“My profile with these little Loves is surrounded,Since I feel every day, love, for thee love unbounded.”
“My profile with these little Loves is surrounded,Since I feel every day, love, for thee love unbounded.”
Ingenious, in very truth! worthy of Berthellemot! But as we noticed that one of the little Loves was standing on his nose, we concluded that it should read “I smell,” instead of “I feel.” Agathe proposed at first to stick my neighbor’s likeness on the mirror in our dining room; but she changed her mind. She put it carefully away, intending to have copies made of it, which she proposed to enclose in amorous circulars composed from Raymond’s billets-doux, and to send them to all the milliner’s apprentices of her acquaintance, taking care to write at the bottom the address of the original of the portrait.
The champagne finished what the stimulating dinner had begun; we were in the mood to say and do all sorts of foolish things. Agathe stuffed herself with sweetmeats and jelly; I drew the corks; the wine foamed and sparkled, and soon passed from our glasses to our lips; we no longer knew what we were saying, but we knew very well what we were doing! Agathe threw aside all restraint; and if Raymond was listening, surely he must have thought that we were fighting.
But the champagne, which effervesces when it is first poured out, will not effervesce again unless it is well shaken, and in due time refuses to effervesce at all. In like manner, readers, the volcanoes which have displayedthe greatest activity become extinct! In like manner, readers of the gentler sex, those seductive fires which your lovely eyes emit, and to which you owe so many conquests, will die away. Everything has its day, alas! in nature; everything falls to ruin and decay; everything dies. It is the universal law; for that we are born, and each step in life is a step toward the grave; there is no possibility there of arranging compromises.
“Death hath rigors unexampled;Vainly pray we to her;The cruel creature stuffs her earsAnd lets us shout at will.The poor man in his thatch-roofed cottageIs subject to her laws;The guard who stands at the Louvre gatesProtects not kings from her.”
“Death hath rigors unexampled;Vainly pray we to her;The cruel creature stuffs her earsAnd lets us shout at will.The poor man in his thatch-roofed cottageIs subject to her laws;The guard who stands at the Louvre gatesProtects not kings from her.”
I cannot say how the champagne led me to this quotation; however, I am sure that you will not take it ill of me; these lines are never misplaced, and I would like, indeed, to have been the author of them.
We had become virtuous then, in action at all events. I looked at my watch; almost eight o’clock! The deuce! and my rendezvous. The champagne had not entirely deprived me of memory, but I confess that Agathe was responsible for the loss of a large part of my zeal.
Raymond must have been on the watch at the Café Turc for a long while; as for Gerville, we had seen him leave the house more than an hour before; so that there was nothing to detain us. My companion donned her bonnet and shawl and tried to assume a demure and modest air, which she was unable to master, even by lowering her eyes. I did what I could to maintain a grave demeanor and a steady gait; that infernal champagne always did goto my head! However, we could safely show ourselves on the boulevard; we were only a little giddy.
We left the Méridien, where Raymond had paid for everything. The hostess and waitresses saluted us with smiling faces.
“Is there anything amusing in our looks?” I asked Agathe.
“No; but do you suppose that those people don’t divine that we’ve been making a fool of Raymond? Perhaps they think he’s my husband.”
“Oh! that would be rather too much!”
“Bah! such things have been seen.”
“Here we are at the Café Turc; shall we go in?”
“What for?”
“To relieve Raymond, who’s doing sentry duty there.”
“Let him stay there; I’ve no desire to be bored any more with his love; I have had enough of it. Everything has turned out as I wanted; but as such adventures never happen twice, I assure you that he will never inveigle me into a private dining room again.”
“Poor Raymond! Thispartie finewill have been very profitable to him, won’t it? But here’s the Château d’Eau; someone is waiting for me here, and I must leave you.”
“What! already?”
“Our play is ended, my dear girl; we can be of no further assistance to each other; let us not postpone our separation until ennui succeeds pleasure, and the fumes of the champagne have entirely vanished; we shall retain a pleasant memory of this meeting, at all events.”
