with you, and I shall have a good day.”
“Good! now you are in good spirits, and that is the way I love to see
you, the way I would like you to be always, because--Well, it is
changing already! your brow is clouded and you turn pale;--what is the
matter, Georget? Don’t you feel well?”
The young messenger had, in fact, changed color, and his smiling face,
his eyes beaming with happiness, had suddenly assumed a different
expression. A single glance in the distance had sufficed to cause this
revolution: Georget had caught sight of Monsieur Jéricourt, the
handsome man who was in love with the flower girl, walking very slowly
in front of the Château d’Eau, not like a person who was going
elsewhere, but like one who had come there with a purpose.
Violette followed the direction of Georget’s eyes, and speedily
discovered the cause of his change of countenance; thereupon she
shrugged her shoulders impatiently and cried:
“Mon Dieu! is it going to begin again?--You are going to do your errand,
I hope, Georget?”
“Yes, mamzelle, yes, I’m going, I’m going right away; for if I didn’t, I
might do more foolish things. Here comes that perfumed dandy who makes
love to you--here he comes again; it seems that he means to come every
day now; it’s a regular thing!”
“That gentleman is perfectly free to walk on the boulevard; what makes
you think it’s on my account?”
“What makes me think so? why, it’s plain enough; you know as well as I
do that it’s on your account. Oh! what a pity that the boulevard’s free
to everybody!--I’m going, mamzelle, I’m going!”
Georget made up his mind to go, at last; he passed Jéricourt, upon whom
he bestowed a savage glance; but that gentleman did not notice him.
On the previous day the young author had been flatly snubbed by the
flower girl, and before witnesses too, which made his discomfiture even
more unpalatable. While dining at Bonvalet’s restaurant, with his
friend Saint-Arthur and the piquant little actress who was his friend’s
mistress, Jéricourt had had to submit to the raillery of Beau Alfred,
who, to compensate himself for having been thrown down and having broken
his suspenders, had not ceased to repeat:
“It was Jéricourt’s fault! he was making love to the flower girl, and
there seemed to be no end to it; but the pretty peddler didn’t bite at
his gallantries--I fancy that our dear friend will have nothing to show
for his seductive propositions. Ha! ha! ha! repulsed with heavy loss by
a flower girl! It’s incredible, it’s most annoying! He doesn’t choose to
admit it, but I am sure that he’s terribly annoyed.”
And Mademoiselle Zizi, the young actress who was so alluring in
salacious rôles, and who perhaps had her own reasons for taking the
thing to heart, outdid the little man in jocose remarks, and exclaimed
with a most significant glance at Jéricourt:
“Ah! that was well done! it was well done! How pleased I am! I shouldn’t
be any happier if I were offered an engagement at the Palais-Royal! What
a nice little story to tell at the theatre! How they will laugh!--Ah! so
our author friends affect flower girls, do they? that is very fine!
Instead of sticking to actresses, who at least are in their line, and
whom it would certainly induce to put more fire and talent into their
parts--Ha! ha! to make love to a flower girl, and to have nothing to
show for it! how humiliating!--Poor Jéricourt! he looks as glum as an
owl.”
The young author, affecting the utmost tranquillity, simply replied to
these attacks:
“If that young flower girl should appear on the stage, I’ll wager that
she would eclipse many people who think now that they have a hold on the
public!”
“Is that meant for me?” cried Mademoiselle Zizi, throwing a lobster claw
in Jéricourt’s face.
“Why, no! of course not!” hastily interposed Saint-Arthur, as the author
did not respond. “For you! upon my word! how can you imagine such a
thing, when Jéricourt is wild over your talent? For he has told me so a
hundred times; he says that you will replace Déjazet.--Haven’t you said
that to me often, Jéricourt?”
But the angry author continued to maintain an obstinate silence, which
increased the irritation of the little actress.
“In any event,” she cried, “no one will be able to judge of my talent in
any of monsieur’s plays; for some time past he has given me nothing but
unimportant parts.”
“I give you more than my brother authors do, for they don’t give you any
parts at all.”
