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The Complete Works of Gustave Flaubert
Embracing
Romances, Travels, Comedies,
Sketches and
Correspondence
With a
Critical Introduction
by
Ferdinand Brunetiere
of the French Academy
and a
Biographical Preface by
Robert Arnot, M.A.
Printed
Only for Subscribers by
M. Walter Dunne,
New York and London
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Ah! thanks! You are going to save me!]
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
Or,
The History of a Young Man
by
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
VOLUME II.
M. Walter Dunne
New York and London
Copyright, 1904, by
M. Walter Dunne
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
CONTENTS
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
(_Continued._)
PAGE
CHAPTER XI.
A DINNER AND A DUEL 1
CHAPTER XII.
LITTLE LOUISE GROWS UP 47
CHAPTER XIII.
ROSANETTE AS A LOVELY TURK 62
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BARRICADE 110
CHAPTER XV.
"HOW HAPPY COULD I BE WITH EITHER" 193
CHAPTER XVI.
UNPLEASANT NEWS FROM ROSANETTE 214
CHAPTER XVII.
A STRANGE BETROTHAL 242
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN AUCTION 292
CHAPTER XIX.
A BITTER-SWEET REUNION 315
CHAPTER XX.
"WAIT TILL YOU COME TO FORTY YEAR" 323
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
"AH! THANKS! YOU ARE GOING TO SAVE ME!"
(See page 107) _Frontispiece_
"CAN I LIVE WITHOUT YOU?" 58
WHEN A WOMAN SUDDENLY CAME IN 315
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
[_CONTINUED_]
CHAPTER XI.
A DINNER AND A DUEL.
Frederick passed the whole of the next day in brooding over his anger
and humiliation. He reproached himself for not having given a slap in
the face to Cisy. As for the Marechale, he swore not to see her again.
Others as good-looking could be easily found; and, as money would be
required in order to possess these women, he would speculate on the
Bourse with the purchase-money of his farm. He would get rich; he would
crush the Marechale and everyone else with his luxury. When the evening
had come, he was surprised at not having thought of Madame Arnoux.
"So much the better. What's the good of it?"
Two days after, at eight o'clock, Pellerin came to pay him a visit. He
began by expressing his admiration of the furniture and talking in a
wheedling tone. Then, abruptly:
"You were at the races on Sunday?"
"Yes, alas!"
Thereupon the painter decried the anatomy of English horses, and praised
the horses of Gericourt and the horses of the Parthenon.
"Rosanette was with you?"
And he artfully proceeded to speak in flattering terms about her.
Frederick's freezing manner put him a little out of countenance.
He did not know how to bring about the question of her portrait. His
first idea had been to do a portrait in the style of Titian. But
gradually the varied colouring of his model had bewitched him; he had
gone on boldly with the work, heaping up paste on paste and light on
light. Rosanette, in the beginning, was enchanted. Her appointments with
Delmar had interrupted the sittings, and left Pellerin all the time to
get bedazzled. Then, as his admiration began to subside, he asked
himself whether the picture might not be on a larger scale. He had gone
to have another look at the Titians, realised how the great artist had
filled in his portraits with such finish, and saw wherein his own
shortcomings lay; and then he began to go over the outlines again in the
most simple fashion. After that, he sought, by scraping them off, to
lose there, to mingle there, all the tones of the head and those of the
background; and the face had assumed consistency and the shades
vigour--the whole work had a look of greater firmness. At length the
Marechale came back again. She even indulged in some hostile criticisms.
The painter naturally persevered in his own course. After getting into a
violent passion at her silliness, he said to himself that, after all,
perhaps she was right. Then began the era of doubts, twinges of
reflection which brought about cramps in the stomach, insomnia,
feverishness and disgust with himself. He had the courage to make some
retouchings, but without much heart, and with a feeling that his work
was bad.
He complained merely of having been refused a place in the Salon; then
he reproached Frederick for not having come to see the Marechale's
portrait.
"What do I care about the Marechale?"
Such an expression of unconcern emboldened the artist.
"Would you believe that this brute has no interest in the thing any
longer?"
What he did not mention was that he had asked her for a thousand crowns.
Now the Marechale did not give herself much bother about ascertaining
who was going to pay, and, preferring to screw money out of Arnoux for
things of a more urgent character, had not even spoken to him on the
subject.
"Well, and Arnoux?"
She had thrown it over on him. The ex-picture-dealer wished to have
nothing to do with the portrait.
"He maintains that it belongs to Rosanette."
"In fact, it is hers."
"How is that? 'Tis she that sent me to you," was Pellerin's answer.
If he had been thinking of the excellence of his work, he would not have
dreamed perhaps of making capital out of it. But a sum--and a big
sum--would be an effective reply to the critics, and would strengthen
his own position. Finally, to get rid of his importunities, Frederick
courteously enquired his terms.
The extravagant figure named by Pellerin quite took away his breath, and
he replied:
"Oh! no--no!"
"You, however, are her lover--'tis you gave me the order!"
"Excuse me, I was only an intermediate agent."
"But I can't remain with this on my hands!"
The artist lost his temper.
"Ha! I didn't imagine you were so covetous!"
"Nor I that you were so stingy! I wish you good morning!"
He had just gone out when Senecal made his appearance.
Frederick was moving about restlessly, in a state of great agitation.
"What's the matter?"
Senecal told his story.
"On Saturday, at nine o'clock, Madame Arnoux got a letter which summoned
her back to Paris. As there happened to be nobody in the place at the
time to go to Creil for a vehicle, she asked me to go there myself. I
refused, for this was no part of my duties. She left, and came back on
Sunday evening. Yesterday morning, Arnoux came down to the works. The
girl from Bordeaux made a complaint to him. I don't know what passed
between them; but he took off before everyone the fine I had imposed on
her. Some sharp words passed between us. In short, he closed accounts
with me, and here I am!"
Then, with a pause between every word:
"Furthermore, I am not sorry. I have done my duty. No matter--you were
the cause of it."
"How?" exclaimed Frederick, alarmed lest Senecal might have guessed his
secret.
Senecal had not, however, guessed anything about it, for he replied:
"That is to say, but for you I might have done better."
Frederick was seized with a kind of remorse.
"In what way can I be of service to you now?"
Senecal wanted some employment, a situation.
"That is an easy thing for you to manage. You know many people of good
position, Monsieur Dambreuse amongst others; at least, so Deslauriers
told me."
This allusion to Deslauriers was by no means agreeable to his friend. He
scarcely cared to call on the Dambreuses again after his undesirable
meeting with them in the Champ de Mars.
"I am not on sufficiently intimate terms with them to recommend anyone."
The democrat endured this refusal stoically, and after a minute's
silence:
"All this, I am sure, is due to the girl from Bordeaux, and to your
Madame Arnoux."
This "your" had the effect of wiping out of Frederick's heart the slight
modicum of regard he entertained for Senecal. Nevertheless, he stretched
out his hand towards the key of his escritoire through delicacy.
Senecal anticipated him:
"Thanks!"
Then, forgetting his own troubles, he talked about the affairs of the
nation, the crosses of the Legion of Honour wasted at the Royal Fete,
the question of a change of ministry, the Drouillard case and the Benier
case--scandals of the day--declaimed against the middle class, and
predicted a revolution.
His eyes were attracted by a Japanese dagger hanging on the wall. He
took hold of it; then he flung it on the sofa with an air of disgust.
"Come, then! good-bye! I must go to Notre Dame de Lorette."
"Hold on! Why?"
"The anniversary service for Godefroy Cavaignac is taking place there
to-day. He died at work--that man! But all is not over. Who knows?"
And Senecal, with a show of fortitude, put out his hand:
"Perhaps we shall never see each other again! good-bye!"
