A Change of Fortune.
Then he had taken his place behind the other passengers in the front of
the diligence, and when the vehicle began to shake as the five horses
started into a brisk trot all at the same time, he allowed himself to
plunge into an intoxicating dream of the future. Like an architect
drawing up the plan of a palace, he mapped out his life beforehand. He
filled it with dainties and with splendours; it rose up to the sky; a
profuse display of allurements could be seen there; and so deeply was he
buried in the contemplation of these things that he lost sight of all
external objects.
At the foot of the hill of Sourdun his attention was directed to the
stage which they had reached in their journey. They had travelled only
about five kilometres[6] at the most. He was annoyed at this tardy rate
of travelling. He pulled down the coach-window in order to get a view of
the road. He asked the conductor several times at what hour they would
reach their destination. However, he eventually regained his composure,
and remained seated in his corner of the vehicle with eyes wide open.
[Footnote 6: A little over three miles.--Translator.]
The lantern, which hung from the postilion's seat, threw its light on
the buttocks of the shaft-horses. In front, only the manes of the other
horses could be seen undulating like white billows. Their breathing
caused a kind of fog to gather at each side of the team. The little iron
chains of the harness rang; the windows shook in their sashes; and the
heavy coach went rolling at an even pace over the pavement. Here and
there could be distinguished the wall of a barn, or else an inn standing
by itself. Sometimes, as they entered a village, a baker's oven threw
out gleams of light; and the gigantic silhouettes of the horses kept
rushing past the walls of the opposite houses. At every change of
horses, when the harness was unfastened, there was a great silence for a
minute. Overhead, under the awning, some passenger might be heard
tapping with his feet, while a woman sitting at the threshold of the
door screened her candle with her hand. Then the conductor would jump on
the footboard, and the vehicle would start on its way again.
At Mormans, the striking of the clocks announced that it was a quarter
past one.
"So then we are in another day," he thought, "we have been in it for
some time!"
But gradually his hopes and his recollections, Nogent, the Rue de
Choiseul, Madame Arnoux, and his mother, all got mixed up together.
He was awakened by the dull sound of wheels passing over planks: they
were crossing the Pont de Charenton--it was Paris. Then his two
travelling companions, the first taking off his cap, and the second his
silk handkerchief, put on their hats, and began to chat.
The first, a big, red-faced man in a velvet frock-coat, was a merchant;
the second was coming up to the capital to consult a physician; and,
fearing that he had disturbed this gentleman during the night, Frederick
spontaneously apologised to him, so much had the young man's heart been
softened by the feelings of happiness that possessed it. The wharf of
the wet dock being flooded, no doubt, they went straight ahead; and once
more they could see green fields. In the distance, tall factory-chimneys
were sending forth their smoke. Then they turned into Ivry. Then drove
up a street: all at once, he saw before him the dome of the Panthéon.
The plain, quite broken up, seemed a waste of ruins. The enclosing wall
of the fortifications made a horizontal swelling there; and, on the
footpath, on the ground at the side of the road, little branchless trees
were protected by laths bristling with nails. Establishments for
chemical products and timber-merchants' yards made their appearance
alternately. High gates, like those seen in farm-houses, afforded
glimpses, through their opening leaves, of wretched yards within, full
of filth, with puddles of dirty water in the middle of them. Long
wine-shops, of the colour of ox's blood, displayed in the first floor,
between the windows, two billiard-cues crossing one another, with a
wreath of painted flowers. Here and there might be noticed a half-built
plaster hut, which had been allowed to remain unfinished. Then the
double row of houses was no longer interrupted; and over their bare
fronts enormous tin cigars showed themselves at some distance from each
other, indicating tobacconists' shops. Midwives' signboards represented
in each case a matron in a cap rocking a doll under a counterpane
trimmed with lace. The corners of the walls were covered with placards,
which, three-quarters torn, were quivering in the wind like rags.
Workmen in blouses, brewers' drays, laundresses' and butchers' carts
passed along. A thin rain was falling. It was cold. There was a pale
sky; but two eyes, which to him were as precious as the sun, were
shining behind the haze.
They had to wait a long time at the barrier, for vendors of poultry,
wagoners, and a flock of sheep caused an obstruction there. The sentry,
with his great-coat thrown back, walked to and fro in front of his box,
to keep himself warm. The clerk who collected the city-dues clambered up
to the roof of the diligence, and a cornet-à-piston sent forth a
flourish. They went down the boulevard at a quick trot, the
whipple-trees clapping and the traces hanging loose. The lash of the
whip went cracking through the moist air. The conductor uttered his
sonorous shout:
"Look alive! look alive! oho!" and the scavengers drew out of the way,
the pedestrians sprang back, the mud gushed against the coach-windows;
they crossed dung-carts, cabs, and omnibuses. At length, the iron gate
of the Jardin des Plantes came into sight.
The Seine, which was of a yellowish colour, almost reached the platforms
of the bridges. A cool breath of air issued from it. Frederick inhaled
it with his utmost energy, drinking in this good air of Paris, which
seems to contain the effluvia of love and the emanations of the
intellect. He was touched with emotion at the first glimpse of a
hackney-coach. He gazed with delight on the thresholds of the
wine-merchants' shops garnished with straw, on the shoe-blacks with
their boxes, on the lads who sold groceries as they shook their
coffee-burners. Women hurried along at a jog-trot with umbrellas over
their heads. He bent forward to try whether he could distinguish their
faces--chance might have led Madame Arnoux to come out.
The shops displayed their wares. The crowd grew denser; the noise in the
streets grew louder. After passing the Quai Saint-Bernard, the Quai de
la Tournelle, and the Quai Montebello, they drove along the Quai
Napoléon. He was anxious to see the windows there; but they were too far
away from him. Then they once more crossed the Seine over the Pont-Neuf,
and descended in the direction of the Louvre; and, having traversed the
Rues Saint-Honoré, Croix des Petits-Champs, and Du Bouloi, he reached
the Rue Coq-Héron, and entered the courtyard of the hotel.
To make his enjoyment last the longer, Frederick dressed himself as
slowly as possible, and even walked as far as the Boulevard Montmartre.
He smiled at the thought of presently beholding once more the beloved
name on the marble plate. He cast a glance upwards; there was no longer
a trace of the display in the windows, the pictures, or anything else.
He hastened to the Rue de Choiseul. M. and Madame Arnoux no longer
resided there, and a woman next door was keeping an eye on the porter's
lodge. Frederick waited to see the porter himself. After some time he
made his appearance--it was no longer the same man. He did not know
their address.
Frederick went into a café, and, while at breakfast, consulted the
Commercial Directory. There were three hundred Arnoux in it, but no
Jacques Arnoux. Where, then, were they living? Pellerin ought to know.
He made his way to the very top of the Faubourg Poissonnière, to the
artist's studio. As the door had neither a bell nor a knocker, he rapped
loudly on it with his knuckles, and then called out--shouted. But the
only response was the echo of his voice from the empty house.
After this he thought of Hussonnet; but where could he discover a man of
that sort? On one occasion he had waited on Hussonnet when the latter
was paying a visit to his mistress's house in the Rue de Fleurus.
Frederick had just reached the Rue de Fleurus when he became conscious
of the fact that he did not even know the lady's name.