“What does that prove? That all authors belong to a coterie; that they
allow themselves to be inveigled by the prayers of this one and the
enticements of that one, or by the advice of the manager, who has his
reasons for looking after still another one. O the stage! O you authors!
it’s shocking, the injustice we have to put up with; and then they throw
a flower girl in our faces! and tell us that she has only to appear to
leave us behind! In that case, we’re only stop-gaps, eh?--Oh! it’s an
outrage! it’s abominable! O God! my nerves! I am suffocating! I am
dying!”
And Mademoiselle Zizi threw herself back on the divan, stretching out
her legs and arms, gnashing her teeth, and wriggling like one possessed;
whereupon Beau Saint-Arthur quickly seized a carafe, exclaiming in a
tone of deep distress:
“The deuce! now she’s going to have a nervous attack; that’s very
pleasant. The devil take you, Jéricourt, you’re the cause of it all; you
spoke so roughly to her! Look, see how rigid she is!”
“That will pass away!” replied Jéricourt very calmly, helping himself to
some truffled calves’ brains.
_“Canaille!”_ muttered Mademoiselle Zizi, still rigid.
And Alfred, as he approached his charmer with a glass of cold water, was
repulsed by her so sharply that a part of the contents of the glass
splashed in his face, while the young woman muttered, taking pains to
grind her teeth together:
“I want my blue phial with the opal stopper; I must have it.”
“Where is it, dear love? Shall I feel in your pocket?”
“Don’t come near me. My phial is at my rooms, on my dressing table in
the boudoir.”
“Very good--I’ll send a waiter.”
“No, monsieur, I insist on your going yourself; the waiter would make
some mistake.”
“But you haven’t two blue phials, and----”
“I insist on your going yourself, or else I won’t try to live.”
These last words were accompanied by such violent gnashing of the teeth,
that the affectionate Alfred, fearing that his mistress would dislocate
her jaw, hastened to take his hat, saying to Jéricourt:
“I must humor her; you see what a paroxysm she is having, and her blue
phial contains some salt, I don’t know what--some mixture that brings
her round at once. So that she often sends me to get it, for she never
remembers to take it with her. I will run to her house; luckily it isn’t
far--Rue Basse. But for all that it isn’t amusing.--Don’t leave her,
Jéricourt, above all things; do what you can for her.”
“Never fear.”
The dandified Saint-Arthur, leaving Bonvalet’s, almost ran to Rue
Basse-du-Temple, and on reaching his mistress’s abode, was received by
her maid, who also was dining, and who had hurriedly locked the
dining-room door, taking the precaution to remove the key; she ushered
the young lion into the salon, saying:
“Come in here, monsieur, and wait; I’ll go and fetch madame’s phial.”
“I could have waited in the reception room just as well; I’m in a
hurry.”
“No, indeed, monsieur, I should think not! I know too well what I owe
you; stay here, I won’t be long.”
“Don’t bring the wrong phial!”
“Oh! there’s no danger of that--madame sends for it often enough. I know
what she uses it for.”
Left alone in the salon, Alfred lost patience; he returned to the
reception room, where he was nearer madame’s boudoir; thereupon he heard
quite distinctly the rattle of knives and forks and glasses, and the
popping of corks, which sounds proceeded from the dining-room.
He even heard a sneeze, so loud that the doors shook. But the maid
returned with the blue phial with the opal stopper and handed it to the
young man, saying:
“Why didn’t monsieur stay in the salon? Perhaps monsieur heard noises in
the dining-room? Madame’s two cats are dining with me; they amuse me and
are good company for me.”
“My dear girl, one of them has a cold in the head; he sneezes pretty
loud for a cat--loud enough to break the windows.”
“Oh! monsieur is mistaken, the sneezing was in the yard. The concierge
does nothing else; it’s downright disgusting!”
Paying no further heed to what the maid said, our young elegant, armed
with the precious phial, ran back to the restaurant, and going at once
to the door of his private room, tried to open it; but to no purpose did
he turn the knob, the door was bolted inside.
Saint-Arthur began to knock and call.