“Adieu, then, my dear Eugène! may we enjoy ourselves as much when we next meet!”
Agathe went her way, and I started to make the circuit of the Château d’Eau.
Six times I had walked around the pond. From time to time I halted in front of the lions, which I contemplated from every point of view; then, for variety’s sake, I listened to the plash of the water as it fell into the passage through which it flows back to the canals. All this was most entertaining, no doubt, and still I began to weary of it. The sentinel watched me closely; doubtless he began to look upon me as a suspicious character.
It grew dark, and I was on the point of going away, when I saw coming toward me a woman in a little cap. Was it she at last? I dared not flatter myself that it was; I had been mistaken so many times, for my eyesight is not very good; but she continued to approach me. Yes, it was really she. Caroline accosted me with a smiling face; she was not in her best clothes; but there was a certain daintiness in her costume: her cap was neatly tied, and her hair had been in curl papers all day, I would have sworn; a woman does not take so much pains for a man to whom she does not intend to listen. The girl seemed to me a sly minx enough! But although the champagne had made me even more reckless than usual, I was not inclined to offer my arm to a grisette, in a cap, within the walls of Paris.
“I was beginning to lose all hope of seeing you,” I said.
“Why? it’s only a quarter past eight, and I can’t get away from my shop any earlier.”
“Let us go for a stroll in the fields.”
“In the fields? oh, no! it’s too late. I can’t be out later than nine; my aunt would scold me.”
“That’s a very tiresome aunt of yours. Let us go in somewhere.”
“No, I don’t want to. Oh! if I should be seen with you!”
I did not choose to tell her that I was no more anxious than she to exhibit myself on the boulevard with her, for, after all, there were some social conventions which I did not care to defy. She wore an apron and a cap, and that fact annoyed me greatly. Certainly I think no more of a milliner than of a flowermaker, but Agathe was dressed as a lady, and I could afford to offer her my arm; a bonnet and shawl make a vast difference in a woman; and that is one of the petty foibles to which a young man has to submit when he goes into society, even though he despise them. If Nicette had met me at noon instead of at midnight, I certainly should not have escorted her to Madame Jérôme’s on foot.
“Suppose we walk a little on Rue des Marais,” said Caroline; “I am not so much afraid of being seen there.”
“Very well.”
That suggestion was most welcome to me. We went down the stairs, took the Passage du Wauxhall, and in a moment we were on Rue des Marais, a street most favorable for sentimental promenades. Mademoiselle Caroline seemed to know the best places.
The subject of our conversation may be divined: between two lovers, between a gallant and a coquette, between a pretty woman and a comely youth, betweena young man and a grisette, the same subject is always discussed; they talk of love and nothing else. For centuries, love has formed the staple subject of conversation between man and woman; many observations must have been made thereupon, and still the theme is not exhausted. To be sure, everyone treats it in his own way, but the end in view is always the same, is it not?
The fumes of the champagne led me to discuss the subject rather cavalierly; Mademoiselle Caroline, who probably had not dined so sumptuously as I had, stood on her dignity. I could obtain nothing from her; she kept her aunt constantly to the fore, complaining of the severity with which she was treated; but as she had no means of providing for herself, she must needs submit to necessity.
