THE PETIT COURIER ILLUSTRÉ.
THE _Toison d' Or_ was but a modest little establishment as regarded the
house, but it was surrounded on three sides by a good-sized garden
overlooking the river. Here, in the trellised arbors which lined the
lawn on either side, those customers who preferred the open air could
take their dinners, coffees, and absinthes _al fresco_.
The scene when we arrived was at its gayest. There were dinners going on
in every arbor; waiters running distractedly to and fro with trays and
bottles; two women, one with a guitar, the other with a tamborine,
singing under a tree in the middle of the garden; while in the air there
reigned an exhilarating confusion of sounds and smells impossible
to describe.
We went in. Müller paused, looked round, captured a passing waiter, and
asked for Monsieur le propriétaire. The waiter pointed over his shoulder
towards the house, and breathlessly rushed on his way.
Müller at once led the way into a salon on the ground-floor looking over
the garden.
Here we found ourselves in a large low room containing some thirty or
forty tables, and fitted up after the universal restaurant pattern, with
cheap-looking glasses, rows of hooks, and spittoons in due number. The
air was heavy with the combined smells of many dinners, and noisy with
the clatter of many tongues. Behind the fruits, cigars, and liqueur
bottles that decorated the _comptoir_ sat a plump, black-eyed little
woman in a gorgeous cap and a red silk dress. This lady welcomed us with
a bewitching smile and a gracious inclination of the head.
"_Ces messieurs_," she said, "will find a vacant table yonder, by the
window."
Müller bowed majestically.
"Madame," he said, "I wish to see Monsieur le propriétaire."
The dame de comptoir looked very uneasy.
"If Monsieur has any complaint to make," she said, "he can make it to
me."
"Madame, I have none."
"Or if it has reference to the ordering of a dinner...."
Müller smiled loftily.
"Dinner, Madame," he said, with a disdainful gesture, "is but one of the
accidents common to humanity. A trifle! A trifle always
humiliating--sometimes inconvenient--occasionally impossible. No,
Madame, mine is a serious mission; a mission of the highest importance,
both socially and commercially. May I beg that you will have the
goodness to place my card in the hands of Monsieur le propriétaire, and
say that I request the honor of five minutes' interview."
The little woman's eyes had all this time been getting rounder and
blacker. She was evidently confounded by my friend's grandiloquence.
"_Ah! mon Dieu! M'sieur_," she said, nervously, "my husband is in the
kitchen. It is a busy day with us, you understand--but I will send
for him."
And she forthwith despatched a waiter for "Monsieur Choucru."
Müller seized me by the arm.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed, in a very audible aside, "did you hear? She is
his wife! She is Madame Choucru?"
"Well, and what of that?"
"What of that, indeed? _Mais, mon ami_, how can you ask the question?
Have you no eyes? Look at her! Such a remarkably handsome woman--such a
_tournure_--such eyes--such a figure for an illustration! Only conceive
the effect of Madame Choucru--in medallion!"
"Oh, magnificent!" I replied. "Magnificent--in medallion."
But I could not, for the life of me, imagine what he was driving at.
"And it would make the fortune of the _Toison d'Or_" he added, solemnly.
To which I replied that it would undoubtedly do so.
Monsieur Choucru now came upon the scene; a short, rosy, round-faced
little man in a white flat cap and bibbed apron--like an elderly cherub
that had taken to cookery. He hung back upon the threshold, wiping his
forehead, and evidently unwilling to show himself in his shirt-sleeves.
"Here, _mon bon_," cried Madame, who was by this time crimson with
gratified vanity, and in a fever of curiosity; "this way--the gentleman
is waiting to speak to you!"
Monsieur, the cook and proprietor, shuffled his feet to and fro in the
doorway, but came no nearer.
"_Parbleu_!" he said, "if M'sieur's business is not urgent."
"It is extremely urgent, Monsieur Choucru," replied Müller; "and,
moreover, it is not so much my business as it is yours,"
"Ah bah! if it is my business, then, it may stand over till to-morrow,"
replied the little man, impatiently. "To-day I have eighty dinners on
hand, and with M'sieur's permission"....