“What does this mean? It’s I, Zizi!--Jéricourt! Why do you lock
yourselves in? What’s the meaning of this jest?”
“Have you brought the phial?” murmured the young actress in an altered
voice.
“Yes, of course I’ve brought it.”
“Is it my blue phial?”
“To be sure; I know it well enough.”
“With the opal stopper?”
“The stopper is in it! It’s perfectly tight.”
“Well! take it back, that isn’t the one I want; I want the yellow one
with an agate stopper.”
“Oh! this is too much! Zizi, you abuse my good nature.--Open the door,
Jéricourt.”
“I should be delighted to, but madame says no. She has taken a knife and
threatens to bury it in her breast if I take a step toward the door.”
“Oh! in that case, don’t budge, my friend! do me the favor not to budge,
stay where you are! I know the mad creature; she would do some insane
thing or other. I will run and fetch the yellow phial!”
And the simple-minded fellow started off again to get the yellow phial.
To those who say that this is an improbable incident, we reply that we
have seen such ladies make the man whose fortune they were squandering
do much more improbable things; and, in truth, they are quite right to
do it, when they find blockheads ready to gratify all their whims.
On returning with the yellow phial, Alfred opened the door without
difficulty. He found Jéricourt still at the table, attacking the dishes
with more ardor than ever; and Mademoiselle Zizi, with cheeks as red as
cherries, flew into his arms, crying:
“I wanted to put your love and trust to the proof, dear love, and you
have come out triumphant from the trial; you are worthy of my affection;
I give it to you once more, and more entirely; let me kiss you on the
left eye.”
Alfred submitted to the caress, smiling at Jéricourt with an expression
that seemed to say: “You see how she loves me!”--And the dinner came to
an end most amiably; everybody was satisfied.
IX
THREE FOR A BOUQUET
But the result of that dinner was that Jéricourt’s thoughts recurred to
Violette, and he said to himself:
“They made fun of me to-day on the subject of the flower girl; if I
don’t succeed with her, they will do it again. That will injure my
reputation; I shall seem as big a donkey as Saint-Arthur. I have gone
too far to stop. Besides, the girl is so pretty! I am inclined to think
that I love her; I am not quite sure of it, but it may be so. I did not
lie when I said that she would outshine Mademoiselle Zizi; she’s worth
ten, yes, a hundred Zizis!--I have an idea: suppose I should advise her
to go on the stage? she would be a charming actress, and I can find
managers enough who will be delighted to bring her out. I will give her
lessons and advice.--By Jove! that’s an excellent idea of mine. One of
these days I will work it into a vaudeville.--Violette will not hold out
against that proposition. The stage! the hope of making a sensation on
the boards, the pleasure of appearing in a lot of unusual
costumes--those things always fascinate a girl. This one must be as much
of a coquette as the others, or she wouldn’t be a woman! She will give
way, and I shall triumph. A flower girl turned into an actress--what
would there be so surprising in that? We have seen great talents start
from much lower down in the scale. And then, when a woman is pretty, it
takes so many difficulties out of the way. The thing will go all
alone.--I really must make a play out of this idea.”
With such thoughts in his mind, Jéricourt came to the Château d’Eau the
next day, and he lost no time in accosting the flower girl, who was
still looking after the young man who had found it so hard to leave her.
“Good-morning, my lovely flower girl.”
“Good-morning, monsieur.”
“Oh! what a curt tone! I see that you are still angry with me.”
“I, monsieur? Why so?”
“Why, on account of what I said yesterday.”
“Oh! I forgot that long ago! Such things go in at one ear and out at the
other; they never stay in my head.”
“If they stayed in your heart, that would be better.”
“Thank heaven, my heart doesn’t waste any time on such nonsense!”
“Mademoiselle Violette, you will not always talk like this, unless
nature has given you a heart protected by a triple steel cuirass.”
“Oh! I don’t wear a cuirass, monsieur; a corset’s quite enough!--Do you
want to buy a bouquet, monsieur?”
“In a moment. I have many things to say to you, and I would like to talk
with you first.”
“If it’s to repeat what you said yesterday, I assure you it isn’t worth
while to begin the conversation.”