He had recourse to the Prefecture of Police. He wandered from staircase
to staircase, from office to office. He found that the Intelligence
Department was closed for the day, and was told to come back again next
morning.
Then he called at all the picture-dealers' shops that he could discover,
and enquired whether they could give him any information as to Arnoux's
whereabouts. The only answer he got was that M. Arnoux was no longer in
the trade.
At last, discouraged, weary, sickened, he returned to his hotel, and
went to bed. Just as he was stretching himself between the sheets, an
idea flashed upon him which made him leap up with delight:
"Regimbart! what an idiot I was not to think of him before!"
Next morning, at seven o'clock, he arrived in the Rue Nôtre Dame des
Victoires, in front of a dram-shop, where Regimbart was in the habit of
drinking white wine. It was not yet open. He walked about the
neighbourhood, and at the end of about half-an-hour, presented himself
at the place once more. Regimbart had left it.
Frederick rushed out into the street. He fancied that he could even
notice Regimbart's hat some distance away. A hearse and some mourning
coaches intercepted his progress. When they had got out of the way, the
vision had disappeared.
Fortunately, he recalled to mind that the Citizen breakfasted every day
at eleven o'clock sharp, at a little restaurant in the Place Gaillon.
All he had to do was to wait patiently till then; and, after sauntering
about from the Bourse to the Madeleine, and from the Madeleine to the
Gymnase, so long that it seemed as if it would never come to an end,
Frederick, just as the clocks were striking eleven, entered the
restaurant in the Rue Gaillon, certain of finding Regimbart there.
"Don't know!" said the restaurant-keeper, in an unceremonious tone.
Frederick persisted: the man replied:
"I have no longer any acquaintance with him, Monsieur"--and, as he
spoke, he raised his eyebrows majestically and shook his head in a
mysterious fashion.
But, in their last interview, the Citizen had referred to the Alexandre
smoking-divan. Frederick swallowed a cake, jumped into a cab, and asked
the driver whether there happened to be anywhere on the heights of
Sainte-Geneviève a certain Café Alexandre. The cabman drove him to the
Rue des Francs Bourgeois Saint-Michel, where there was an establishment
of that name, and in answer to his question:
"M. Regimbart, if you please?" the keeper of the café said with an
unusually gracious smile:
"We have not seen him as yet, Monsieur," while he directed towards his
wife, who sat behind the counter, a look of intelligence. And the next
moment, turning towards the clock:
"But he'll be here, I hope, in ten minutes, or at most a quarter of an
hour. Celestin, hurry with the newspapers! What would Monsieur like to
take?"
Though he did not want to take anything, Frederick swallowed a glass of
rum, then a glass of kirsch, then a glass of curaçoa, then several
glasses of grog, both cold and hot. He read through that day's _Siècle_,
and then read it over again; he examined the caricatures in the
_Charivari_ down to the very tissue of the paper. When he had finished,
he knew the advertisements by heart. From time to time, the tramp of
boots on the footpath outside reached his ears--it was he! and some
one's form would trace its outlines on the window-panes; but it
invariably passed on.
In order to get rid of the sense of weariness he experienced, Frederick
shifted his seat. He took up his position at the lower end of the room;
then at the right; after that at the left; and he remained in the middle
of the bench with his arms stretched out. But a cat, daintily pressing
down the velvet at the back of the seat, startled him by giving a sudden
spring, in order to lick up the spots of syrup on the tray; and the
child of the house, an insufferable brat of four, played noisily with a
rattle on the bar steps. His mother, a pale-faced little woman, with
decayed teeth, was smiling in a stupid sort of way. What in the world
could Regimbart be doing? Frederick waited for him in an exceedingly
miserable frame of mind.
The rain clattered like hail on the covering of the cab. Through the
opening in the muslin curtain he could see the poor horse in the street
more motionless than a horse made of wood. The stream of water, becoming
enormous, trickled down between two spokes of the wheels, and the
coachman was nodding drowsily with the horsecloth wrapped round him for
protection, but fearing lest his fare might give him the slip, he opened
the door every now and then, with the rain dripping from him as if
falling from a mountain torrent; and, if things could get worn out by
looking at them, the clock ought to have by this time been utterly
dissolved, so frequently did Frederick rivet his eyes on it. However, it
kept going. "Mine host" Alexandre walked up and down repeating, "He'll
come! Cheer up! he'll come!" and, in order to divert his thoughts,
talked politics, holding forth at some length. He even carried civility
so far as to propose a game of dominoes.
At length when it was half-past four, Frederick, who had been there
since about twelve, sprang to his feet, and declared that he would not
wait any longer.
"I can't understand it at all myself," replied the café-keeper, in a
tone of straightforwardness. "This is the first time that M. Ledoux has
failed to come!"
"What! Monsieur Ledoux?"
"Why, yes, Monsieur!"
"I said Regimbart," exclaimed Frederick, exasperated.
"Ah! a thousand pardons! You are making a mistake! Madame Alexandre, did
not Monsieur say M. Ledoux?"
And, questioning the waiter: "You heard him yourself, just as I did?"
No doubt, to pay his master off for old scores, the waiter contented
himself with smiling.
Frederick drove back to the boulevards, indignant at having his time
wasted, raging against the Citizen, but craving for his presence as if
for that of a god, and firmly resolved to drag him forth, if necessary,
from the depths of the most remote cellars. The vehicle in which he was
driving only irritated him the more, and he accordingly got rid of it.
His ideas were in a state of confusion. Then all the names of the cafés
which he had heard pronounced by that idiot burst forth at the same time
from his memory like the thousand pieces of an exhibition of
fireworks--the Café Gascard, the Café Grimbert, the Café Halbout, the
Bordelais smoking-divan, the Havanais, the Havrais, the Boeuf à la
Mode, the Brasserie Allemande, and the Mère Morel; and he made his way
to all of them in succession. But in one he was told that Regimbart had
just gone out; in another, that he might perhaps call at a later hour;
in a third, that they had not seen him for six months; and, in another
place, that he had the day before ordered a leg of mutton for Saturday.
Finally, at Vautier's dining-rooms, Frederick, on opening the door,
knocked against the waiter.
"Do you know M. Regimbart?"
"What, monsieur! do I know him? 'Tis I who have the honour of attending
on him. He's upstairs--he is just finishing his dinner!"
And, with a napkin under his arm, the master of the establishment
himself accosted him:
"You're asking him for M. Regimbart, monsieur? He was here a moment
ago."
Frederick gave vent to an oath, but the proprietor of the dining-rooms
stated that he would find the gentleman as a matter of certainty at
Bouttevilain's.
"I assure you, on my honour, he left a little earlier than usual, for he
had a business appointment with some gentlemen. But you'll find him, I
tell you again, at Bouttevilain's, in the Rue Saint-Martin, No. 92, the
second row of steps at the left, at the end of the courtyard--first
floor--door to the right!"
At last, he saw Regimbart, in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, by himself, at
the lower end of the refreshment-room, near the billiard-table, with a
glass of beer in front of him, and his chin lowered in a thoughtful
attitude.
"Ah! I have been a long time searching for you!"