But Müller strode to the door and caught him by the shoulder.
"No, Monsieur Choucru," he said sternly, "I will not let you ruin
yourself by putting off till to-morrow what can only be done to-day. I
have come here, Monsieur Choucru, to offer you fame. Fame and fortune,
Monsieur Choucru!--and I will not suffer you, for the sake of a few
miserable dinners, to turn your back upon the most brilliant moment of
your life!"
"_Mais, M'sieur_--explain yourself" ... stammered the propriétaire.
"You know who I am, Monsieur Choucru?"
"No, M'sieur--not in the least."
"I am Müller--Franz Müller--landscape painter, portrait painter,
historical painter, caricaturist, artist _en chef_ to the _Petit Courier
Illustré_"
"_Hein! M'sieur est peintre_!"
"Yes, Monsieur Choucru--and I offer you my protection."
Monsieur Choucru scratched his ear, and smiled doubtfully.
"Now listen, Monsieur Choucru--I am here to-day in the interests of the
_Petit Courier Illustré_. I take the Courbevoie fête for my subject. I
sketch the river, the village, the principal features of the-scene; and
on Saturday my designs are in the hands of all Paris. Do you
understand me?"
"I understand that M'sieur is all this time talking to me of his own
business, while mine, _là bas_, is standing still!" exclaimed the
propriétaire, in an agony of impatience. "I have the honor to wish
M'sieur good-day."
But Müller seized him again, and would not let him escape.
"Not so fast, Monsieur Choucru," he said; "not so fast! Will you answer
me one question before you go?"
"_Eh, mon Dieu_! Monsieur."
"Will you tell me, Monsieur Choucru, what is to prevent me from giving
a view of the best restaurant in Courbevoie?"
Madame Choucru, from behind the _comptoir_, uttered a little scream.
"A design in the _Petit Courier Illustré_, I need scarcely tell you,"
pursued Müller, with indescribable pomposity, "is in itself sufficient
to make the fortune not only of an establishment, but of a neighborhood.
I am about to make Courbevoie the fashion. The sun of Asnières, of
Montmorency, of Enghien has set--the sun of Courbevoie is about to rise.
My sketches will produce an unheard-of effect. All Paris will throng to
your fêtes next Sunday and Monday--all Paris, with its inexhaustible
appetite for _bifteck aux pommes frites_--all Paris with its
unquenchable thirst for absinthe and Bavarian beer! Now, Monsieur
Choucru, do you begin to understand me?"
"_Mais_, Monsieur, I--I think...."
"You think you do, Monsieur Choucru? Very good. Then will you please to
answer me one more question. What is to prevent me from conferring fame,
fortune, and other benefits too numerous to mention on your excellent
neighbor at the corner of the Place--Monsieur Coquille of the Restaurant
_Croix de Malte_?"
Monsieur Choucru scratched his ear again, stared helplessly at his wife,
and said nothing. Madame looked grave.
"Are we to treat this matter on the footing of a business transaction,
Monsieur!" she asked, somewhat sharply. "Because, if so, let Monsieur at
once name his price for me...."
"'PRICE,' Madame!" interrupted Müller, with a start of horror. "Gracious
powers! this to me--to Franz Müller of the _Petit Courier Illustré_!
'No, Madame--you mistake me--you wound me--you touch the honor of the
Fine Arts! Madame, I am incapable of selling my patronage."
Madame clasped her hands; raised her voice; rolled her black eyes; did
everything but burst into tears. She was shocked to have offended
Monsieur! She was profoundly desolated! She implored a thousand pardons!
And then, like a true French-woman of business, she brought back the
conversation to the one important point:--since money was not in
question, upon what consideration would Monsieur accord his preference
to the _Toison d' Or_ instead of to the _Croix de Malte_?
Müller bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and said:--
"I will do it, _pour les beaux yeux de Madame_."
And then, in graceful recognition of the little man's rights as owner of
the eyes in question, he bowed to Monsieur Choucru.
Madame was inexpressibly charmed. Monsieur smiled, fidgeted, and cast
longing glances towards the door.
"I have eighty dinners on hand," he began again, "and if M'sieur will
excuse me...."