This "good-bye," repeated several times, his knitted brows as he gazed
at the dagger, his resignation, and the solemnity of his manner, above
all, plunged Frederick into a thoughtful mood, but very soon he ceased
to think about Senecal.
During the same week, his notary at Havre sent him the sum realised by
the sale of his farm--one hundred and seventy-four thousand francs. He
divided it into two portions, invested the first half in the Funds, and
brought the second half to a stock-broker to take his chance of making
money by it on the Bourse.
He dined at fashionable taverns, went to the theatres, and was trying to
amuse himself as best he could, when Hussonnet addressed a letter to him
announcing in a gay fashion that the Marechale had got rid of Cisy the
very day after the races. Frederick was delighted at this intelligence,
without taking the trouble to ascertain what the Bohemian's motive was
in giving him the information.
It so happened that he met Cisy, three days later. That aristocratic
young gentleman kept his counteance, and even invited Frederick to dine
on the following Wednesday.
On the morning of that day, the latter received a notification from a
process-server, in which M. Charles Jean Baptiste Oudry apprised him
that by the terms of a legal judgment he had become the purchaser of a
property situated at Belleville, belonging to M. Jacques Arnoux, and
that he was ready to pay the two hundred and twenty-three thousand for
which it had been sold. But, as it appeared by the same decree that the
amount of the mortgages with which the estate was encumbered exceeded
the purchase-money, Frederick's claim would in consequence be completely
forfeited.
The entire mischief arose from not having renewed the registration of
the mortgage within the proper time. Arnoux had undertaken to attend to
this matter formally himself, and had then forgotten all about it.
Frederick got into a rage with him for this, and when the young man's
anger had passed off:
"Well, afterwards----what?"
"If this can save him, so much the better. It won't kill me! Let us
think no more about it!"
But, while moving about his papers on the table, he came across
Hussonnet's letter, and noticed the postscript, which had not at first
attracted his attention. The Bohemian wanted just five thousand francs
to give the journal a start.
"Ah! this fellow is worrying me to death!"
And he sent a curt answer, unceremoniously refusing the application.
After that, he dressed himself to go to the Maison d'Or.
Cisy introduced his guests, beginning with the most respectable of them,
a big, white-haired gentleman.
"The Marquis Gilbert des Aulnays, my godfather. Monsieur Anselme de
Forchambeaux," he said next--(a thin, fair-haired young man, already
bald); then, pointing towards a simple-mannered man of forty: "Joseph
Boffreu, my cousin; and here is my old tutor, Monsieur Vezou"--a person
who seemed a mixture of a ploughman and a seminarist, with large
whiskers and a long frock-coat fastened at the end by a single button,
so that it fell over his chest like a shawl.
Cisy was expecting some one else--the Baron de Comaing, who "might
perhaps come, but it was not certain." He left the room every minute,
and appeared to be in a restless frame of mind. Finally, at eight
o'clock, they proceeded towards an apartment splendidly lighted up and
much more spacious than the number of guests required. Cisy had selected
it for the special purpose of display.
A vermilion epergne laden with flowers and fruit occupied the centre of
the table, which was covered with silver dishes, after the old French
fashion; glass bowls full of salt meats and spices formed a border all
around it. Jars of iced red wine stood at regular distances from each
other. Five glasses of different sizes were ranged before each plate,
with things of which the use could not be divined--a thousand dinner
utensils of an ingenious description. For the first course alone, there
was a sturgeon's jowl moistened with champagne, a Yorkshire ham with
tokay, thrushes with sauce, roast quail, a bechamel vol-au-vent, a stew
of red-legged partridges, and at the two ends of all this, fringes of
potatoes which were mingled with truffles. The apartment was illuminated
by a lustre and some girandoles, and it was hung with red damask
curtains.
Four men-servants in black coats stood behind the armchairs, which were
upholstered in morocco. At this sight the guests uttered an
exclamation--the tutor more emphatically than the rest.
"Upon my word, our host has indulged in a foolishly lavish display of
luxury. It is too beautiful!"
"Is that so?" said the Vicomte de Cisy; "Come on, then!"
And, as they were swallowing the first spoonful:
"Well, my dear old friend Aulnays, have you been to the Palais-Royal to
see _Pere et Portier_?"
"You know well that I have no time to go!" replied the Marquis.
His mornings were taken up with a course of arboriculture, his evenings
were spent at the Agricultural Club, and all his afternoons were
occupied by a study of the implements of husbandry in manufactories. As
he resided at Saintonge for three fourths of the year, he took advantage
of his visits to the capital to get fresh information; and his
large-brimmed hat, which lay on a side-table, was crammed with
pamphlets.
But Cisy, observing that M. de Forchambeaux refused to take wine:
"Go on, damn it, drink! You're not in good form for your last bachelor's
meal!"
At this remark all bowed and congratulated him.
"And the young lady," said the tutor, "is charming, I'm sure?"
"Faith, she is!" exclaimed Cisy. "No matter, he is making a mistake;
marriage is such a stupid thing!"
"You talk in a thoughtless fashion, my friend!" returned M. des Aulnays,
while tears began to gather in his eyes at the recollection of his own
dead wife.
And Forchambeaux repeated several times in succession:
"It will be your own case--it will be your own case!"
Cisy protested. He preferred to enjoy himself--to "live in the
free-and-easy style of the Regency days." He wanted to learn the
shoe-trick, in order to visit the thieves' taverns of the city, like
Rodolphe in the _Mysteries of Paris_; drew out of his pocket a dirty
clay pipe, abused the servants, and drank a great quantity; then, in
order to create a good impression about himself, he disparaged all the
dishes. He even sent away the truffles; and the tutor, who was
exceedingly fond of them, said through servility;
"These are not as good as your grandmother's snow-white eggs."
Then he began to chat with the person sitting next to him, the
agriculturist, who found many advantages from his sojourn in the
country, if it were only to be able to bring up his daughters with
simple tastes. The tutor approved of his ideas and toadied to him,
supposing that this gentleman possessed influence over his former pupil,
whose man of business he was anxious to become.
Frederick had come there filled with hostility to Cisy; but the young
aristocrat's idiocy had disarmed him. However, as the other's gestures,
face, and entire person brought back to his recollection the dinner at
the Cafe Anglais, he got more and more irritated; and he lent his ears
to the complimentary remarks made in a low tone by Joseph, the cousin, a
fine young fellow without any money, who was a lover of the chase and a
University prizeman. Cisy, for the sake of a laugh, called him a
"catcher"[A] several times; then suddenly:
"Ha! here comes the Baron!"
At that moment, there entered a jovial blade of thirty, with somewhat
rough-looking features and active limbs, wearing his hat over his ear
and displaying a flower in his button-hole. He was the Vicomte's ideal.
The young aristocrat was delighted at having him there; and stimulated
by his presence, he even attempted a pun; for he said, as they passed a
heath-cock:
"There's the best of La Bruyere's characters!"[B]
After that, he put a heap of questions to M. de Comaing about persons
unknown to society; then, as if an idea had suddenly seized him:
"Tell me, pray! have you thought about me?"
The other shrugged his shoulders:
"You are not old enough, my little man. It is impossible!"
Cisy had begged of the Baron to get him admitted into his club. But the
other having, no doubt, taken pity on his vanity:
"Ha! I was forgetting! A thousand congratulations on having won your
bet, my dear fellow!"
"What bet?"
"The bet you made at the races to effect an entrance the same evening
into that lady's house."
Frederick felt as if he had got a lash with a whip. He was speedily
appeased by the look of utter confusion in Cisy's face.
[A] _Voleur_ means, at the same time, a "hunter" and a "thief." This is
the foundation for Cisy's little joke.--TRANSLATOR.