“Are you afraid that I am going to talk of love?--You have a way of
saying things that is far from encouraging!”
“Mon Dieu! I don’t choose my words; I say just what I think.”
“A woman who says what she thinks! do you know that they are very rare?”
“I say, do you know that you ain’t very complimentary to women? Have
they caught you very often?”
“That isn’t what I meant. Look you, Violette, I admit that I did wrong
yesterday; I spoke to you as if I were certain that you loved me, and
you hadn’t given me any right to do it.”
“Just as soon as you admit that you did wrong, that’s the end of it,
it’s all forgotten. Let’s talk about something else.”
“It isn’t that my feeling for you has changed; on the contrary, I adore
you more than ever!”
“I say--it seems to me you’re beginning yesterday’s song again!”
“No; yesterday I made certain propositions that displeased you.”
“Pardi! they were very pretty, your propositions! to dine with monsieur
at a restaurant! to offer to furnish lodgings for me! Why on earth don’t
you marry me and be done with it?”
“That might have come in time!”
“Yes, in the thirteenth arrondissement! But I prefer the other twelve.
As for furniture, I have some, monsieur, and it’s my very own; Mère
Gazon left it to me; it ain’t violet wood, to be sure, but it’s good
enough for me; and besides, I think a great deal of it, in memory of the
one who gave it to me.”
“All that is very praiseworthy, no doubt; but I don’t think that there’s
anything wrong in trying to improve one’s position, to make a fortune;
that’s the object of all who haven’t money, and no one has ever blamed
them.”
“Make a fortune! To be sure, that ain’t unpleasant, that is, if you do
it by honest means! If not, one had better stay in one’s little corner.”
“Oh! bless my soul! who said anything about ceasing to be honest? What
extraordinary creatures these girls are--always thinking that somebody
means to lead them astray!”
“That’s because we know you, my fine gentlemen; and, if I remember
right, you didn’t propose to me yesterday that I should become a
_rosière_.”[A]
[A] The maiden who wins the rose offered as a prize for virtue in
certain villages.
“Listen, Violette; I will come straight to the point.”
“Well! let us hear what your point is.”
“You have been to the play sometimes, of course?”
“Why, yes, several times.”
“And you like it?”
“I should say that I do like it! I think it’s beautiful, and if I was
rich, I’d go often.”
“And what do you think of the actresses? Don’t you think it must be
delightful to appear in public, to be applauded, to wear hundreds of
different costumes, and to be stared at and admired by a whole theatre
full of people?”
“Oh! how fast you go! That must be fine when one has talent. I have seen
some women who acted so well that you couldn’t get tired listening to
them; but I’ve seen others who acted so poorly that everybody grumbled,
and laughed when they were trying to make you cry. I have seen some
pretty ones; but there are some terribly ugly ones; and it’s no use for
them to wear handsome costumes and a lot of paint on their faces; it
don’t make them any better-looking.--But what makes you say all this to
me?”
“Because, Violette, if you choose to go on the stage, it rests with you
to do it; a glorious career is open to you, and I am sure that you will
succeed, that you will obtain glory and wealth at once!”
“I an actress!--Are you making fun of me again, monsieur?”
“No, indeed, I am speaking in all seriousness. Listen to me: I am a
dramatic author, so that the stage is my livelihood, or rather my
constant study; therefore you must admit that I ought to know something
about it. You have all that is needed for success on the stage: your
figure is well set up, you are tall but not too tall; your face is
lovely.--Oh! I am not paying compliments; indeed, you must know that you
are pretty, you have been told so often enough! Your voice is clear and
well modulated; with all these advantages and the lessons I will give
you in declamation and in carrying yourself on the stage, it is
impossible that you should not make a grand success. As for your getting
a chance to make your début, that is my concern; I will undertake that
and I shall have no difficulty. Better still, I will give you a part, a
splendid part, in my next play; and as a reward of my zeal, of my
lessons, of all that I will do for you, I will not ask you for
anything,--except a little gratitude when you are a popular
actress.--Well! what do you say? isn’t that better than being a flower
girl?”
