I FALL INTO DISGRACE
I was dreaming of the Countess Feliciani. She had changed all of a
sudden, by the alchemy of dreamland, into little Carl. We were running
together down the forest path in the woods of Lichtenberg, and the Stone
Man was pursuing us, when a violent pull on my right leg awakened me,
and Joubert and a burst of sunshine replaced dreamland and its shadows.
It was one of Joubert's pleasant ways of awakening a child from his
sleep, to catch him by the foot and nearly haul him out of bed.
Oh, the agony of having to get up, straight, without any preliminary
stretching and yawning; to get up with that dead, blank tiredness of
childhood hanging on one like a cloak--and get into a cold bath!
It was martial law with a vengeance. But there was no use in grumbling.
"Come, lazybones," said Joubert; "rouse yourself. Gone eight; and you
are to go with the General at ten."
"Where to?" said I, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
"Ma foi! where to? Why, on a visit to M. le Duc de Morny."
"Oui."
I was in the bath now, and soapsuds checked my questions. Joubert used
to wash me just as if I were a dog on the mornings that soapsuds were
the order of the day--that is to say, only twice a week, every Wednesday
and Saturday; for this old soldier was as full of fixed opinions as any
nurse, and he believed that too much soap took the oil out of the skin
and made children weak. You may be sure I did not combat his theory.
"Your best coat," said Joubert, as he took the article from the drawer,
"and your best manners, if you please; for M. le Duc de Morny is the
first gentleman in Paris, now that the Emperor is away. Now you are
dressed, and--remember!"
You may be sure I was in a flutter, for the Duc de Morny was a personage
I had never seen, and he loomed large even on my small horizon. From my
childhood's recollections I believe that the Duc had far more dominance
and power than poor old Louis Napoleon, whose craft lay chiefly in his
face.
At a quarter to ten my father, in full general's uniform, very gorgeous,
wearing his medals and the cross, appeared in the hall, where I was
waiting for him. A closed carriage was at the door. We got in and
started.
The Hôtel de Morny was situated on the Quai d'Orsay. It was a huge
building, with gardens running right down to the river. It was next to
the Spanish Embassy, and had two entrances, one by the river, the other
opening from the Rue de Lille.
We passed down the Rue de Lille, and then turned in at the gates, and
by a short roadway to the great courtyard.
Other carriages were there--quite a number of them. Our carriage drew up
at the steps, and we alighted.
As we left the chilly morning, and passed through the swing-glass doors
held open for us by a powdered footman, it was like entering a
greenhouse, so warm was the air, and so perfumed with flowers.
The Duc was far too astute a man to merge his personality in Government
apartments. The Hôtel de Morny was his palace. There he held his court,
receiving people in his bed-chamber after the fashion of a king.
The salon was filled with people--all men, with one exception.
We were expected, it seems; for the usher led us straight through the
throng towards the tall double oak door that gave entrance to the Duc's
room.
"Stay here, Patrick," said my father, and he indicated a chair close to
the door. Then he vanished into the sanctum of the Minister, and I was
left alone to contemplate the people around me.
They were arranged in little groups, talking together; fat men and thin
men, several priests, stout gentlemen with the red rosette of the Legion
of Honour in their buttonholes, sun-dried gentlemen from Provence with
fiery eyes and enormous moustaches, all talking, most of them
gesticulating, and each awaiting his audience with the Minister.
Suddenly, through this crowd, which divided before her as the Red Sea
divided before Pharaoh, straight towards me came the only female
occupant of the room, an old lady at least seventy years of age, yet
dressed like a girl of sixteen. She was so evidently making for me that
I rose to meet her; and, before I could resent the outrage, a lace frill
tickled my chin, a perfume of stephanotis half smothered me, and a pair
of thin lips smacked against my cheek.
She had kissed me. Scarlet to the eyes, conscious that I was observed by
all, not knowing exactly what I did, I did a very unmannerly
thing--wiped my cheek with the back of my hand as if to wipe the kiss
away.
"I knew you at once," said the old lady, who was none other than the
Countess Wagner de Pons, reader to the Empress. "You are the dear
General's little boy, of whom I have heard so much--le petit Patrique.
And you have been away, and you have just returned. Mon Dieu! the
likeness is most speaking. Now, look you, Patrique, over there on that
fauteuil. That is the little Comte de Coigny, whom I have brought this
morning to make his bow to M. le Duc de Morny. Come with me, and I will
introduce you to him. He is of the haute noblesse, a child of the
highest understanding, trè propre."
I glanced at the little Comte de Coigny. He was a tallow-faced,
heavy-looking individual, bigger than me, and older. He might have been
eleven. He was dressed like a little man, kid gloves and all; and he was
looking at me with a dull and sinister expression that spoke neither of
a high understanding nor a good heart.
Before I could move towards him, led by the Countess Wagner de Pons,
the door of De Morny's room opened, and my father's voice said:
"Patrick."
Leaving the old lady, I came.
I found myself in a huge room, with long windows giving a view of the
garden and the river. It was, in fact, a salon set out with fauteuils
and couches. A bed in one corner, raised on a low platform, struck me by
its incongruity. How anyone could choose to sleep in such a vast and
gorgeous salon astonished my childish mind. But I had little time to
think of these things, for the man standing with his back to the
fireplace absorbed all my attention.
He was above the middle height, with a bald, dome-like forehead, a
strong face, and wearing a moustache and imperial. He was dressed like
any other gentleman, but there was that about him--a self-contained
vigour, a calmness of manner, and a grace--that stamped him at once on
the memory as a person never to be forgotten.