[B] _Coq de bruyere_ means a heath-cock or grouse; hence the play on the
name of La Bruyere, whose _Caracteres_ is a well-known work.--TRANSLATOR.
In fact, the Marechale, next morning, was filled with regret when
Arnoux, her first lover, her good friend, had presented himself that
very day. They both gave the Vicomte to understand that he was in the
way, and kicked him out without much ceremony.
He pretended not to have heard what was said.
The Baron went on:
"What has become of her, this fine Rose? Is she as pretty as ever?"
showing by his manner that he had been on terms of intimacy with her.
Frederick was chagrined by the discovery.
"There's nothing to blush at," said the Baron, pursuing the topic, "'tis
a good thing!"
Cisy smacked his tongue.
"Whew! not so good!"
"Ha!"
"Oh dear, yes! In the first place, I found her nothing extraordinary,
and then, you pick up the like of her as often as you please, for, in
fact, she is for sale!"
"Not for everyone!" remarked Frederick, with some bitterness.
"He imagines that he is different from the others," was Cisy's comment.
"What a good joke!"
And a laugh ran round the table.
Frederick felt as if the palpitations of his heart would suffocate him.
He swallowed two glasses of water one after the other.
But the Baron had preserved a lively recollection of Rosanette.
"Is she still interested in a fellow named Arnoux?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said Cisy, "I don't know that gentleman!"
Nevertheless, he suggested that he believed Arnoux was a sort of
swindler.
"A moment!" exclaimed Frederick.
"However, there is no doubt about it! Legal proceedings have been taken
against him."
"That is not true!"
Frederick began to defend Arnoux, vouched for his honesty, ended by
convincing himself of it, and concocted figures and proofs. The Vicomte,
full of spite, and tipsy in addition, persisted in his assertions, so
that Frederick said to him gravely:
"Is the object of this to give offence to me, Monsieur?"
And he looked Cisy full in the face, with eyeballs as red as his cigar.
"Oh! not at all. I grant you that he possesses something very nice--his
wife."
"Do you know her?"
"Faith, I do! Sophie Arnoux; everyone knows her."
"You mean to tell me that?"
Cisy, who had staggered to his feet, hiccoughed:
"Everyone--knows--her."
"Hold your tongue. It is not with women of her sort you keep company!"
"I--flatter myself--it is."
Frederick flung a plate at his face. It passed like a flash of lightning
over the table, knocked down two bottles, demolished a fruit-dish, and
breaking into three pieces, by knocking against the epergne, hit the
Vicomte in the stomach.
All the other guests arose to hold him back. He struggled and shrieked,
possessed by a kind of frenzy.
M. des Aulnays kept repeating:
"Come, be calm, my dear boy!"
"Why, this is frightful!" shouted the tutor.
Forchambeaux, livid as a plum, was trembling. Joseph indulged in
repeated outbursts of laughter. The attendants sponged out the traces of
the wine, and gathered up the remains of the dinner from the floor; and
the Baron went and shut the window, for the uproar, in spite of the
noise of carriage-wheels, could be heard on the boulevard.
As all present at the moment the plate had been flung had been talking
at the same time, it was impossible to discover the cause of the
attack--whether it was on account of Arnoux, Madame Arnoux, Rosanette,
or somebody else. One thing only they were certain of, that Frederick
had acted with indescribable brutality. On his part, he refused
positively to testify the slightest regret for what he had done.
M. des Aulnays tried to soften him. Cousin Joseph, the tutor, and
Forchambeaux himself joined in the effort. The Baron, all this time, was
cheering up Cisy, who, yielding to nervous weakness, began to shed
tears.
Frederick, on the contrary, was getting more and more angry, and they
would have remained there till daybreak if the Baron had not said, in
order to bring matters to a close:
"The Vicomte, Monsieur, will send his seconds to call on you to-morrow."
"Your hour?"
"Twelve, if it suits you."
"Perfectly, Monsieur."
Frederick, as soon as he was in the open air, drew a deep breath. He had
been keeping his feelings too long under restraint; he had satisfied
them at last. He felt, so to speak, the pride of virility, a
superabundance of energy within him which intoxicated him. He required
two seconds. The first person he thought of for the purpose was
Regimbart, and he immediately directed his steps towards the Rue
Saint-Denis. The shop-front was closed, but some light shone through a
pane of glass over the door. It opened and he went in, stooping very low
as he passed under the penthouse.
A candle at the side of the bar lighted up the deserted smoking-room.
All the stools, with their feet in the air, were piled on the table. The
master and mistress, with their waiter, were at supper in a corner near
the kitchen; and Regimbart, with his hat on his head, was sharing their
meal, and even disturbed the waiter, who was compelled every moment to
turn aside a little. Frederick, having briefly explained the matter to
him, asked Regimbart to assist him. The Citizen at first made no reply.
He rolled his eyes about, looked as if he were plunged in reflection,
took several strides around the room, and at last said:
"Yes, by all means!" and a homicidal smile smoothed his brow when he
learned that the adversary was a nobleman.
"Make your mind easy; we'll rout him with flying colours! In the first
place, with the sword----"
"But perhaps," broke in Frederick, "I have not the right."
"I tell you 'tis necessary to take the sword," the Citizen replied
roughly. "Do you know how to make passes?"
"A little."
"Oh! a little. This is the way with all of them; and yet they have a
mania for committing assaults. What does the fencing-school teach?
Listen to me: keep a good distance off, always confining yourself in
circles, and parry--parry as you retire; that is permitted. Tire him
out. Then boldly make a lunge on him! and, above all, no malice, no
strokes of the La Fougere kind.[C] No! a simple one-two, and some
disengagements. Look here! do you see? while you turn your wrist as if
opening a lock. Pere Vauthier, give me your cane. Ha! that will do."
He grasped the rod which was used for lighting the gas, rounded his left
arm, bent his right, and began to make some thrusts against the
partition. He stamped with his foot, got animated, and pretended to be
encountering difficulties, while he exclaimed: "Are you there? Is that
it? Are you there?" and his enormous silhouette projected itself on the
wall with his hat apparently touching the ceiling. The owner of the cafe
shouted from time to time: "Bravo! very good!" His wife, though a little
unnerved, was likewise filled with admiration; and Theodore, who had
been in the army, remained riveted to the spot with amazement, the fact
being, however, that he regarded M. Regimbart with a species of
hero-worship.
Next morning, at an early hour, Frederick hurried to the establishment
in which Dussardier was employed. After having passed through a
succession of departments all full of clothing-materials, either
adorning shelves or lying on tables, while here and there shawls were
fixed on wooden racks shaped like toadstools, he saw the young man, in a
sort of railed cage, surrounded by account-books, and standing in front
of a desk at which he was writing. The honest fellow left his work.
[C] In 1828, a certain La Fougere brought out a work entitled _L'Art de
n'etre jamais tue ni blesse en Duel sans avons pris aucune lecon d'armes
et lors meme qu'on aurait affaire au premier Tireur de l'Univers._
--TRANSLATOR.
The seconds arrived before twelve o'clock.
Frederick, as a matter of good taste, thought he ought not to be present
at the conference.
The Baron and M. Joseph declared that they would be satisfied with the
simplest excuses. But Regimbart's principle being never to yield, and
his contention being that Arnoux's honour should be vindicated
(Frederick had not spoken to him about anything else), he asked that the
Vicomte should apologise. M. de Comaing was indignant at this
presumption. The Citizen would not abate an inch. As all conciliation
proved impracticable, there was nothing for it but to fight.
Other difficulties arose, for the choice of weapons lay with Cisy, as
the person to whom the insult had been offered. But Regimbart maintained
that by sending the challenge he had constituted himself the offending
party. His seconds loudly protested that a buffet was the most cruel of
offences. The Citizen carped at the words, pointing out that a buffet
was not a blow. Finally, they decided to refer the matter to a military
man; and the four seconds went off to consult the officers in some of
the barracks.