Without rising, Regimbart extended towards him only two fingers, and, as
if he had seen Frederick the day before, he gave utterance to a number
of commonplace remarks about the opening of the session.
Frederick interrupted him, saying in the most natural tone he could
assume:
"Is Arnoux going on well?"
The reply was a long time coming, as Regimbart was gargling the liquor
in his throat:
"Yes, not badly."
"Where is he living now?"
"Why, in the Rue Paradis Poissonnière," the Citizen returned with
astonishment.
"What number?"
"Thirty-seven--confound it! what a funny fellow you are!"
Frederick rose.
"What! are you going?"
"Yes, yes! I have to make a call--some business matter I had forgotten!
Good-bye!"
Frederick went from the smoking-divan to the Arnoux's residence, as if
carried along by a tepid wind, with a sensation of extreme ease such as
people experience in dreams.
He found himself soon on the second floor in front of a door, at the
ringing of whose bell a servant appeared. A second door was flung open.
Madame Arnoux was seated near the fire. Arnoux jumped up, and rushed
across to embrace Frederick. She had on her lap a little boy not quite
three years old. Her daughter, now as tall as herself, was standing up
at the opposite side of the mantelpiece.
"Allow me to present this gentleman to you," said Arnoux, taking his son
up in his arms. And he amused himself for some minutes in making the
child jump up in the air very high, and then catching him with both
hands as he came down.
"You'll kill him!--ah! good heavens, have done!" exclaimed Madame
Arnoux.
But Arnoux, declaring that there was not the slightest danger, still
kept tossing up the child, and even addressed him in words of endearment
such as nurses use in the Marseillaise dialect, his natal tongue: "Ah!
my fine picheoun! my ducksy of a little nightingale!"
Then, he asked Frederick why he had been so long without writing to
them, what he had been doing down in the country, and what brought him
back.
"As for me, I am at present, my dear friend, a dealer in faïence. But
let us talk about yourself!"
Frederick gave as reasons for his absence a protracted lawsuit and the
state of his mother's health.
He laid special stress on the latter subject in order to make himself
interesting. He ended by saying that this time he was going to settle in
Paris for good; and he said nothing about the inheritance, lest it might
be prejudicial to his past.
The curtains, like the upholstering of the furniture, were of maroon
damask wool. Two pillows were close beside one another on the bolster.
On the coal-fire a kettle was boiling; and the shade of the lamp, which
stood near the edge of the chest of drawers, darkened the apartment.
Madame Arnoux wore a large blue merino dressing-gown. With her face
turned towards the fire and one hand on the shoulder of the little boy,
she unfastened with the other the child's bodice. The youngster in his
shirt began to cry, while scratching his head, like the son of M.
Alexandre.
Frederick expected that he would have felt spasms of joy; but the
passions grow pale when we find ourselves in an altered situation; and,
as he no longer saw Madame Arnoux in the environment wherein he had
known her, she seemed to him to have lost some of her fascination; to
have degenerated in some way that he could not comprehend--in fact, not
to be the same. He was astonished at the serenity of his own heart. He
made enquiries about some old friends, about Pellerin, amongst others.
"I don't see him often," said Arnoux. She added:
"We no longer entertain as we used to do formerly!"
Was the object of this to let him know that he would get no invitation
from them? But Arnoux, continuing to exhibit the same cordiality,
reproached him for not having come to dine with them uninvited; and he
explained why he had changed his business.
"What are you to do in an age of decadence like ours? Great painting is
gone out of fashion! Besides, we may import art into everything. You
know that, for my part, I am a lover of the beautiful. I must bring you
one of these days to see my earthenware works."
And he wanted to show Frederick immediately some of his productions in
the store which he had between the ground-floor and the first floor.
Dishes, soup-tureens, and washhand-basins encumbered the floor. Against
the walls were laid out large squares of pavement for bathrooms and
dressing-rooms, with mythological subjects in the Renaissance style;
whilst in the centre, a pair of whatnots, rising up to the ceiling,
supported ice-urns, flower-pots, candelabra, little flower-stands, and
large statuettes of many colours, representing a negro or a shepherdess
in the Pompadour fashion. Frederick, who was cold and hungry, was bored
with Arnoux's display of his wares. He hurried off to the Café Anglais,
where he ordered a sumptuous supper, and while eating, said to himself:
"I was well off enough below there with all my troubles! She scarcely
took any notice of me! How like a shopkeeper's wife!"
And in an abrupt expansion of healthfulness, he formed egoistic
resolutions. He felt his heart as hard as the table on which his elbows
rested. So then he could by this time plunge fearlessly into the vortex
of society. The thought of the Dambreuses recurred to his mind. He would
make use of them. Then he recalled Deslauriers to mind. "Ah! faith, so
much the worse!" Nevertheless, he sent him a note by a messenger, making
an appointment with him for the following day, in order that they might
breakfast together.
Fortune had not been so kind to the other.
He had presented himself at the examination for a fellowship with a
thesis on the law of wills, in which he maintained that the powers of
testators ought to be restricted as much as possible; and, as his
adversary provoked him in such a way as to make him say foolish things,
he gave utterance to many of these absurdities without in any way
inducing the examiners to falter in deciding that he was wrong. Then
chance so willed it that he should choose by lot, as a subject for a
lecture, Prescription. Thereupon, Deslauriers gave vent to some
lamentable theories: the questions in dispute in former times ought to
be brought forward as well as those which had recently arisen; why
should the proprietor be deprived of his estate because he could furnish
his title-deeds only after the lapse of thirty-one years? This was
giving the security of the honest man to the inheritor of the enriched
thief. Every injustice was consecrated by extending this law, which was
a form of tyranny, the abuse of force! He had even exclaimed: "Abolish
it; and the Franks will no longer oppress the Gauls, the English oppress
the Irish, the Yankee oppress the Redskins, the Turks oppress the Arabs,
the whites oppress the blacks, Poland----"
The President interrupted him: "Well! well! Monsieur, we have nothing to
do with your political opinions--you will have them represented in your
behalf by-and-by!"
Deslauriers did not wish to have his opinions represented; but this
unfortunate Title XX. of the Third Book of the Civil Code had become a
sort of mountain over which he stumbled. He was elaborating a great work
on "Prescription considered as the Basis of the Civil Law and of the Law
of Nature amongst Peoples"; and he got lost in Dunod, Rogerius, Balbus,
Merlin, Vazeille, Savigny, Traplong, and other weighty authorities on
the subject. In order to have more leisure for the purpose of devoting
himself to this task, he had resigned his post of head-clerk. He lived
by giving private tuitions and preparing theses; and at the meetings of
newly-fledged barristers to rehearse legal arguments he frightened by
his display of virulence those who held conservative views, all the
young doctrinaires who acknowledged M. Guizot as their master--so that
in a certain set he had gained a sort of celebrity, mingled, in a slight
degree, with lack of confidence in him as an individual.
He came to keep the appointment in a big paletot, lined with red
flannel, like the one Sénécal used to wear in former days.
Human respect on account of the passers-by prevented them from straining
one another long in an embrace of friendship; and they made their way to
Véfour's arm-in-arm, laughing pleasantly, though with tear-drops
lingering in the depths of their eyes. Then, as soon as they were free
from observation, Deslauriers exclaimed:
"Ah! damn it! we'll have a jolly time of it now!"