I fancied that I could divine the girl’s ambition; she loved liberty, referred with a sigh to the matter of bonnets and dresses, and seemed to be as sick of her aunt as of her shop. I afforded her a glimpse of a possible means of becoming free and happy; I dropped a word or two concerning a nicely furnished little room of which she would be mistress, where she could work as she chose, where, in short, everything would be subject to her wishes. It was all very alluring, and Mademoiselle Caroline listened very attentively; she did not reply in words, but she sighed and looked down. I talked of dresses, theatres, pleasure parties; she looked at me with a smile, and allowed me to steal a very affectionate kiss. I had found her weak side: the girl was disgusted with her present life; she longed to be her own mistress; in a word, she wanted to have a chamber of her own. Those little grisettes are all alike; that is what they all aspire to; as if when they once had lodgings of their own theirfortunes were made. I saw that the flowermaker cherished that aspiration, and that until it was fulfilled she would accord me no favors. That denoted, not love exactly, but foresight and shrewdness. What should I do? Faith! one more foolish thing. Caroline was fascinating; perhaps gratitude would attach her to me. Gratitude, because I desired to seduce her! you will say. I agree that it is hardly the fitting word, but observe that I gave her an opportunity to reflect at leisure.
“Caroline, does your aunt need you to support her?”
“No, monsieur; on the contrary, I am sure that she wouldn’t be at all sorry to have me provided for.”
“I understand. And you have no other relations?”
“No, monsieur.”
“And you two would part without regret?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! for we often quarrel; and if I had been able to have a room of my own, I’d have done it long ago.”
“In that case, you shall be in your own quarters to-morrow.”
“What, monsieur! do you mean it?”
She jumped for joy, then checked herself, because she thought that she ought not to let me see how delighted she was, but that it was incumbent on her to make some show of hesitation.
“But, monsieur, I don’t know whether I ought to accept.”
“What is there to prevent?”
“What will people say?”
“It seems to me that that ought not to worry you so much as your aunt; and as you are not afraid of making her angry, what do you care for what strangers may say?”
“That’s so, monsieur; it makes no difference at all to me; besides, several friends of mine have done it, and been no worse off for it.”
“Oh! there’s no lack of examples. And so, my dear girl, be all ready at this time to-morrow night. I will come here for you. Make up a little bundle of whatever you need most, and I will take you to your room.”
“Well, as you insist upon it, until to-morrow! I’ll be ready.”
“By the way, one more question. Who is that Monsieur Jules you were with at Tivoli?”
“Oh! he’s a very well-behaved young fellow, who takes me out to walk sometimes with my aunt.”
“I believe you; but even if he’s a hundred times more well-behaved than you say, you must promise me not to receive him at your room, and not to go to walk with him any more.”
“Never fear; I know that I mustn’t do that, and I don’t mean to annoy you in any way.”
“You are a dear girl; so it’s decided, is it?”
“Yes; until to-morrow; it’s late and I must go.”
I took an earnest of our bargain from Caroline’s lips; and she hurried away, doubtless to prepare for the coming change in her situation.
So I had arranged to keep Mademoiselle Caroline! The word had an ill sound in my ears; in general, it is understood to refer to those old libertines, ugly, stupid, and infirm, whom fortune alone has favored, and who obtain by the power of gold favors which others often have obtained without effort. Those men are rarely loved, and are almost always deceived; I myself had taken enjoyment at their expense; and I was going to keep Caroline! No, I was going to establish her in lodgings, that was all; I mightperhaps make her a little present now and then, but she must continue to work; I had no inclination to gratify all her whims; therefore, I was her lover, not her keeper.
We always endeavor to look at our own actions in the most favorable light; moreover, Caroline was really pretty; I had been sighing for her many days, and at last my hopes were to be fulfilled. I persuaded myself that she loved me, although I had detected nothing in her conduct to demonstrate it; but it is so pleasant to flatter one’s self that one has aroused that sentiment! She was a flirt, but I would steady her; she would see no one but me, go out with no one but me; she would do whatever I desired, and she would be faithful to me; that is the way I arranged matters in my mind.
The next morning I considered what I had to do; I had no time to lose. I dressed in haste, and as I closed my door I ran into Raymond, who was coming to pay me a visit, in his morning gown.
“Going out already?” he said.
“Yes, neighbor; I have a great deal to do to-day.”
“The devil! I wanted to talk with you.”
“You must wait until another time.”
“You didn’t join me yesterday at the Café Turc; I waited in the garden till ten o’clock.”