They drew up at the barracks on the Quai d'Orsay. M. de Comaing, having
accosted two captains, explained to them the question in dispute.
The captains did not understand a word of what he was saying, owing to
the confusion caused by the Citizen's incidental remarks. In short,
they advised the gentlemen who consulted them to draw up a minute of the
proceedings; after which they would give their decision. Thereupon, they
repaired to a cafe; and they even, in order to do things with more
circumspection, referred to Cisy as H, and Frederick as K.
Then they returned to the barracks. The officers had gone out. They
reappeared, and declared that the choice of arms manifestly belonged to
H.
They all returned to Cisy's abode. Regimbart and Dussardier remained on
the footpath outside.
The Vicomte, when he was informed of the solution of the case, was
seized with such extreme agitation that they had to repeat for him
several times the decision of the officers; and, when M. de Comaing came
to deal with Regimbart's contention, he murmured "Nevertheless," not
being very reluctant himself to yield to it. Then he let himself sink
into an armchair, and declared that he would not fight.
"Eh? What?" said the Baron. Then Cisy indulged in a confused flood of
mouthings. He wished to fight with firearms--to discharge a single
pistol at close quarters.
"Or else we will put arsenic into a glass, and draw lots to see who must
drink it. That's sometimes done. I've read of it!"
The Baron, naturally rather impatient, addressed him in a harsh tone:
"These gentlemen are waiting for your answer. This is indecent, to put
it shortly. What weapons are you going to take? Come! is it the sword?"
The Vicomte gave an affirmative reply by merely nodding his head; and it
was arranged that the meeting should take place next morning at seven
o'clock sharp at the Maillot gate.
Dussardier, being compelled to go back to his business, Regimbart went
to inform Frederick about the arrangement. He had been left all day
without any news, and his impatience was becoming intolerable.
"So much the better!" he exclaimed.
The Citizen was satisfied with his deportment.
"Would you believe it? They wanted an apology from us. It was nothing--a
mere word! But I knocked them off their beam-ends nicely. The right
thing to do, wasn't it?"
"Undoubtedly," said Frederick, thinking that it would have been better
to choose another second.
Then, when he was alone, he repeated several times in a very loud tone:
"I am going to fight! Hold on, I am going to fight! 'Tis funny!"
And, as he walked up and down his room, while passing in front of the
mirror, he noticed that he was pale.
"Have I any reason to be afraid?"
He was seized with a feeling of intolerable misery at the prospect of
exhibiting fear on the ground.
"And yet, suppose I happen to be killed? My father met his death the
same way. Yes, I shall be killed!"
And, suddenly, his mother rose up before him in a black dress;
incoherent images floated before his mind. His own cowardice exasperated
him. A paroxysm of courage, a thirst for human blood, took possession of
him. A battalion could not have made him retreat. When this feverish
excitement had cooled down, he was overjoyed to feel that his nerves
were perfectly steady. In order to divert his thoughts, he went to the
opera, where a ballet was being performed. He listened to the music,
looked at the _danseuses_ through his opera-glass, and drank a glass of
punch between the acts. But when he got home again, the sight of his
study, of his furniture, in the midst of which he found himself for the
last time, made him feel ready to swoon.
He went down to the garden. The stars were shining; he gazed up at them.
The idea of fighting about a woman gave him a greater importance in his
own eyes, and surrounded him with a halo of nobility. Then he went to
bed in a tranquil frame of mind.
It was not so with Cisy. After the Baron's departure, Joseph had tried
to revive his drooping spirits, and, as the Vicomte remained in the same
dull mood:
"However, old boy, if you prefer to remain at home, I'll go and say so."
Cisy durst not answer "Certainly;" but he would have liked his cousin to
do him this service without speaking about it.
He wished that Frederick would die during the night of an attack of
apoplexy, or that a riot would break out so that next morning there
would be enough of barricades to shut up all the approaches to the Bois
de Boulogne, or that some emergency might prevent one of the seconds
from being present; for in the absence of seconds the duel would fall
through. He felt a longing to save himself by taking an express
train--no matter where. He regretted that he did not understand medicine
so as to be able to take something which, without endangering his life,
would cause it to be believed that he was dead. He finally wished to be
ill in earnest.
In order to get advice and assistance from someone, he sent for M. des
Aulnays. That worthy man had gone back to Saintonge on receiving a
letter informing him of the illness of one of his daughters. This
appeared an ominous circumstance to Cisy. Luckily, M. Vezou, his tutor,
came to see him. Then he unbosomed himself.
"What am I to do? my God! what am I do?"
"If I were in your place, Monsieur, I should pay some strapping fellow
from the market-place to go and give him a drubbing."
"He would still know who brought it about," replied Cisy.
And from time to time he uttered a groan; then:
"But is a man bound to fight a duel?"
"'Tis a relic of barbarism! What are you to do?"
Out of complaisance the pedagogue invited himself to dinner. His pupil
did not eat anything, but, after the meal, felt the necessity of taking
a short walk.
As they were passing a church, he said:
"Suppose we go in for a little while--to look?"
M. Vezou asked nothing better, and even offered him holy water.
It was the month of May. The altar was covered with flowers; voices were
chanting; the organ was resounding through the church. But he found it
impossible to pray, as the pomps of religion inspired him merely with
thoughts of funerals. He fancied that he could hear the murmurs of the
_De Profundis_.
"Let us go away. I don't feel well."
They spent the whole night playing cards. The Vicomte made an effort to
lose in order to exorcise ill-luck, a thing which M. Vezou turned to his
own advantage. At last, at the first streak of dawn, Cisy, who could
stand it no longer, sank down on the green cloth, and was soon plunged
in sleep, which was disturbed by unpleasant dreams.
If courage, however, consists in wishing to get the better of one's own
weakness, the Vicomte was courageous, for in the presence of his
seconds, who came to seek him, he stiffened himself up with all the
strength he could command, vanity making him realise that to attempt to
draw back now would destroy him. M. de Comaing congratulated him on his
good appearance.
But, on the way, the jolting of the cab and the heat of the morning sun
made him languish. His energy gave way again. He could not even
distinguish any longer where they were. The Baron amused himself by
increasing his terror, talking about the "corpse," and of the way they
meant to get back clandestinely to the city. Joseph gave the rejoinder;
both, considering the affair ridiculous, were certain that it would be
settled.
Cisy kept his head on his breast; he lifted it up slowly, and drew
attention to the fact that they had not taken a doctor with them.
"'Tis needless," said the Baron.
"Then there's no danger?"
Joseph answered in a grave tone:
"Let us hope so!"
And nobody in the carriage made any further remark.
At ten minutes past seven they arrived in front of the Maillot gate.
Frederick and his seconds were there, the entire group being dressed
all in black. Regimbart, instead of a cravat, wore a stiff horsehair
collar, like a trooper; and he carried a long violin-case adapted for
adventures of this kind. They exchanged frigid bows. Then they all
plunged into the Bois de Boulogne, taking the Madrid road, in order to
find a suitable place.
Regimbart said to Frederick, who was walking between him and Dussardier:
"Well, and this scare--what do we care about it? If you want anything,
don't annoy yourself about it; I know what to do. Fear is natural to
man!"
Then, in a low tone:
"Don't smoke any more; in this case it has a weakening effect."
Frederick threw away his cigar, which had only a disturbing effect on
his brain, and went on with a firm step. The Vicomte advanced behind,
leaning on the arms of his two seconds. Occasional wayfarers crossed
their path. The sky was blue, and from time to time they heard rabbits
skipping about. At the turn of a path, a woman in a Madras neckerchief
was chatting with a man in a blouse; and in the large avenue under the
chestnut-trees some grooms in vests of linen-cloth were walking horses
up and down.