Frederick was not quite pleased to find Deslauriers all at once
associating himself in this way with his own newly-acquired
inheritance. His friend exhibited too much pleasure on account of them
both, and not enough on his account alone.
After this, Deslauriers gave details about the reverse he had met with,
and gradually told Frederick all about his occupations and his daily
existence, speaking of himself in a stoical fashion, and of others in
tones of intense bitterness. He found fault with everything; there was
not a man in office who was not an idiot or a rascal. He flew into a
passion against the waiter for having a glass badly rinsed, and, when
Frederick uttered a reproach with a view to mitigating his wrath: "As if
I were going to annoy myself with such numbskulls, who, you must know,
can earn as much as six and even eight thousand francs a year, who are
electors, perhaps eligible as candidates. Ah! no, no!"
Then, with a sprightly air, "But I've forgotten that I'm talking to a
capitalist, to a Mondor,[7] for you are a Mondor now!"
[Footnote 7: Mondor was a celebrated Italian charlatan, who,
in the seventeenth century, settled in Paris and made a large
fortune.--Translator.]
And, coming back to the question of the inheritance, he gave expression
to this view--that collateral successorship (a thing unjust in itself,
though in the present case he was glad it was possible) would be
abolished one of these days at the approaching revolution.
"Do you believe in that?" said Frederick.
"Be sure of it!" he replied. "This sort of thing cannot last. There is
too much suffering. When I see into the wretchedness of men like
Sénécal----"
"Always Sénécal!" thought Frederick.
"But, at all events, tell me the news? Are you still in love with Madame
Arnoux? Is it all over--eh?"
Frederick, not knowing what answer to give him, closed his eyes and hung
down his head.
With regard to Arnoux, Deslauriers told him that the journal was now the
property of Hussonnet, who had transformed it. It was called "_L'Art_, a
literary institution--a company with shares of one hundred francs each;
capital of the firm, forty thousand francs," each shareholder having the
right to put into it his own contributions; for "the company has for its
object to publish the works of beginners, to spare talent, perchance
genius, the sad crises which drench," etc.
"You see the dodge!" There was, however, something to be effected by the
change--the tone of the journal could be raised; then, without any
delay, while retaining the same writers, and promising a continuation of
the feuilleton, to supply the subscribers with a political organ: the
amount to be advanced would not be very great.
"What do you think of it? Come! would you like to have a hand in it?"
Frederick did not reject the proposal; but he pointed out that it was
necessary for him to attend to the regulation of his affairs.
"After that, if you require anything----"
"Thanks, my boy!" said Deslauriers.
Then, they smoked puros, leaning with their elbows on the shelf covered
with velvet beside the window. The sun was shining; the air was balmy.
Flocks of birds, fluttering about, swooped down into the garden. The
statues of bronze and marble, washed by the rain, were glistening.
Nursery-maids wearing aprons, were seated on chairs, chatting together;
and the laughter of children could be heard mingling with the continuous
plash that came from the sheaf-jets of the fountain.
Frederick was troubled by Deslauriers' irritability; but under the
influence of the wine which circulated through his veins, half-asleep,
in a state of torpor, with the sun shining full on his face, he was no
longer conscious of anything save a profound sense of comfort, a kind of
voluptuous feeling that stupefied him, as a plant is saturated with heat
and moisture. Deslauriers, with half-closed eyelids, was staring
vacantly into the distance. His breast swelled, and he broke out in the
following strain:
"Ah! those were better days when Camille Desmoulins, standing below
there on a table, drove the people on to the Bastille. Men really lived
in those times; they could assert themselves, and prove their strength!
Simple advocates commanded generals. Kings were beaten by beggars;
whilst now----"
He stopped, then added all of a sudden:
"Pooh! the future is big with great things!"
And, drumming a battle-march on the window-panes, he declaimed some
verses of Barthélemy, which ran thus:
"'That dread Assembly shall again appear,
Which, after forty years, fills you with fear,
Marching with giant stride and dauntless soul'[8]
--I don't know the rest of it! But 'tis late; suppose we go?"
[Footnote 8: "Elle reparaîtra, la terrible Assemblée,
Dont, après quarante ans, votre tête est troublée,
Colosse qui sans peur marche d'un pas puissant."]
And he went on setting forth his theories in the street.
Frederick, without listening to him, was looking at certain materials
and articles of furniture in the shop-windows which would be suitable
for his new residence in Paris; and it was, perhaps, the thought of
Madame Arnoux that made him stop before a second-hand dealer's window,
where three plates made of fine ware were exposed to view. They were
decorated with yellow arabesques with metallic reflections, and were
worth a hundred crowns apiece. He got them put by.
"For my part, if I were in your place," said Deslauriers, "I would
rather buy silver plate," revealing by this love of substantial things
the man of mean extraction.
As soon as he was alone, Frederick repaired to the establishment of the
celebrated Pomadère, where he ordered three pairs of trousers, two
coats, a pelisse trimmed with fur, and five waistcoats. Then he called
at a bootmaker's, a shirtmaker's, and a hatter's, giving them directions
in each shop to make the greatest possible haste. Three days later, on
the evening of his return from Havre, he found his complete wardrobe
awaiting him in his Parisian abode; and impatient to make use of it, he
resolved to pay an immediate visit to the Dambreuses. But it was too
early yet--scarcely eight o'clock.
"Suppose I went to see the others?" said he to himself.
He came upon Arnoux, all alone, in the act of shaving in front of his
glass. The latter proposed to drive him to a place where they could
amuse themselves, and when M. Dambreuse was referred to, "Ah, that's
just lucky! You'll see some of his friends there. Come on, then! It will
be good fun!"
Frederick asked to be excused. Madame Arnoux recognised his voice, and
wished him good-day, through the partition, for her daughter was
indisposed, and she was also rather unwell herself. The noise of a
soup-ladle against a glass could be heard from within, and all those
quivering sounds made by things being lightly moved about, which are
usual in a sick-room. Then Arnoux left his dressing-room to say good-bye
to his wife. He brought forward a heap of reasons for going out:
"You know well that it is a serious matter! I must go there; 'tis a case
of necessity. They'll be waiting for me!"
"Go, go, my dear! Amuse yourself!"
Arnoux hailed a hackney-coach:
"Palais Royal, No. 7 Montpensier Gallery." And, as he let himself sink
back in the cushions:
"Ah! how tired I am, my dear fellow! It will be the death of me!
However, I can tell it to you--to you!"
He bent towards Frederick's ear in a mysterious fashion:
"I am trying to discover again the red of Chinese copper!"
And he explained the nature of the glaze and the little fire.
On their arrival at Chevet's shop, a large hamper was brought to him,
which he stowed away in the hackney-coach. Then he bought for his "poor
wife" pine-apples and various dainties, and directed that they should be
sent early next morning.
After this, they called at a costumer's establishment; it was to a ball
they were going.
Arnoux selected blue velvet breeches, a vest of the same material, and a
red wig; Frederick a domino; and they went down the Rue de Laval towards
a house the second floor of which was illuminated by coloured lanterns.
At the foot of the stairs they heard violins playing above.
"Where the deuce are you bringing me to?" said Frederick.