“Is that all you’re buying this morning, monsieur?”
“But you don’t answer my proposition, Violette. Don’t you understand
that I am offering you a brilliant future--all the enjoyments, all the
pleasures of life? And that won’t interfere with your remaining
virtuous.”
“It’s too risky in that business! No, thank you, monsieur, all this
don’t tempt me; it amuses me to see other people act, but it don’t make
me want to act myself. Everyone to his taste, and I prefer my flowers to
your stage.”
“Nonsense! it isn’t possible that you refuse, when I undertake to remove
all obstacles.”
“Buy this bouquet;--just see what a pretty one it is, and what a sweet
smell! I’ll bet that it don’t smell so good in your wings.”
“Surely, this isn’t your last word, Violette? You will think it over,
and you will accept.”
“Oh! my reflecting’s all done, monsieur; it don’t take long with me; I
know right off what suits me. I don’t feel any calling for the stage.”
“But I tell you----”
“Don’t take the trouble to say any more, monsieur; you’ll just waste
your words, and that would be a pity, as you make your business out of
them, and you sell wit on paper.”
Jéricourt was so vexed by the rejection of his proposition, when he
expected a complete triumph, that he was tongue-tied, and could not
think of a single word to answer the flower girl.
At that moment he felt a hand on his arm, and someone said to him:
“Good-day, Monsieur Jéricourt; I recognized you from behind by your
cane; I said: ‘That’s my neighbor’s cane.’--How are you?”
Jéricourt turned and found himself face to face with the little young
man who squinted so horribly and whom we have already met at the Château
d’Eau flower market, with his mother and sister--Monsieur Astianax
Glumeau, whose room was on the floor above his parents, on the same
landing as Jéricourt’s apartment.
“Ah! is it you, young man?” said the author, as, with a patronizing air,
he offered a finger to little Astianax, who deemed himself highly
honored by that favor; because, in his eyes, a man who wrote plays which
were actually performed was a demigod. “What are you here for, my little
rake? to buy a bouquet for some fair one whom you are courting, I
suppose?”
“Oh! upon my word, Monsieur Jéricourt! I should not dare--I am too young
as yet. However, it isn’t the inclination that is lacking.”
“How old are you, pray?”
“Nineteen.”
“At that age I had already had fifty love-affairs!”
“Oh! but you--an author--that’s a very different matter; you weren’t
shy.”
“I never was that; there is nothing more disastrous for a man. If you
take my advice, you will cure yourself of that failing.”
“Papa and mamma don’t say so; they want to keep me in leading strings
like a poodle. Let them keep my sister so if they choose; that’s all
right--she’s a girl! But me! Yes, you’re right; there’s nothing more
foolish than a bashful man. But I don’t propose to be bashful any more;
I feel inclined to make people talk about me.--Were you buying flowers,
Monsieur Jéricourt?”
“Yes--that is to say, I was looking over them; I haven’t decided yet.”
Little Astianax put his mouth to his neighbor’s ear and whispered:
“The flower girl’s mighty pretty!”
“Do you think so? That’s a matter of taste.”
“Hum! nonsense! Anybody can see that; I noticed her yesterday; I came
with mamma and my sister to buy some flowers, because it was papa’s
birthday. I didn’t buy any; I gave him some nougat.”
“A very pretty bouquet that!”
“Oh! it doesn’t make any difference, I am going to give him some flowers
to-day; and I came here again, for I dreamed of the flower girl all
night.”
“Really!”
“Yes, yes; I was a pacha and she was a slave.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Jéricourt aloud, turning to Violette, “here’s a
young man who dreamed about you all night, just because he saw you
yesterday.”
Monsieur Astianax turned scarlet; he pulled the skirt of Jéricourt’s
coat and whispered: “Oh! I won’t tell you anything more! You make me
blush!”
“Don’t be alarmed; on the contrary, I am acting in your interest; you
are in love with mademoiselle--very good, I tell her so for you. Who
knows? perhaps you will be more fortunate than the rest of us,
especially as you have all that a man requires to succeed.”