Cisy recalled the happy days when, mounted on his own chestnut horse,
and with his glass stuck in his eye, he rode up to carriage-doors. These
recollections intensified his wretchedness. An intolerable thirst
parched his throat. The buzzing of flies mingled with the throbbing of
his arteries. His feet sank into the sand. It seemed to him as if he had
been walking during a period which had neither beginning nor end.
The seconds, without stopping, examined with keen glances each side of
the path they were traversing. They hesitated as to whether they would
go to the Catelan Cross or under the walls of the Bagatelle. At last
they took a turn to the right; and they drew up in a kind of quincunx in
the midst of the pine-trees.
The spot was chosen in such a way that the level ground was cut equally
into two divisions. The two places at which the principals in the duel
were to take their stand were marked out. Then Regimbart opened his
case. It was lined with red sheep's-leather, and contained four charming
swords hollowed in the centre, with handles which were adorned with
filigree. A ray of light, passing through the leaves, fell on them, and
they appeared to Cisy to glitter like silver vipers on a sea of blood.
The Citizen showed that they were of equal length. He took one himself,
in order to separate the combatants in case of necessity. M. de Comaing
held a walking-stick. There was an interval of silence. They looked at
each other. All the faces had in them something fierce or cruel.
Frederick had taken off his coat and his waistcoat. Joseph aided Cisy to
do the same. When his cravat was removed a blessed medal could be seen
on his neck. This made Regimbart smile contemptuously.
Then M. de Comaing (in order to allow Frederick another moment for
reflection) tried to raise some quibbles. He demanded the right to put
on a glove, and to catch hold of his adversary's sword with the left
hand. Regimbart, who was in a hurry, made no objection to this. At last
the Baron, addressing Frederick:
"Everything depends on you, Monsieur! There is never any dishonour in
acknowledging one's faults."
Dussardier made a gesture of approval. The Citizen gave vent to his
indignation:
"Do you think we came here as a mere sham, damn it! Be on your guard,
each of you!"
The combatants were facing one another, with their seconds by their
sides.
He uttered the single word:
"Come!"
Cisy became dreadfully pale. The end of his blade was quivering like a
horsewhip. His head fell back, his hands dropped down helplessly, and he
sank unconscious on the ground. Joseph raised him up and while holding a
scent-bottle to his nose, gave him a good shaking.
The Vicomte reopened his eyes, then suddenly grasped at his sword like a
madman. Frederick had held his in readiness, and now awaited him with
steady eye and uplifted hand.
"Stop! stop!" cried a voice, which came from the road simultaneously
with the sound of a horse at full gallop, and the hood of a cab broke
the branches. A man bending out his head waved a handkerchief, still
exclaiming:
"Stop! stop!"
M. de Comaing, believing that this meant the intervention of the police,
lifted up his walking-stick.
"Make an end of it. The Vicomte is bleeding!"
"I?" said Cisy.
In fact, he had in his fall taken off the skin of his left thumb.
"But this was by falling," observed the Citizen.
The Baron pretended not to understand.
Arnoux had jumped out of the cab.
"I have arrived too late? No! Thanks be to God!"
He threw his arms around Frederick, felt him, and covered his face with
kisses.
"I am the cause of it. You wanted to defend your old friend! That's
right--that's right! Never shall I forget it! How good you are! Ah! my
own dear boy!"
He gazed at Frederick and shed tears, while he chuckled with delight.
The Baron turned towards Joseph:
"I believe we are in the way at this little family party. It is over,
messieurs, is it not? Vicomte, put your arm into a sling. Hold on! here
is my silk handkerchief."
Then, with an imperious gesture: "Come! no spite! This is as it should
be!"
The two adversaries shook hands in a very lukewarm fashion. The Vicomte,
M. de Comaing, and Joseph disappeared in one direction, and Frederick
left with his friends in the opposite direction.
As the Madrid Restaurant was not far off, Arnoux proposed that they
should go and drink a glass of beer there.
"We might even have breakfast."
But, as Dussardier had no time to lose, they confined themselves to
taking some refreshment in the garden.
They all experienced that sense of satisfaction which follows happy
_denouements_. The Citizen, nevertheless, was annoyed at the duel having
been interrupted at the most critical stage.
Arnoux had been apprised of it by a person named Compain, a friend of
Regimbart; and with an irrepressible outburst of emotion he had rushed
to the spot to prevent it, under the impression, however, that he was
the occasion of it. He begged of Frederick to furnish him with some
details about it. Frederick, touched by these proofs of affection, felt
some scruples at the idea of increasing his misapprehension of the
facts.
"For mercy's sake, don't say any more about it!"
Arnoux thought that this reserve showed great delicacy. Then, with his
habitual levity, he passed on to some fresh subject.
"What news, Citizen?"
And they began talking about banking transactions, and the number of
bills that were falling due. In order to be more undisturbed, they went
to another table, where they exchanged whispered confidences.
Frederick could overhear the following words: "You are going to back me
up with your signature." "Yes, but you, mind!" "I have negotiated it at
last for three hundred!" "A nice commission, faith!"
In short, it was clear that Arnoux was mixed up in a great many shady
transactions with the Citizen.
Frederick thought of reminding him about the fifteen thousand francs.
But his last step forbade the utterance of any reproachful words even of
the mildest description. Besides, he felt tired himself, and this was
not a convenient place for talking about such a thing. He put it off
till some future day.
Arnoux, seated in the shade of an evergreen, was smoking, with a look of
joviality in his face. He raised his eyes towards the doors of private
rooms looking out on the garden, and said he had often paid visits to
the house in former days.
"Probably not by yourself?" returned the Citizen.
"Faith, you're right there!"
"What blackguardism you do carry on! you, a married man!"
"Well, and what about yourself?" retorted Arnoux; and, with an indulgent
smile: "I am even sure that this rascal here has a room of his own
somewhere into which he takes his friends."
The Citizen confessed that this was true by simply shrugging his
shoulders. Then these two gentlemen entered into their respective tastes
with regard to the sex: Arnoux now preferred youth, work-girls;
Regimbart hated affected women, and went in for the genuine article
before anything else. The conclusion which the earthenware-dealer laid
down at the close of this discussion was that women were not to be taken
seriously.
"Nevertheless, he is fond of his own wife," thought Frederick, as he
made his way home; and he looked on Arnoux as a coarse-grained man. He
had a grudge against him on account of the duel, as if it had been for
the sake of this individual that he risked his life a little while
before.
But he felt grateful to Dussardier for his devotedness. Ere long the
book-keeper came at his invitation to pay him a visit every day.
Frederick lent him books--Thiers, Dulaure, Barante, and Lamartine's
_Girondins_.
The honest fellow listened to everything the other said with a
thoughtful air, and accepted his opinions as those of a master.
One evening he arrived looking quite scared.
That morning, on the boulevard, a man who was running so quickly that he
had got out of breath, had jostled against him, and having recognised
in him a friend of Senecal, had said to him:
"He has just been taken! I am making my escape!"
There was no doubt about it. Dussardier had spent the day making
enquiries. Senecal was in jail charged with an attempted crime of a
political nature.
The son of an overseer, he was born at Lyons, and having had as his
teacher a former disciple of Chalier, he had, on his arrival in Paris,
obtained admission into the "Society of Families." His ways were known,
and the police kept a watch on him. He was one of those who fought in
the outbreak of May, 1839, and since then he had remained in the shade;
but, his self-importance increasing more and more, he became a fanatical
follower of Alibaud, mixing up his own grievances against society with
those of the people against monarchy, and waking up every morning in the
hope of a revolution which in a fortnight or a month would turn the
world upside down. At last, disgusted at the inactivity of his brethren,
enraged at the obstacles that retarded the realisation of his dreams,
and despairing of the country, he entered in his capacity of chemist
into the conspiracy for the use of incendiary bombs; and he had been
caught carrying gunpowder, of which he was going to make a trial at
Montmartre--a supreme effort to establish the Republic.