"To see a nice girl! don't be afraid!"
The door was opened for them by a groom; and they entered the anteroom,
where paletots, mantles, and shawls were thrown together in a heap on
some chairs. A young woman in the costume of a dragoon of Louis XIV.'s
reign was passing at that moment. It was Mademoiselle Rosanette Bron,
the mistress of the place.
"Well?" said Arnoux.
"'Tis done!" she replied.
"Ah! thanks, my angel!"
And he wanted to kiss her.
"Take care, now, you foolish man! You'll spoil the paint on my face!"
Arnoux introduced Frederick.
"Step in there, Monsieur; you are quite welcome!"
She drew aside a door-curtain, and cried out with a certain emphasis:
"Here's my lord Arnoux, girl, and a princely friend of his!"
Frederick was at first dazzled by the lights. He could see nothing save
some silk and velvet dresses, naked shoulders, a mass of colours swaying
to and fro to the accompaniment of an orchestra hidden behind green
foliage, between walls hung with yellow silk, with pastel portraits here
and there and crystal chandeliers in the style of Louis XVI.'s period.
High lamps, whose globes of roughened glass resembled snowballs, looked
down on baskets of flowers placed on brackets in the corners; and at the
opposite side, at the rear of a second room, smaller in size, one could
distinguish, in a third, a bed with twisted posts, and at its head a
Venetian mirror.
The dancing stopped, and there were bursts of applause, a hubbub of
delight, as Arnoux was seen advancing with his hamper on his head; the
eatables contained in it made a lump in the centre.
"Make way for the lustre!"
Frederick raised his eyes: it was the lustre of old Saxe that had
adorned the shop attached to the office of _L'Art Industriel_. The
memory of former days was brought back to his mind. But a foot-soldier
of the line in undress, with that silly expression of countenance
ascribed by tradition to conscripts, planted himself right in front of
him, spreading out his two arms in order to emphasise his astonishment,
and, in spite of the hideous black moustaches, unusually pointed, which
disfigured his face, Frederick recognised his old friend Hussonnet. In a
half-Alsatian, half-negro kind of gibberish, the Bohemian loaded him
with congratulations, calling him his colonel. Frederick, put out of
countenance by the crowd of personages assembled around him, was at a
loss for an answer. At a tap on the desk from a fiddlestick, the
partners in the dance fell into their places.
They were about sixty in number, the women being for the most part
dressed either as village-girls or marchionesses, and the men, who were
nearly all of mature age, being got up as wagoners, 'longshoremen, or
sailors.
Frederick having taken up his position close to the wall, stared at
those who were going through the quadrille in front of him.
An old beau, dressed like a Venetian Doge in a long gown or purple silk,
was dancing with Mademoiselle Rosanette, who wore a green coat, laced
breeches, and boots of soft leather with gold spurs. The pair in front
of them consisted of an Albanian laden with yataghans and a Swiss girl
with blue eyes and skin white as milk, who looked as plump as a quail
with her chemise-sleeves and red corset exposed to view. In order to
turn to account her hair, which fell down to her hips, a tall blonde, a
walking lady in the opera, had assumed the part of a female savage; and
over her brown swaddling-cloth she displayed nothing save leathern
breeches, glass bracelets, and a tinsel diadem, from which rose a large
sheaf of peacock's feathers. In front of her, a gentleman who had
intended to represent Pritchard,[9] muffled up in a grotesquely big
black coat, was beating time with his elbows on his snuff-box. A little
Watteau shepherd in blue-and-silver, like moonlight, dashed his crook
against the thyrsus of a Bacchante crowned with grapes, who wore a
leopard's skin over her left side, and buskins with gold ribbons. On the
other side, a Polish lady, in a spencer of nacarat-coloured velvet, made
her gauze petticoat flutter over her pearl-gray stockings, which rose
above her fashionable pink boots bordered with white fur. She was
smiling on a big-paunched man of forty, disguised as a choir-boy, who
was skipping very high, lifting up his surplice with one hand, and with
the other his red clerical cap. But the queen, the star, was
Mademoiselle Loulou, a celebrated dancer at public halls. As she had now
become wealthy, she wore a large lace collar over her vest of smooth
black velvet; and her wide trousers of poppy-coloured silk, clinging
closely to her figure, and drawn tight round her waist by a cashmere
scarf, had all over their seams little natural white camellias. Her pale
face, a little puffed, and with the nose somewhat _retroussé_, looked
all the more pert from the disordered appearance of her wig, over which
she had with a touch of her hand clapped a man's grey felt hat, so that
it covered her right ear; and, with every bounce she made, her pumps,
adorned with diamond buckles, nearly reached the nose of her neighbour,
a big mediæval baron, who was quite entangled in his steel armour. There
was also an angel, with a gold sword in her hand, and two swan's wings
over her back, who kept rushing up and down, every minute losing her
partner who appeared as Louis XIV., displaying an utter ignorance of the
figures and confusing the quadrille.
[Footnote 9: This probably refers to the English astronomer of that
name.--Translator.]
Frederick, as he gazed at these people, experienced a sense of
forlornness, a feeling of uneasiness. He was still thinking of Madame
Arnoux and it seemed to him as if he were taking part in some plot that
was being hatched against her.
When the quadrille was over, Mademoiselle Rosanette accosted him. She
was slightly out of breath, and her gorget, polished like a mirror,
swelled up softly under her chin.
"And you, Monsieur," said she, "don't you dance?"
Frederick excused himself; he did not know how to dance.
"Really! but with me? Are you quite sure?" And, poising herself on one
hip, with her other knee a little drawn back, while she stroked with her
left hand the mother-of-pearl pommel of her sword, she kept staring at
him for a minute with a half-beseeching, half-teasing air. At last she
said "Good night! then," made a pirouette, and disappeared.
Frederick, dissatisfied with himself, and not well knowing what to do,
began to wander through the ball-room.
He entered the boudoir padded with pale blue silk, with bouquets of
flowers from the fields, whilst on the ceiling, in a circle of gilt
wood, Cupids, emerging out of an azure sky, played over the clouds,
resembling down in appearance. This display of luxuries, which would
to-day be only trifles to persons like Rosanette, dazzled him, and he
admired everything--the artificial convolvuli which adorned the surface
of the mirror, the curtains on the mantelpiece, the Turkish divan, and a
sort of tent in a recess in the wall, with pink silk hangings and a
covering of white muslin overhead. Furniture made of dark wood with
inlaid work of copper filled the sleeping apartment, where, on a
platform covered with swan's-down, stood the large canopied bedstead
trimmed with ostrich-feathers. Pins, with heads made of precious stones,
stuck into pincushions, rings trailing over trays, lockets with hoops of
gold, and little silver chests, could be distinguished in the shade
under the light shed by a Bohemian urn suspended from three chainlets.
Through a little door, which was slightly ajar, could be seen a
hot-house occupying the entire breadth of a terrace, with an aviary at
the other end.
Here were surroundings specially calculated to charm him. In a sudden
revolt of his youthful blood he swore that he would enjoy such things;
he grew bold; then, coming back to the place opening into the
drawing-room, where there was now a larger gathering--it kept moving
about in a kind of luminous pulverulence--he stood to watch the
quadrilles, blinking his eyes to see better, and inhaling the soft
perfumes of the women, which floated through the atmosphere like an
immense kiss.