“I am very sorry. Adieu!”
“But I say, what about my picture? Has Agathe my picture?”
I had ceased to listen, and was at the foot of the stairs. I scoured the neighborhood in search of a suitable room. I wanted one of which I could have immediate possession, and one that was not far from my own lodgings. I had not succeeded in finding what I desired,—they were all either too high up, or too dark, or too dirty,—and I waswalking along with my nose in the air, looking for signs, when, as I paused in front of a porte cochère, I heard a faint cough near me. It seemed to me to be a simulated cough; I turned, and saw Nicette. I was within two yards of her stand and had no idea of it. Nicette looked at me, then lowered her eyes; she dared not bow to me or speak to me by daylight. Poor child! At that moment I remembered her bouquet, which I had entirely forgotten; I had never thanked her for her thoughtfulness. I walked up to her, and, as I selected a few flowers, told her in an undertone how deeply touched I was by her remembrance. She blushed with pleasure, and I walked away followed by her eyes.
At last I found what I wanted, on Rue Caumartin; two small rooms which were very neat and clean, very light, and could be occupied at once. It only remained to furnish them; and with plenty of money nothing is so easy. I hastened to an upholsterer’s, bought all that I required, and had it sent to the house with me. In less than three hours the little suite was completely furnished. At first I intended to supply only what was strictly necessary, but my self-esteem interfered; I determined to give Caroline a pleasant surprise; she must have an easy-chair for resting, and a sofa for us two. A pretty woman must have plenty of mirrors; but, above all else, she must have a dressing table and a comfortable bed. She must have curtains to shield her from the gaze of her neighbors; and they must be lined, to lessen the glare of the sun; lastly, she must have a little clock, so that we should not forget the time while talking of love, and I did not expect to talk of anything else to Caroline. All these little details carried me much further than I had at first proposed; but I would try to economize in some otherdirection, and those were extraordinary expenses and of infrequent occurrence.
At last everything was ready; I had the keys of the apartment. There was no concierge in the house; that meant one less spy. But I must provide for everything; Caroline would come that evening to take up her abode in that quarter, which was unfamiliar to her; I must, at the very least, be prepared to offer her some supper; surely there was a restaurant in the neighborhood, and I would go at once to order a dainty repast. But had I thought of everything that required to be done before my mistress should take possession of her new abode? would she have everything she needed? I decided to place fifteen louis in the commode, with which she could provide for her immediate wants; for in the first days of her changed position she would hardly feel like working, and that would be very excusable, a girl’s head is so easily turned! But we become accustomed to everything, and it seemed to me that if my pretty flowermaker chose to be respectable and orderly, and to behave herself, she might be very happy.
I went to the restaurant and ordered a dainty supper for nine o’clock. Then I set about trying to kill time until evening; it was dinner time, but I was not hungry; no matter! I determined to dine, as that would give me some occupation. When I had dined, it was six o’clock; I had still two hours and a half before me, which would never end, I thought. I decided to take a walk; it occurred to me that I should not be sorry to meet Raymond, to divert my thoughts. So I went to Rue Vivienne, where the milliner’s shop was in which Agathe was engaged; I was sure that Raymond would be prowling about the neighborhood.
As I drew near the shop, I saw a number of people collected about a paper pasted on the wall within a few yards of the door. I was not in the habit of stopping to read about lost dogs or other chattels; but I saw that everybody was laughing, and concluded that it was not one of those ordinary placards. I walked toward the crowd and listened:
“It’s a good joke,” said one.
“It’s a most excellent trick,” said another; “I’m sure it’s a good likeness; I recognize that profile.”
I pushed my way to the front, and—what did I see? Raymond’s silhouette pasted on a great white sheet of paper, with these words written above in huge letters:
“Notice to ladies, young and old. The original of this portrait is looking for a lady of from fifteen to thirty-six years who is willing to accept a dinner in a private dining room.”