"This is my little son," said my father. I saluted, and the great man
bowed.
Then I was questioned about the affair at Lichtenberg, for it seems the
matter had made more than a stir at the Prussian Court. Questions were
being asked; and there was that eruption of evil talk, that dicrotic
rebound of excitement, which, after every social tragedy, is sure to
follow the first wave.
"And now," said my father, when I had finished my evidence, "run off and
play till I am ready for you."
Play! With whom did he expect me to play? With the fat Deputies, the
opulent bankers, the sun-dried gentlemen from the south who thronged the
ante-chamber?
The Countess Wagner de Pons answered the question. This old lady, whose
eccentricity and love of gossip had made her wait with her charge in the
ante-room, instead of having her name announced to the Duchess de Morny,
as any other lady of rank would have done, was deep in conversation with
a tall, dignified gentleman, deep in scandal, no doubt; for, when she
saw me she got rid of me at once by introducing me to the little Comte
de Coigny. "And now," said she, as if echoing my father's words, "run
off and play, both of you, in the garden."
A footman in the blue-and-gold livery of the Duke led us down an iron
staircase to the gravelled walk upon which the lower windows opened, and
left us there.
Play! There was less play in the stiff and starched little Comte de
Coigny, that child of the haute noblesse, très propre, than in the
elephant of the Jardin des Plantes, or any of the fat Deputies in M. de
Morny's ante-room. But there was much more dignity, of a heavy sort.
We took the path towards the river.
"And you," said he, breaking the silence as we walked along. "Where have
you come from?"
"Germany," I replied.
"I thought so," said he.
He was a schoolboy of the Bourdaloue College, but all the planing and
polishing of the Jesuit fathers had not improved his manners, it seems.
The tone of his reply was an insult in itself, and I took it as such,
and held my tongue and waited.
We walked right down to the balustrade overlooking the Seine. De Coigny
mounted, sat on the balustrade, whistled, and as he sat kicking his
heels he cast his eyes up and down me from crown to toe.
I stood before him with the seeming humility of the younger child; but
my blood was boiling, and my knuckles itched at the sight of his flabby,
pasty face.
Some trees sheltered us from the house, and my gentleman from the
Bourdaloue College took a box of Spanish cigaritos from his pocket and a
matchbox adorned with the picture of a ballet-girl.
He put a cigarito between his thick lips, lit it, blew a puff of smoke,
and held out the box to me to have one. Fired with the manliness of the
affair I put out my hand, and received, instead of a cigarito, a rap on
the knuckles with his cane.
"That's to teach you not to smoke," said Mentor. "How old are you?"
"Nine," replied I. The blow hurt; but I put my hand in my pockets, and I
think neither my voice nor my face betrayed my feelings.
"Nine. And what part of Germany do you come from?"
"I was last staying at the Castle of Lichtenberg."
"Aha!" said the gentleman on the balustrade. "And who, may I ask, did we
entertain at our Castle of Lichtenberg?"
"King William of Prussia," I replied out of my childish vanity, "the
Count Feliciani, the great banker and----"
"Mr. What's-your-name," said my tormentor, "you are a liar. The Count
Feliciani, the great banker as you call him, is in prison----"
"How! What?" I cried.
"Oh," said he, with the air of an old Boulevardier, "it is all over
Paris. Caught embezzling State funds; arrested at the railway station. A
nice acquaintance, truly, to boast of!"
"Oh, Eloise!" I cried, my whole heart going out to the unhappy family;
for, though I did not know what embezzling funds meant, prison was plain
enough to my understanding.
"Oh, Eloise!" mimicked the other, throwing his cigarette-end away,
slipping down from the balustrade, and adjusting his waistcoat
preparatory to returning to the house. "Oh, Eloise! Come on, cochon. I
have an appointment with M. le Duc de Morny."
"Allons!" And again he hit me with the cane, this time over the right
shoulder.
I struck him first in the wind, a foul blow, which I have never yet
regretted; and, as he doubled up, I struck him again, by good fortune,
just at the root of the nose.
The effect was magical, and I stood in consternation looking at my
handiwork, for instantly his two eyes became black and his nose streamed
gore.
He lay for a moment where he had fallen; then he scrambled on all fours,
got on his feet, and running, streaming blood, and bellowing at the same
time, without his dandy cane, without his cigarette-box, which he had
left on the balustrade, he made for the house, this enfant très propre,
and of the highest intelligence; a nice figure, indeed, for presentation
to the Duc de Morny!
It was a veritable débâcle. He knew how to run, that child of the haute
noblesse; and, when I arrived in the ante-room, he was already roaring
his tale out into the Countess Wagner de Pons' brocaded skirts, for he
was clinging to her like a child of five, whilst the fat Deputies, the
Jew bankers, and other illuminati stood round in a circle, excited as
schoolboys. A nice scene, truly, to take place in a Minister of State's
salon.
"He struck me in the stomach, he struck me on the head, he kicked me!"
roared the little Comte de Coigny. "Keep him away! Keep him away! Here
he is! Here he is!"
The Countess de Pons screamed. A row of long-drawn faces turned on me,
and the bankers and Deputies, the priests, and the Southern delegates
made a hedge to protect the stricken one, and cooshed at me as if I were
a cat. Cries of "Ah! polisson! Mauvais enfant! Regardez! Regardez!"
filled the room, till the hubbub suddenly ceased at a stern voice that
said "Patrick!"
It was my father, whose interview with De Morny was over. He stood at
the open door, and I saw the Duke, who had peeped out, and whose quick
intelligence had taken in the whole affair in a flash, vanishing with a
smile on his face.