Dussardier was no less attached to the Republican idea, for, from his
point of view, it meant enfranchisement and universal happiness. One
day--at the age of fifteen--in the Rue Transnonain, in front of a
grocer's shop, he had seen soldiers' bayonets reddened with blood and
exhibiting human hairs pasted to the butt-ends of their guns. Since
that time, the Government had filled him with feelings of rage as the
very incarnation of injustice. He frequently confused the assassins with
the gendarmes; and in his eyes a police-spy was just as bad as a
parricide. All the evil scattered over the earth he ingenuously
attributed to Power; and he hated it with a deep-rooted, undying hatred
that held possession of his heart and made his sensibility all the more
acute. He had been dazzled by Senecal's declamations. It was of little
consequence whether he happened to be guilty or not, or whether the
attempt with which he was charged could be characterised as an odious
proceeding! Since he was the victim of Authority, it was only right to
help him.
"The Peers will condemn him, certainly! Then he will be conveyed in a
prison-van, like a convict, and will be shut up in Mont Saint-Michel,
where the Government lets people die! Austen had gone mad! Steuben had
killed himself! In order to transfer Barbes into a dungeon, they had
dragged him by the legs and by the hair. They trampled on his body, and
his head rebounded along the staircase at every step they took. What
abominable treatment! The wretches!"
He was choking with angry sobs, and he walked about the apartment in a
very excited frame of mind.
"In the meantime, something must be done! Come, for my part, I don't
know what to do! Suppose we tried to rescue him, eh? While they are
bringing him to the Luxembourg, we could throw ourselves on the escort
in the passage! A dozen resolute men--that sometimes is enough to
accomplish it!"
There was so much fire in his eyes that Frederick was a little startled
by his look. He recalled to mind Senecal's sufferings and his austere
life. Without feeling the same enthusiasm about him as Dussardier, he
experienced nevertheless that admiration which is inspired by every man
who sacrifices himself for an idea. He said to himself that, if he had
helped this man, he would not be in his present position; and the two
friends anxiously sought to devise some contrivance whereby they could
set him free.
It was impossible for them to get access to him.
Frederick examined the newspapers to try to find out what had become of
him, and for three weeks he was a constant visitor at the reading-rooms.
One day several numbers of the _Flambard_ fell into his hands. The
leading article was invariably devoted to cutting up some distinguished
man. After that came some society gossip and some scandals. Then there
were some chaffing observations about the Odeon Carpentras,
pisciculture, and prisoners under sentence of death, when there happened
to be any. The disappearance of a packet-boat furnished materials for a
whole year's jokes. In the third column a picture-canvasser, under the
form of anecdotes or advice, gave some tailors' announcements, together
with accounts of evening parties, advertisements as to auctions, and
analysis of artistic productions, writing in the same strain about a
volume of verse and a pair of boots. The only serious portion of it was
the criticism of the small theatres, in which fierce attacks were made
on two or three managers; and the interests of art were invoked on the
subjects of the decorations of the Rope-dancers' Gymnasium and of the
actress who played the part of the heroine at the Delassements.
Frederick was passing over all these items when his eyes alighted on an
article entitled "A Lass between three Lads." It was the story of his
duel related in a lively Gallic style. He had no difficulty in
recognising himself, for he was indicated by this little joke, which
frequently recurred: "A young man from the College of Sens who has no
sense." He was even represented as a poor devil from the provinces, an
obscure booby trying to rub against persons of high rank. As for the
Vicomte, he was made to play a fascinating part, first by having forced
his way into the supper-room, then by having carried off the lady, and,
finally, by having behaved all through like a perfect gentleman.
Frederick's courage was not denied exactly, but it was pointed out that
an intermediary--the _protector_ himself--had come on the scene just in
the nick of time. The entire article concluded with this phrase,
pregnant perhaps with sinister meaning:
"What is the cause of their affection? A problem! and, as Bazile says,
who the deuce is it that is deceived here?"
This was, beyond all doubt, Hussonnet's revenge against Frederick for
having refused him five thousand francs.
What was he to do? If he demanded an explanation from him, the Bohemian
would protest that he was innocent, and nothing would be gained by doing
this. The best course was to swallow the affront in silence. Nobody,
after all, read the _Flambard_.
As he left the reading-room, he saw some people standing in front of a
picture-dealer's shop. They were staring at the portrait of a woman,
with this fine traced underneath in black letters: "Mademoiselle
Rosanette Bron, belonging to M. Frederick Moreau of Nogent."
It was indeed she--or, at least, like her--her full face displayed, her
bosom uncovered, with her hair hanging loose, and with a purse of red
velvet in her hands, while behind her a peacock leaned his beak over her
shoulder, covering the wall with his immense plumage in the shape of a
fan.
Pellerin had got up this exhibition in order to compel Frederick to pay,
persuaded that he was a celebrity, and that all Paris, roused to take
his part, would be interested in this wretched piece of work.
Was this a conspiracy? Had the painter and the journalist prepared their
attack on him at the same time?
His duel had not put a stop to anything. He had become an object of
ridicule, and everyone had been laughing at him.
Three days afterwards, at the end of June, the Northern shares having
had a rise of fifteen francs, as he had bought two thousand of them
within the past month, he found that he had made thirty thousand francs
by them. This caress of fortune gave him renewed self-confidence. He
said to himself that he wanted nobody's help, and that all his
embarrassments were the result of his timidity and indecision. He ought
to have begun his intrigue with the Marechale with brutal directness and
refused Hussonnet the very first day. He should not have compromised
himself with Pellerin. And, in order to show that he was not a bit
embarrassed, he presented himself at one of Madame Dambreuse's ordinary
evening parties.
In the middle of the anteroom, Martinon, who had arrived at the same
time as he had, turned round:
"What! so you are visiting here?" with a look of surprise, and as if
displeased at seeing him.
"Why not?"
And, while asking himself what could be the cause of such a display of
hostility on Martinon's part, Frederick made his way into the
drawing-room.
The light was dim, in spite of the lamps placed in the corners, for the
three windows, which were wide open, made three large squares of black
shadow stand parallel with each other. Under the pictures, flower-stands
occupied, at a man's height, the spaces on the walls, and a silver
teapot with a samovar cast their reflections in a mirror on the
background. There arose a murmur of hushed voices. Pumps could be heard
creaking on the carpet. He could distinguish a number of black coats,
then a round table lighted up by a large shaded lamp, seven or eight
ladies in summer toilets, and at some little distance Madame Dambreuse
in a rocking armchair. Her dress of lilac taffeta had slashed sleeves,
from which fell muslin puffs, the charming tint of the material
harmonising with the shade of her hair; and she sat slightly thrown back
with the tip of her foot on a cushion, with the repose of an exquisitely
delicate work of art, a flower of high culture.
M. Dambreuse and an old gentleman with a white head were walking from
one end of the drawing-room to the other. Some of the guests chatted
here and there, sitting on the edges of little sofas, while the others,
standing up, formed a circle in the centre of the apartment.
They were talking about votes, amendments, counter-amendments, M.
Grandin's speech, and M. Benoist's reply. The third party had decidedly
gone too far. The Left Centre ought to have had a better recollection
of its origin. Serious attacks had been made on the ministry. It must be
reassuring, however, to see that it had no successor. In short, the
situation was completely analogous to that of 1834.