I readily guessed the author of that piece of deviltry. Agathe and her shopmates were standing in the doorway, laughing till they cried to see the crowd in front of the silhouette and to hear the various remarks. I was moved to pity for poor Raymond; if I had dared, I would have removed his unlucky face, thus exposed to the laughter of the passers-by. To be sure, it was hardly possible to recognize it in that black profile; but my neighbor had a very peculiar cast of countenance; and the artist, unluckily for Raymond, had caught his likeness perfectly; indeed, he had had abundant time to practise, as Raymond had passed the whole evening in his booth.
Among the spectators I noticed little Friquet, whom one could always be sure of finding in front of posters,caricature shops, cake sellers, street singers, and all sorts of open-air shows. The little fellow had recognized Raymond; he was holding his sides with laughter, and crying:
“I say! I know him! It’s Monsieur Raymond; he comes to my aunt’s house to sing! Oh! it’s he, sure enough! What a shame to paste him up there!”
And although he characterized it as a shame, the rascal kept repeating:
“I know him: it’s Monsieur Raymond, who comes to my aunt’s.”
I was about to walk away, when I turned and saw Raymond parading in front of Agathe’s shop, playing the dandy and ogling her with significant glances, to which she replied only with roars of laughter.
The poor devil was walking toward his portrait; if Friquet saw him, he was lost; the little clerk would not fail to make him known to the crowd. I determined to try to save him from that humiliation. I hastened toward him, took his arm, and tried to lead him away with me.
“Come, my dear Raymond, come; let’s take coffee together.”
“I can’t do it, my friend; I am here for a purpose, you see. I am watching Agathe; I want to speak to her.”
“You can speak to her later; come on with me.”
“No; this seems to me a favorable moment; she doesn’t take her eyes off me.”
The little traitress was, in truth, making the most ridiculous faces at him, for fear he would go away. Monsieur Raymond, who had never known her to look at him like that, and who saw that all the shopgirls hadtheir eyes on him, was beside himself with delight; he swaggered along, leaning on his cane; to no purpose did I pull him by the arm, it was impossible to induce him to lose sight of the milliner’s shop. But he noticed the crowd assembled a few steps away.
“There’s something over yonder; let’s see what it is.”
“Pshaw! it isn’t worth while; an offer of a reward for a lost dog, or an advertisement of some new oil to prevent the hair from falling out or turning white.”
“I tell you, my dear fellow, those oils aren’t to be despised! For my part, I try every one that comes out; I must confess that they often give me a headache, but a man must risk something to retain his youth, you must agree. However, I don’t think that’s what they’re looking at; see how they’re all laughing! It must be something very amusing.”
“Don’t you know that in Paris the merest trifle is enough to collect a hundred people?”
“No matter; I want to see what it is; I like to laugh when I have an opportunity. I’ll come back in a minute and tell you about it.”
It was impossible to keep him away; he had already crossed the gutter with an agility of which I had not deemed him capable; and there he was in the crowd, forcing his way to the front with hands and elbows. The milliners did not lose sight of him. I too was anxious to witness the effect that his silhouette produced upon him. Just as he reached the wall and stood motionless in front of his likeness, unable to believe his eyes, the little clerk, who was still among the crowd, espied him, uttered an exclamation, and, overjoyed to be able to point him out to the bystanders, called out to him:
“That’s a picture of you, Monsieur Raymond; it looks just like you.”
And all the young men repeated with him:
“It’s Monsieur Raymond; he comes to my aunt’s!”