"One moment more, my dear Monsieur Choucru," said Müller, slipping his
hand affectionately through the little man's arm. "For myself, as I have
already told you, I can accept nothing--but I am bound in honor not to
neglect the interests of the journal I represent. You will of course
wish to express your sense of the compliment paid to your house by
adding your name to the subscription list of the _Petit Courier
Illustré_?"
"Oh, by--by all means--with pleasure," faltered the propriétaire.
"For how many copies, Monsieur Choucru? Shall we say--six?"
Monsieur looked at Madame. Madame nodded. Müller took out his
pocket-book, and waited, pencil in hand.
"Eh--_parbleu_!--let it be for six, then," said Monsieur Choucru,
somewhat reluctantly.
Müller made the entry, shut up the pocket-book, and shook hands
boisterously with his victim.
"My dear Monsieur Choucru," he said, "I cannot tell you how gratifying
this is to my feelings, or with what disinterested satisfaction I shall
make your establishment known to the Parisian public. You shall be
immortalized, my dear fellow--positively immortalized!"
"_Bien obligé, M'sieur--bien obligé_. Will you not let my wife offer you
a glass of liqueure?"
"Liqueure, _mon cher_!" exclaimed Müller, with an outburst of frank
cordiality--"hang liqueure!--WE'LL DINE WITH YOU!"
"Monsieur shall be heartily welcome to the best dinner the _Toison d'Or_
can send up; and his friend also," said Madame, with her sweetest smile.
"Ah, Madame!"
"And M'sieur Choucru shall make you one of his famous cheese soufflés.
_Tiens, mon bon_, go down and prepare a cheese soufflé for two."
Müller smote his forehead distractedly.
"For two!" he cried. "Heavens! I had forgotten my aunt and my cousin!"
Madame looked up inquiringly.
"Monsieur has forgotten something?"
"Two somethings, Madame--two somebodies! My aunt--my excellent and
admirable maternal aunt,--and my cousin. We left them sitting under a
tree by the river-side, more than half an hour ago. But the fault,
Madame, is yours."
"How, Monsieur?"
"Yes; for in your charming society I forget the ties of family and the
laws of politeness. But I hasten to fetch my forgotten relatives. With
what pleasure they will share your amiable hospitality! _Au revoir_,
Madame. In ten minutes we shall be with you again!"
Madame Choucru looked grave. She had not bargained to entertain a party
of four; yet she dared not disoblige the _Petit Courier Illustré_. She
had no time, however, to demur to the arrangement; for Müller,
ingeniously taking her acquiescence for granted, darted out of the room
without waiting for an answer.
"Miserable man!" I exclaimed, as soon as we were outside the doors,
"what will you do now?"
"Do! Why, fetch my admirable maternal aunt and my interesting cousin, to
be sure."
"But you have raised a dinner under false pretences!"
"I, _mon cher_? Not a bit of it."
"Have you, then, really anything to do with the _Petit Courier
Illustré_?"
"The Editor of the _Petit Courier Illustré_ is one of the best fellows
in the world, and occasionally (when my pockets represent that vacuum
which Nature very properly abhors) he advances me a couple of Napoleons.
I wipe out the score from time to time by furnishing a design for the
paper. Now to-day, you see, I'm in luck. I shall pay off two obligations
at once--to say nothing of Monsieur Choucru's six-fold subscription to
the P.C., on which the publishers will allow me a douceur of thirty
francs. Now, confess that I'm a man of genius!"
In less than a quarter of an hour we were all four established round one
of Madame Choucru's comfortable little dining-tables, in a snug recess
at the farthest end of the salon. Here, being well out of reach of our
hostess's black eyes, Müller assumed all the airs of a liberal
entertainer. He hung up _ma cousine's_ bonnet; fetched a footstool for
_ma tante_; criticised the sauces; presided over the wine; cut jokes
with the waiter; and pretended to have ordered every dish beforehand.
The stewed kidneys with mushrooms were provided especially for Madame
Marotte; the fricandeau was selected in honor of Mam'selle Marie (had he
not an innate presentiment that she loved fricandeau?); and as for the
soles _au gratin_, he swore, in defiance of probability and all the laws
of nature, that they were the very fish we had just caught in the Seine.