But, close to him, on the other side of the door, was
Pellerin--Pellerin, in full dress, his left arm over his breast and with
his hat and a torn white glove in his right.
"Halloa! 'Tis a long time since we saw you! Where the deuce have you
been? Gone to travel in Italy? 'Tis a commonplace country enough--Italy,
eh? not so unique as people say it is? No matter! Will you bring me your
sketches one of these days?"
And, without giving him time to answer, the artist began talking about
himself. He had made considerable progress, having definitely satisfied
himself as to the stupidity of the line. We ought not to look so much
for beauty and unity in a work as for character and diversity of
subject.
"For everything exists in nature; therefore, everything is legitimate;
everything is plastic. It is only a question of catching the note, mind
you! I have discovered the secret." And giving him a nudge, he repeated
several times, "I have discovered the secret, you see! just look at that
little woman with the head-dress of a sphinx who is dancing with a
Russian postilion--that's neat, dry, fixed, all in flats and in stiff
tones--indigo under the eyes, a patch of vermilion on the cheek, and
bistre on the temples--pif! paf!" And with his thumb he drew, as it
were, pencil-strokes in the air. "Whilst the big one over there," he
went on, pointing towards a fishwife in a cherry gown with a gold cross
hanging from her neck, and a lawn fichu fastened round her shoulders,
"is nothing but curves. The nostrils are spread out just like the
borders of her cap; the corners of the mouth are rising up; the chin
sinks: all is fleshy, melting, abundant, tranquil, and sunshiny--a true
Rubens! Nevertheless, they are both perfect! Where, then, is the type?"
He grew warm with the subject. "What is this but a beautiful woman? What
is it but the beautiful? Ah! the beautiful--tell me what that is----"
Frederick interrupted him to enquire who was the merry-andrew with the
face of a he-goat, who was in the very act of blessing all the dancers
in the middle of a pastourelle.
"Oh! he's not much!--a widower, the father of three boys. He leaves them
without breeches, spends his whole day at the club, and lives with the
servant!"
"And who is that dressed like a bailiff talking in the recess of the
window to a Marquise de Pompadour?"
"The Marquise is Mademoiselle Vandael, formerly an actress at the
Gymnase, the mistress of the Doge, the Comte de Palazot. They have now
been twenty years living together--nobody can tell why. Had she fine
eyes at one time, this woman? As for the citizen by her side, his name
is Captain d'Herbigny, an old man of the hurdy-gurdy sort that you can
play on, with nothing in the world except his Cross of the Legion of
Honour and his pension. He passes for the uncle of the grisettes at
festival times, arranges duels, and dines in the city."
"A rascal?" said Frederick.
"No! an honest man!"
"Ha!"
The artist was going on to mention the names of many others, when,
perceiving a gentleman who, like Molière's physician, wore a big black
serge gown opening very wide as it descended in order to display all his
trinkets:
"The person who presents himself there before you is Dr. Des Rogis, who,
full of rage at not having made a name for himself, has written a book
of medical pornography, and willingly blacks people's boots in society,
while he is at the same time discreet. These ladies adore him. He and
his wife (that lean châtelaine in the grey dress) trip about together at
every public place--aye, and at other places too. In spite of domestic
embarrassments, they have a _day_--artistic teas, at which verses are
recited. Attention!"
In fact, the doctor came up to them at that moment; and soon they formed
all three, at the entrance to the drawing-room, a group of talkers,
which was presently augmented by Hussonnet, then by the lover of the
female savage, a young poet who displayed, under a court cloak of
Francis I.'s reign, the most pitiful of anatomies, and finally a
sprightly youth disguised as a Turk of the barrier. But his vest with
its yellow galloon had taken so many voyages on the backs of strolling
dentists, his wide trousers full of creases, were of so faded a red, his
turban, rolled about like an eel in the Tartar fashion, was so poor in
appearance--in short, his entire costume was so wretched and made-up,
that the women did not attempt to hide their disgust. The doctor
consoled him by pronouncing eulogies on his mistress, the lady in the
dress of a 'longshorewoman. This Turk was a banker's son.
Between two quadrilles, Rosanette advanced towards the mantelpiece,
where an obese little old man, in a maroon coat with gold buttons, had
seated himself in an armchair. In spite of his withered cheeks, which
fell over his white cravat, his hair, still fair, and curling naturally
like that of a poodle, gave him a certain frivolity of aspect.
She was listening to him with her face bent close to his. Presently, she
accommodated him with a little glass of syrup; and nothing could be more
dainty than her hands under their laced sleeves, which passed over the
facings of her green coat. When the old man had swallowed it, he kissed
them.
"Why, that's M. Oudry, a neighbor of Arnoux!"
"He has lost her!" said Pellerin, smiling.
A Longjumeau postilion caught her by the waist. A waltz was beginning.
Then all the women, seated round the drawing-room on benches, rose up
quickly at the same time; and their petticoats, their scarfs, and their
head-dresses went whirling round.
They whirled so close to him that Frederick could notice the beads of
perspiration on their foreheads; and this gyral movement, more and more
lively, regular, provocative of dizzy sensations, communicated to his
mind a sort of intoxication, which made other images surge up within it,
while every woman passed with the same dazzling effect, and each of them
with a special kind of exciting influence, according to her style of
beauty.
The Polish lady, surrendering herself in a languorous fashion, inspired
him with a longing to clasp her to his heart while they were both
spinning forward on a sledge along a plain covered with snow. Horizons
of tranquil voluptuousness in a châlet at the side of a lake opened out
under the footsteps of the Swiss girl, who waltzed with her bust erect
and her eyelashes drooping. Then, suddenly, the Bacchante, bending back
her head with its dark locks, made him dream of devouring caresses in a
wood of oleanders, in the midst of a storm, to the confused
accompaniment of tabours. The fishwife, who was panting from the
rapidity of the music, which was far too great for her, gave vent to
bursts of laughter; and he would have liked, while drinking with her in
some tavern in the "Porcherons,"[10] to rumple her fichu with both
hands, as in the good old times. But the 'longshorewoman, whose light
toes barely skimmed the floor, seemed to conceal under the suppleness of
her limbs and the seriousness of her face all the refinements of modern
love, which possesses the exactitude of a science and the mobility of a
bird. Rosanette was whirling with arms akimbo; her wig, in an awkward
position, bobbing over her collar, flung iris-powder around her; and, at
every turn, she was near catching hold of Frederick with the ends of her
gold spurs.
[Footnote 10: The "Porcherons" was the name given to an old quarter of
Paris famous for its taverns, situated between the Rue du Faubourg
Montmartre and the Rue de Saint-Lazare.--Translator.]
During the closing bar of the waltz, Mademoiselle Vatnaz made her
appearance. She had an Algerian handkerchief on her head, a number of
piastres on her forehead, antimony at the edges of her eyes, with a kind
of paletot made of black cashmere falling over a petticoat of sparkling
colour, with stripes of silver; and in her hand she held a tambourine.