As these things bored Frederick, he drew near the ladies. Martinon was
beside them, standing up, with his hat under his arm, showing himself in
three-quarter profile, and looking so neat that he resembled a piece of
Sevres porcelain. He took up a copy of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ which
was lying on the table between an _Imitation_ and an _Almanach de
Gotha_, and spoke of a distinguished poet in a contemptuous tone, said
he was going to the "conferences of Saint-Francis," complained of his
larynx, swallowed from time to time a pellet of gummatum, and in the
meantime kept talking about music, and played the part of the elegant
trifler. Mademoiselle Cecile, M. Dambreuse's niece, who happened to be
embroidering a pair of ruffles, gazed at him with her pale blue eyes;
and Miss John, the governess, who had a flat nose, laid aside her
tapestry on his account. Both of them appeared to be exclaiming
internally:
"How handsome he is!"
Madame Dambreuse turned round towards him.
"Please give me my fan which is on that pier-table over there. You are
taking the wrong one! 'tis the other!"
She arose, and when he came across to her, they met in the middle of the
drawing-room face to face. She addressed a few sharp words to him, no
doubt of a reproachful character, judging by the haughty expression of
her face. Martinon tried to smile; then he went to join the circle in
which grave men were holding discussions. Madame Dambreuse resumed her
seat, and, bending over the arm of her chair, said to Frederick:
"I saw somebody the day before yesterday who was speaking to me about
you--Monsieur de Cisy. You know him, don't you?"
"Yes, slightly."
Suddenly Madame Dambreuse uttered an exclamation:
"Oh! Duchesse, what a pleasure to see you!"
And she advanced towards the door to meet a little old lady in a
Carmelite taffeta gown and a cap of guipure with long borders. The
daughter of a companion in exile of the Comte d'Artois, and the widow of
a marshal of the Empire; who had been created a peer of France in 1830,
she adhered to the court of a former generation as well as to the new
court, and possessed sufficient influence to procure many things. Those
who stood talking stepped aside, and then resumed their conversation.
It had now turned on pauperism, of which, according to these gentlemen,
all the descriptions that had been given were grossly exaggerated.
"However," urged Martinon, "let us confess that there is such a thing as
want! But the remedy depends neither on science nor on power. It is
purely an individual question. When the lower classes are willing to get
rid of their vices, they will free themselves from their necessities.
Let the people be more moral, and they will be less poor!"
According to M. Dambreuse, no good could be attained without a
superabundance of capital. Therefore, the only practicable method was to
intrust, "as the Saint-Simonians, however, proposed (good heavens!
there was some merit in their views--let us be just to everybody)--to
intrust, I say, the cause of progress to those who can increase the
public wealth." Imperceptibly they began to touch on great industrial
undertakings--the railways, the coal-mines. And M. Dambreuse, addressing
Frederick, said to him in a low whisper:
"You have not called about that business of ours?"
Frederick pleaded illness; but, feeling that this excuse was too absurd:
"Besides, I need my ready money."
"Is it to buy a carriage?" asked Madame Dambreuse, who was brushing past
him with a cup of tea in her hand, and for a minute she watched his face
with her head bent slightly over her shoulder.
She believed that he was Rosanette's lover--the allusion was obvious. It
seemed even to Frederick that all the ladies were staring at him from a
distance and whispering to one another.
In order to get a better idea as to what they were thinking about, he
once more approached them. On the opposite side of the table, Martinon,
seated near Mademoiselle Cecile, was turning over the leaves of an
album. It contained lithographs representing Spanish costumes. He read
the descriptive titles aloud: "A Lady of Seville," "A Valencia
Gardener," "An Andalusian Picador"; and once, when he had reached the
bottom of the page, he continued all in one breath:
"Jacques Arnoux, publisher. One of your friends, eh?"
"That is true," said Frederick, hurt by the tone he had assumed.
Madame Dambreuse again interposed:
"In fact, you came here one morning--about a house, I believe--a house
belonging to his wife." (This meant: "She is your mistress.")
He reddened up to his ears; and M. Dambreuse, who joined them at the
same moment, made this additional remark:
"You appear even to be deeply interested in them."
These last words had the effect of putting Frederick out of countenance.
His confusion, which, he could not help feeling, was evident to them,
was on the point of confirming their suspicions, when M. Dambreuse drew
close to him, and, in a tone of great seriousness, said:
"I suppose you don't do business together?"
He protested by repeated shakes of the head, without realising the exact
meaning of the capitalist, who wished to give him advice.
He felt a desire to leave. The fear of appearing faint-hearted
restrained him. A servant carried away the teacups. Madame Dambreuse was
talking to a diplomatist in a blue coat. Two young girls, drawing their
foreheads close together, showed each other their jewellery. The others,
seated in a semicircle on armchairs, kept gently moving their white
faces crowned with black or fair hair. Nobody, in fact, minded them.
Frederick turned on his heels; and, by a succession of long zigzags, he
had almost reached the door, when, passing close to a bracket, he
remarked, on the top of it, between a china vase and the wainscoting, a
journal folded up in two. He drew it out a little, and read these
words--_The Flambard_.
Who had brought it there? Cisy. Manifestly no one else. What did it
matter, however? They would believe--already, perhaps, everyone
believed--in the article. What was the cause of this rancour? He wrapped
himself up in ironical silence. He felt like one lost in a desert. But
suddenly he heard Martinon's voice:
"Talking of Arnoux, I saw in the newspapers, amongst the names of those
accused of preparing incendiary bombs, that of one of his _employes_,
Senecal. Is that our Senecal?"
"The very same!"
Martinon repeated several times in a very loud tone:
"What? our Senecal! our Senecal!"
Then questions were asked him about the conspiracy. It was assumed that
his connection with the prosecutor's office ought to furnish him with
some information on the subject.
He declared that he had none. However, he knew very little about this
individual, having seen him only two or three times. He positively
regarded him as a very ill-conditioned fellow. Frederick exclaimed
indignantly:
"Not at all! he is a very honest fellow."
"All the same, Monsieur," said a landowner, "no conspirator can be an
honest man."
Most of the men assembled there had served at least four governments;
and they would have sold France or the human race in order to preserve
their own incomes, to save themselves from any discomfort or
embarrassment, or even through sheer baseness, through worship of force.
They all maintained that political crimes were inexcusable. It would be
more desirable to pardon those which were provoked by want. And they did
not fail to put forward the eternal illustration of the father of a
family stealing the eternal loaf of bread from the eternal baker.
A gentleman occupying an administrative office even went so far as to
exclaim:
"For my part, Monsieur, if I were told that my brother were a
conspirator I would denounce him!"
Frederick invoked the right of resistance, and recalling to mind some
phrases that Deslauriers had used in their conversations, he referred to
Delosmes, Blackstone, the English Bill of Rights, and Article 2 of the
Constitution of '91. It was even by virtue of this law that the fall of
Napoleon had been proclaimed. It had been recognised in 1830, and
inscribed at the head of the Charter. Besides, when the sovereign fails
to fulfil the contract, justice requires that he should be overthrown.
"Why, this is abominable!" exclaimed a prefect's wife.
All the rest remained silent, filled with vague terror, as if they had
heard the noise of bullets. Madame Dambreuse rocked herself in her
chair, and smiled as she listened to him.
A manufacturer, who had formerly been a member of the Carbonari, tried
to show that the Orleans family possessed good qualities. No doubt there
were some abuses.
"Well, what then?"
"But we should not talk about them, my dear Monsieur! If you knew how
all these clamourings of the Opposition injure business!"
"What do I care about business?" said Frederick.