By-and-by came Monsieur Choucru's famous cheese _soufflé_; and then,
with a dish of fruit, four cups of coffee, and four glasses of liqueure,
the banquet came to an end.
As we sat at desert, Müller pulled out his book and pencilled a rapid
but flattering sketch of the dining-room interior, developing a
perspective as long as the Rue de Rivoli, and a _mobilier_ at least
equal in splendor to that of the _Trois Frères_.
At sight of this _chef d'oeuvre_, Madame Choucru was moved almost to
tears. Ah, Heaven! if Monsieur could only figure to himself her
admiration for his _beau talent_! But alas! that was impossible--as
impossible as that Monsieur Choucru should ever repay this unheard-of
obligation!
Müller laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly.
"Ah! Madame," he said, "it is not to Monsieur Choucru that I look for
repayment--it is to you."
"To me, Monsieur? _Dieu merci! Monsieur se moque de moi_!"
And the Dame de Comptoir, intrenched behind her fruits and liqueure
bottles, shot a Parthian glance from under her black eye-lashes, and
made believe to blush.
"Yes, Madame, to you. I only ask permission to come again very soon, for
the purpose of executing a little portrait of Madame--a little portrait
which, alas! _must_ fail to render adequate justice to such a multitude
of charms."
And with this choice compliment, Müller bowed again, took his leave,
bestowed a whole franc upon the astonished waiter, and departed from the
_Toison d'Or_ in an atmosphere of glory.
The fair, or rather that part of the fair where the dancers and diners
most did congregate, was all ablaze with lights, and noisy with brass
bands as we came out. _Ma tante_, who was somewhat tired, and had been
dozing for the last half hour over her coffee and liqueure, was
impatient to get back to Paris. The fair Marie, who was not tired at
all, confessed that she should enjoy a waltz above everything. While
Müller, who professed to be an animated time-table, swore that we were
just too late for the ten minutes past ten train, and that there would
be no other before eleven forty-five. So Madame Marotte was carried off,
_bon gré, mal gré_, to a dancing-booth, where gentlemen were admitted on
payment of forty centimes per head, and ladies went in free.
Here, despite the noise, the dust, the braying of an abominable band,
the overwhelming smell of lamp-oil, and the clatter, not only of heavy
walking-boots, but even of several pairs of sabots upon an uneven floor
of loosely-joined planks--_ma tante_, being disposed of in a safe
corner, went soundly to sleep.
It was a large booth, somewhat over-full; and the company consisted
mainly of Parisian blue blouses, little foot-soldiers, grisettes (for
there were grisettes in those days, and plenty of them), with a
sprinkling of farm-boys and dairy-maids from the villages round about.
We found this select society caracoling round the booth in a thundering
galop, on first going in. After the galop, the conductor announced a
_valse à deux temps_. The band struck up--one--two--three. Away went
some thirty couples--away went Müller and the fair Marie--and away went
the chronicler of this modest biography with a pretty little girl in
green boots who waltzed remarkably well, and who deserted him in the
middle of the dance for a hideous little French soldier about four feet
and a half high.
After this rebuff (having learned, notwithstanding my friend's
representations to the contrary, that a train ran from Courbevoie to
Paris every half-hour up till midnight) I slipped away, leaving Müller
and _ma cousine_ in the midst of a furious flirtation, and Madame
Marotte fast asleep in her corner.
The clocks were just striking twelve as I passed under the archway
leading to the Cité Bergère.
"_Tiens_!" said the fat concierge, as she gave me my key and my candle.
"Monsieur has perhaps been to the theatre this evening? No!--to the
country--to the fête at Courbevoie! Ah, then, I'll be sworn that M'sieur
has had plenty of fun!"
But had I had plenty of fun? That was the question. That Müller had had
plenty of flirting and plenty of fun was a fact beyond the reach of
doubt. But a flirtation, after all, unless in a one-act comedy, is not
entertaining to the mere looker-on; and oh! must not those bridesmaids
who sometimes accompany a happy couple in their wedding-tour, have a
dreary time of it?