Behind her back came a tall fellow in the classical costume of Dante,
who happened to be--she now made no concealment any longer about it--the
ex-singer of the Alhambra, and who, though his name was Auguste
Delamare, had first called himself Anténor Delamarre, then Delmas, then
Belmar, and at last Delmar, thus modifying and perfecting his name, as
his celebrity increased, for he had forsaken the public-house concert
for the theatre, and had even just made his _début_ in a noisy fashion
at the Ambigu in _Gaspardo le Pécheur_.
Hussonnet, on seeing him, knitted his brows. Since his play had been
rejected, he hated actors. It was impossible to conceive the vanity of
individuals of this sort, and above all of this fellow. "What a prig!
Just look at him!"
After a light bow towards Rosanette, Delmar leaned back against the
mantelpiece; and he remained motionless with one hand over his heart,
his left foot thrust forward, his eyes raised towards heaven, with his
wreath of gilt laurels above his cowl, while he strove to put into the
expression of his face a considerable amount of poetry in order to
fascinate the ladies. They made, at some distance, a great circle around
him.
But the Vatnaz, having given Rosanette a prolonged embrace, came to beg
of Hussonnet to revise, with a view to the improvement of the style, an
educational work which she intended to publish, under the title of "The
Young Ladies' Garland," a collection of literature and moral philosophy.
The man of letters promised to assist her in the preparation of the
work. Then she asked him whether he could not in one of the prints to
which he had access give her friend a slight puff, and even assign to
him, later, some part. Hussonnet had forgotten to take a glass of punch
on account of her.
It was Arnoux who had brewed the beverage; and, followed by the Comte's
groom carrying an empty tray, he offered it to the ladies with a
self-satisfied air.
When he came to pass in front of M. Oudry, Rosanette stopped him.
"Well--and this little business?"
He coloured slightly; finally, addressing the old man:
"Our fair friend tells me that you would have the kindness----"
"What of that, neighbour? I am quite at your service!"
And M. Dambreuse's name was pronounced. As they were talking to one
another in low tones, Frederick could only hear indistinctly; and he
made his way to the other side of the mantelpiece, where Rosanette and
Delmar were chatting together.
The mummer had a vulgar countenance, made, like the scenery of the
stage, to be viewed from a distance--coarse hands, big feet, and a heavy
jaw; and he disparaged the most distinguished actors, spoke of poets
with patronising contempt, made use of the expressions "my organ," "my
physique," "my powers," enamelling his conversation with words that were
scarcely intelligible even to himself, and for which he had quite an
affection, such as "_morbidezza_," "analogue," and "homogeneity."
Rosanette listened to him with little nods of approbation. One could see
her enthusiasm bursting out under the paint on her cheeks, and a touch
of moisture passed like a veil over her bright eyes of an indefinable
colour. How could such a man as this fascinate her? Frederick internally
excited himself to greater contempt for him, in order to banish,
perhaps, the species of envy which he felt with regard to him.
Mademoiselle Vatnaz was now with Arnoux, and, while laughing from time
to time very loudly, she cast glances towards Rosanette, of whom M.
Oudry did not lose sight.
Then Arnoux and the Vatnaz disappeared. The old man began talking in a
subdued voice to Rosanette.
"Well, yes, 'tis settled then! Leave me alone!"
And she asked Frederick to go and give a look into the kitchen to see
whether Arnoux happened to be there.
A battalion of glasses half-full covered the floor; and the saucepans,
the pots, the turbot-kettle, and the frying-stove were all in a state of
commotion. Arnoux was giving directions to the servants, whom he
"thee'd" and "thou'd," beating up the mustard, tasting the sauces, and
larking with the housemaid.
"All right," he said; "tell them 'tis ready! I'm going to have it served
up."
The dancing had ceased. The women came and sat down; the men were
walking about. In the centre of the drawing-room, one of the curtains
stretched over a window was swelling in the wind; and the Sphinx, in
spite of the observations of everyone, exposed her sweating arms to the
current of air.
Where could Rosanette be? Frederick went on further to find her, even
into her boudoir and her bedroom. Some, in order to be alone, or to be
in pairs, had retreated into the corners. Whisperings intermingled with
the shade. There were little laughs stifled under handkerchiefs, and at
the sides of women's corsages one could catch glimpses of fans quivering
with slow, gentle movements, like the beating of a wounded bird's wings.
As he entered the hot-house, he saw under the large leaves of a caladium
near the jet d'eau, Delmar lying on his face on the sofa covered with
linen cloth. Rosanette, seated beside him, had passed her fingers
through his hair; and they were gazing into each other's faces. At the
same moment, Arnoux came in at the opposite side--that which was near
the aviary. Delmar sprang to his feet; then he went out at a rapid pace,
without turning round; and even paused close to the door to gather a
hibiscus flower, with which he adorned his button-hole. Rosanette hung
down her head; Frederick, who caught a sight of her profile, saw that
she was in tears.
"I say! What's the matter with you?" exclaimed Arnoux.
She shrugged her shoulders without replying.
"Is it on account of him?" he went on.
She threw her arms round his neck, and kissing him on the forehead,
slowly:
"You know well that I will always love you, my big fellow! Think no more
about it! Let us go to supper!"
A copper chandelier with forty wax tapers lighted up the dining-room,
the walls of which were hidden from view under some fine old earthenware
that was hung up there; and this crude light, falling perpendicularly,
rendered still whiter, amid the side-dishes and the fruits, a huge
turbot which occupied the centre of the tablecloth, with plates all
round filled with crayfish soup. With a rustle of garments, the women,
having arranged their skirts, their sleeves, and their scarfs, took
their seats beside one another; the men, standing up, posted themselves
at the corners. Pellerin and M. Oudry were placed near Rosanette. Arnoux
was facing her. Palazot and his female companion had just gone out.
"Good-bye to them!" said she. "Now let us begin the attack!"
And the choir-boy, a facetious man with a big sign of the cross, said
grace.
The ladies were scandalised, and especially the fishwife, the mother of
a young girl of whom she wished to make an honest woman. Neither did
Arnoux like "that sort of thing," as he considered that religion ought
to be respected.
A German clock with a cock attached to it happening to chime out the
hour of two, gave rise to a number of jokes about the cuckoo. All kinds
of talk followed--puns, anecdotes, bragging remarks, bets, lies taken
for truth, improbable assertions, a tumult of words, which soon became
dispersed in the form of chats between particular individuals. The wines
went round; the dishes succeeded each other; the doctor carved. An
orange or a cork would every now and then be flung from a distance.
People would quit their seats to go and talk to some one at another end
of the table. Rosanette turned round towards Delmar, who sat motionless
behind her; Pellerin kept babbling; M. Oudry smiled. Mademoiselle Vatnaz
ate, almost alone, a group of crayfish, and the shells crackled under
her long teeth. The angel, poised on the piano-stool--the only place on
which her wings permitted her to sit down--was placidly masticating
without ever stopping.
"What an appetite!" the choir-boy kept repeating in amazement, "what an
appetite!"
And the Sphinx drank brandy, screamed out with her throat full, and
wriggled like a demon. Suddenly her jaws swelled, and no longer being
able to keep down the blood which rushed to her head and nearly choked
her, she pressed her napkin against her lips, and threw herself under
the table.