He was exasperated by the rottenness of these old men; and, carried away
by the recklessness which sometimes takes possession of even the most
timid, he attacked the financiers, the deputies, the government, the
king, took up the defence of the Arabs, and gave vent to a great deal of
abusive language. A few of those around him encouraged him in a spirit
of irony:
"Go on, pray! continue!" whilst others muttered: "The deuce! what
enthusiasm!" At last he thought the right thing to do was to retire;
and, as he was going away, M. Dambreuse said to him, alluding to the
post of secretary:
"No definite arrangement has been yet arrived at; but make haste!"
And Madame Dambreuse:
"You'll call again soon, will you not?"
Frederick considered their parting salutation a last mockery. He had
resolved never to come back to this house, or to visit any of these
people again. He imagined that he had offended them, not realising what
vast funds of indifference society possesses. These women especially
excited his indignation. Not a single one of them had backed him up even
with a look of sympathy. He felt angry with them for not having been
moved by his words. As for Madame Dambreuse, he found in her something
at the same time languid and cold, which prevented him from defining her
character by a formula. Had she a lover? and, if so, who was her lover?
Was it the diplomatist or some other? Perhaps it was Martinon?
Impossible! Nevertheless, he experienced a sort of jealousy against
Martinon, and an unaccountable ill-will against her.
Dussardier, having called this evening as usual, was awaiting him.
Frederick's heart was swelling with bitterness; he unburdened it, and
his grievances, though vague and hard to understand, saddened the
honest shop-assistant. He even complained of his isolation. Dussardier,
after a little hesitation, suggested that they ought to call on
Deslauriers.
Frederick, at the mention of the advocate's name, was seized with a
longing to see him once more. He was now living in the midst of profound
intellectual solitude, and found Dussardier's company quite
insufficient. In reply to the latter's question, Frederick told him to
arrange matters any way he liked.
Deslauriers had likewise, since their quarrel, felt a void in his life.
He yielded without much reluctance to the cordial advances which were
made to him. The pair embraced each other, then began chatting about
matters of no consequence.
Frederick's heart was touched by Deslauriers' display of reserve, and in
order to make him a sort of reparation, he told the other next day how
he had lost the fifteen thousand francs without mentioning that these
fifteen thousand francs had been originally intended for him. The
advocate, nevertheless, had a shrewd suspicion of the truth; and this
misadventure, which justified, in his own mind, his prejudices against
Arnoux, entirely disarmed his rancour; and he did not again refer to the
promise made by his friend on a former occasion.
Frederick, misled by his silence, thought he had forgotten all about it.
A few days afterwards, he asked Deslauriers whether there was any way in
which he could get back his money.
They might raise the point that the prior mortgage was fraudulent, and
might take proceedings against the wife personally.
"No! no! not against her!" exclaimed Frederick, and, yielding to the
ex-law-clerk's questions, he confessed the truth. Deslauriers was
convinced that Frederick had not told him the entire truth, no doubt
through a feeling of delicacy. He was hurt by this want of confidence.
They were, however, on the same intimate terms as before, and they even
found so much pleasure in each other's society that Dussardier's
presence was an obstacle to their free intercourse. Under the pretence
that they had appointments, they managed gradually to get rid of him.
There are some men whose only mission amongst their fellow-men is to
serve as go-betweens; people use them in the same way as if they were
bridges, by stepping over them and going on further.
Frederick concealed nothing from his old friend. He told him about the
coal-mine speculation and M. Dambreuse's proposal. The advocate grew
thoughtful.
"That's queer! For such a post a man with a good knowledge of law would
be required!"
"But you could assist me," returned Frederick.
"Yes!--hold on! faith, yes! certainly."
During the same week Frederick showed Dussardier a letter from his
mother.
Madame Moreau accused herself of having misjudged M. Roque, who had
given a satisfactory explanation of his conduct. Then she spoke of his
means, and of the possibility, later, of a marriage with Louise.
"That would not be a bad match," said Deslauriers.
Frederick said it was entirely out of the question. Besides, Pere Roque
was an old trickster. That in no way affected the matter, in the
advocate's opinion.
At the end of July, an unaccountable diminution in value made the
Northern shares fall. Frederick had not sold his. He lost sixty thousand
francs in one day. His income was considerably reduced. He would have to
curtail his expenditure, or take up some calling, or make a brilliant
catch in the matrimonial market.
Then Deslauriers spoke to him about Mademoiselle Roque. There was
nothing to prevent him from going to get some idea of things by seeing
for himself. Frederick was rather tired of city life. Provincial
existence and the maternal roof would be a sort of recreation for him.
The aspect of the streets of Nogent, as he passed through them in the
moonlight, brought back old memories to his mind; and he experienced a
kind of pang, like persons who have just returned home after a long
period of travel.
At his mother's house, all the country visitors had assembled as in
former days--MM. Gamblin, Heudras, and Chambrion, the Lebrun family,
"those young ladies, the Augers," and, in addition, Pere Roque, and,
sitting opposite to Madame Moreau at a card-table, Mademoiselle Louise.
She was now a woman. She sprang to her feet with a cry of delight. They
were all in a flutter of excitement. She remained standing motionless,
and the paleness of her face was intensified by the light issuing from
four silver candlesticks.
When she resumed play, her hand was trembling. This emotion was
exceedingly flattering to Frederick, whose pride had been sorely wounded
of late. He said to himself: "You, at any rate, will love me!" and, as
if he were thus taking his revenge for the humiliations he had endured
in the capital, he began to affect the Parisian lion, retailed all the
theatrical gossip, told anecdotes as to the doings of society, which he
had borrowed from the columns of the cheap newspapers, and, in short,
dazzled his fellow-townspeople.
Next morning, Madame Moreau expatiated on Louise's fine qualities; then
she enumerated the woods and farms of which she would be the owner. Pere
Roque's wealth was considerable.
He had acquired it while making investments for M. Dambreuse; for he had
lent money to persons who were able to give good security in the shape
of mortgages, whereby he was enabled to demand additional sums or
commissions. The capital, owing to his energetic vigilance, was in no
danger of being lost. Besides, Pere Roque never had any hesitation in
making a seizure. Then he bought up the mortgaged property at a low
price, and M. Dambreuse, having got back his money, found his affairs in
very good order.
But this manipulation of business matters in a way which was not
strictly legal compromised him with his agent. He could refuse Pere
Roque nothing, and it was owing to the latter's solicitations that M.
Dambreuse had received Frederick so cordially.
The truth was that in the depths of his soul Pere Roque cherished a
deep-rooted ambition. He wished his daughter to be a countess; and for
the purpose of gaining this object, without imperilling the happiness of
his child, he knew no other young man so well adapted as Frederick.
Through the influence of M. Dambreuse, he could obtain the title of his
maternal grandfather, Madame Moreau being the daughter of a Comte de
Fouvens, and besides being connected with the oldest families in
Champagne, the Lavernades and the D'Etrignys. As for the Moreaus, a
Gothic inscription near the mills of Villeneuve-l'Archeveque referred to
one Jacob Moreau, who had rebuilt them in 1596; and the tomb of his own
son, Pierre Moreau, first esquire of the king under Louis XIV., was to
be seen in the chapel of Saint-Nicholas.
So much family distinction fascinated M. Roque, the son of an old
servant. If the coronet of a count did not come, he would console
himself with something else; for Frederick might get a deputyship when
M. Dambreuse had been raised to the peerage, and might then be able to
assist him in his commercial pursuits, and to obtain for him supplies
and grants. He liked the young man personally. In short, he desired to
have Frederick for a son-in-law, because for a long time past he had
been smitten with this notion, which only grew all the stronger day by
day. Now he went to religious services, and he had won Madame Moreau
over to his views, especially by holding before her the prospect of a
title.
So it was that, eight days later, without any formal engagement,
Frederick was regarded as Mademoiselle Roque's "intended," and Pere
Roque, who was not troubled with many scruples, often left them
together.