Frederick had seen her falling: "'Tis nothing!" And at his entreaties to
be allowed to go and look after her, she replied slowly:
"Pooh! what's the good? That's just as pleasant as anything else. Life
is not so amusing!"
Then, he shivered, a feeling of icy sadness taking possession of him, as
if he had caught a glimpse of whole worlds of wretchedness and
despair--a chafing-dish of charcoal beside a folding-bed, the corpses of
the Morgue in leathern aprons, with the tap of cold water that flows
over their heads.
Meanwhile, Hussonnet, squatted at the feet of the female savage, was
howling in a hoarse voice in imitation of the actor Grassot:
"Be not cruel, O Celuta! this little family fête is charming! Intoxicate
me with delight, my loves! Let us be gay! let us be gay!"
And he began kissing the women on the shoulders. They quivered under the
tickling of his moustaches. Then he conceived the idea of breaking a
plate against his head by rapping it there with a little energy. Others
followed his example. The broken earthenware flew about in bits like
slates in a storm; and the 'longshorewoman exclaimed:
"Don't bother yourselves about it; these cost nothing. We get a present
of them from the merchant who makes them!"
Every eye was riveted on Arnoux. He replied:
"Ha! about the invoice--allow me!" desiring, no doubt, to pass for not
being, or for no longer being, Rosanette's lover.
But two angry voices here made themselves heard:
"Idiot!"
"Rascal!"
"I am at your command!"
"So am I at yours!"
It was the mediæval knight and the Russian postilion who were disputing,
the latter having maintained that armour dispensed with bravery, while
the other regarded this view as an insult. He desired to fight; all
interposed to prevent him, and in the midst of the uproar the captain
tried to make himself heard.
"Listen to me, messieurs! One word! I have some experience, messieurs!"
Rosanette, by tapping with her knife on a glass, succeeded eventually in
restoring silence, and, addressing the knight, who had kept his helmet
on, and then the postilion, whose head was covered with a hairy cap:
"Take off that saucepan of yours! and you, there, your wolf's head! Are
you going to obey me, damn you? Pray show respect to my epaulets! I am
your commanding officer!"
They complied, and everyone present applauded, exclaiming, "Long live
the Maréchale! long live the Maréchale!" Then she took a bottle of
champagne off the stove, and poured out its contents into the cups which
they successively stretched forth to her. As the table was very large,
the guests, especially the women, came over to her side, and stood erect
on tiptoe on the slats of the chairs, so as to form, for the space of a
minute, a pyramidal group of head-dresses, naked shoulders, extended
arms, and stooping bodies; and over all these objects a spray of wine
played for some time, for the merry-andrew and Arnoux, at opposite
corners of the dining-room, each letting fly the cork of a bottle,
splashed the faces of those around them.
The little birds of the aviary, the door of which had been left open,
broke into the apartment, quite scared, flying round the chandelier,
knocking against the window-panes and against the furniture, and some of
them, alighting on the heads of the guests, presented the appearance
there of large flowers.
The musicians had gone. The piano had been drawn out of the anteroom.
The Vatnaz seated herself before it, and, accompanied by the choir-boy,
who thumped his tambourine, she made a wild dash into a quadrille,
striking the keys like a horse pawing the ground, and wriggling her
waist about, the better to mark the time. The Maréchale dragged out
Frederick; Hussonnet took the windmill; the 'longshorewoman put out her
joints like a circus-clown; the merry-andrew exhibited the manoeuvres
of an orang-outang; the female savage, with outspread arms, imitated the
swaying motion of a boat. At last, unable to go on any further, they all
stopped; and a window was flung open.
The broad daylight penetrated the apartment with the cool breath of
morning. There was an exclamation of astonishment, and then came
silence. The yellow flames flickered, making the sockets of the
candlesticks crack from time to time. The floor was strewn with ribbons,
flowers, and pearls. The pier-tables were sticky with the stains of
punch and syrup. The hangings were soiled, the dresses rumpled and
dusty. The plaits of the women's hair hung loose over their shoulders,
and the paint, trickling down with the perspiration, revealed pallid
faces and red, blinking eyelids.
The Maréchale, fresh as if she had come out of a bath, had rosy checks
and sparkling eyes. She flung her wig some distance away, and her hair
fell around her like a fleece, allowing none of her uniform to be seen
except her breeches, the effect thus produced being at the same time
comical and pretty.
The Sphinx, whose teeth chattered as if she had the ague, wanted a
shawl.
Rosanette rushed up to her own room to look for one, and, as the other
came after her, she quickly shut the door in her face.
The Turk remarked, in a loud tone, that M. Oudry had not been seen going
out. Nobody noticed the maliciousness of this observation, so worn out
were they all.
Then, while waiting for vehicles, they managed to get on their
broad-brimmed hats and cloaks. It struck seven. The angel was still in
the dining-room, seated at the table with a plate of sardines and fruit
stewed in melted butter in front of her, and close beside her was the
fishwife, smoking cigarettes, while giving her advice as to the right
way to live.
At last, the cabs having arrived, the guests took their departure.
Hussonnet, who had an engagement as correspondent for the provinces, had
to read through fifty-three newspapers before his breakfast. The female
savage had a rehearsal at the theatre; Pellerin had to see a model; and
the choir-boy had three appointments. But the angel, attacked by the
preliminary symptoms of indigestion, was unable to rise. The mediæval
baron carried her to the cab.
"Take care of her wings!" cried the 'longshorewoman through the window.
At the top of the stairs, Mademoiselle Vatnaz said to Rosanette:
"Good-bye, darling! That was a very nice evening party of yours."
Then, bending close to her ear: "Take care of him!"
"Till better times come," returned the Maréchale, in drawling tones, as
she turned her back.
Arnoux and Frederick returned together, just as they had come. The
dealer in faïence looked so gloomy that his companion wished to know if
he were ill.
"I? Not at all!"
He bit his moustache, knitted his brows; and Frederick asked him, was it
his business that annoyed him.
"By no means!"
Then all of a sudden:
"You know him--Père Oudry--don't you?"
And, with a spiteful expression on his countenance:
"He's rich, the old scoundrel!"
After this, Arnoux spoke about an important piece of ware-making, which
had to be finished that day at his works. He wanted to see it; the
train was starting in an hour.
"Meantime, I must go and embrace my wife."
"Ha! his wife!" thought Frederick. Then he made his way home to go to
bed, with his head aching terribly; and, to appease his thirst, he
swallowed a whole carafe of water.
Another thirst had come to him--the thirst for women, for licentious
pleasure, and all that Parisian life permitted him to enjoy. He felt
somewhat stunned, like a man coming out of a ship, and in the visions
that haunted his first sleep, he saw the shoulders of the fishwife, the
loins of the 'longshorewoman, the calves of the Polish lady, and the
head-dress of the female savage flying past him and coming back again
continually. Then, two large black eyes, which had not been at the ball,
appeared before him; and, light as butterflies, burning as torches, they
came and went, ascended to the cornice and descended to his very mouth.
Frederick made desperate efforts to recognise those eyes, without
succeeding in doing so. But already the dream had taken hold of him. It
seemed to him that he was yoked beside Arnoux to the pole of a
hackney-coach, and that the Maréchale, astride of him, was
disembowelling him with her gold spurs.