My neighbor pulled his hat over his eyes, so that one could see nothing but the tip of his nose; he tried to fly from the spot, and hurled himself among the loungers, who took the keenest delight in barring his path, bombarding him with jests and hootings. Raymond was beside himself; he pushed so hard that he succeeded in breaking out a path; and as he strode away, the laughter from the milliner’s shop completely broke his heart. He went like the wind; but his hat was so far over his eyes that he could not see where he was going, and he collided with a blind man led by a dog which carried a bowl in its mouth. The shock overturned the poor devil, who sat down on the sidewalk with an emphatic oath; the dog, seeing its master fall, dropped its bowl and sprang at Raymond; the blind man criedthief! because he heard his sous rolling on the ground; and Raymond swore because the dog was snapping at his legs. The crowd ran up to restore peace and put the beggar on his feet; but no one dared to approach him, because he was laying about him with his stick, thinking that he was belaboring the person who had thrown him down; while Raymond struggled with the dog, which had taken his leg as a substitute for the bowl and would not relax its grip.
At last, the blind man was raised to his feet, and they succeeded in replacing the bowl between the jaws of the faithful beast that had fought so valiantly for its master. As it was necessary to compensate the poor devil, who was rubbing his posteriors and demanding his money, myneighbor was compelled to put his hand in his pocket, while everybody shouted at him:
“Come, Monsieur Raymond, you must be generous; you shouldn’t rush through the streets of Paris like a madman!”
To escape the crowd, which was becoming larger every moment, Raymond emptied his pockets; but the more he gave, the more the blind man complained of his bruises.
“These villains are never satisfied!” said my neighbor; “here’s twelve francs for your posterior, and thirty sous for the money you lost; I think that’s quite enough.”
“You have hurt me,” said the blind man, shouting like a deaf person; “I shan’t be able to walk for a week; you must make up to me what I shall lose by that.”
“Well, here’s twelve francs more.”
“That’s not enough, bourgeois.”
“What! that makes three francs a day, and still you’re not satisfied! Your trade seems to be a good one!”
“I’m a poor father of a family; I’ve got five children.”
“Why doesn’t your wife lead you, instead of trusting you to a dog?”
“My wife sings on Place Maubert, kind gentleman.”
“And your children?”
“My oldest, a boy, sings on Boulevard des Italiens; the second, a girl, sings on Rue du Grand-Hurleur; the third, another girl, at Montparnasse; the fourth, a boy, on the Champs-Élysées; and the youngest boy is just beginning to sing on Rue du Petit-Lion. We all sing, kind gentleman.”
“Well! you’re a good one to complain! People who sing from morning till night, and won’t take three francs for a day’s receipts! I should like to know if there’s a family in Paris better off than that!”
The crowd laughed at my neighbor’s reflections. The blind man, who was inclined to be ugly, was threatened with having to go to exhibit his bruises to the magistrate, who had a regular tariff for bruised posteriors of all grades. As he had no desire to expose his hurts to the authorities, fearing a considerable abatement of his claims, he went his way with his dog, Raymond with an insult to nurse, and I with the silhouette, which I had torn down and pocketed.
The hour for me to meet Caroline had arrived. I took a cab and was driven to a point behind the Château d’Eau. There I alighted, and strolled along the boulevard, awaiting my young runaway. This time she soon appeared, with several boxes in her hand. She smiled as soon as she saw me; there was less restraint in her manner, more affection in her glance, than I had seen before. Ah! I was sure now that I held sway in her heart.
I led her to the cab; we put the boxes in, then took our places side by side. I told the cabman to urge his horses, for I was impatient to arrive and enjoy her surprise. At last, after a rapid journey, during which she had allowed me to hold her in my arms and to tell her again and again that I would always love her, we reached Rue Caumartin and drew up in front of her new abode.
I opened the house door; I paid the cabman; Caroline gathered up her boxes, and I took her hand to lead her upstairs; for it was dark and we could hardly see. I was amazed that her hand did not tremble in mine. At the moment of such a tremendous change in her position she was not at all excited. She was a young woman of great strength of character—that was clear.
At last we were in her apartment; an old woman on the same landing gave us a light, and Caroline was ableto examine her new quarters. She looked about with rapture; I could see her joy gleaming in her eyes.
“Oh! how pretty it is! how pretty it is!” she kept saying, again and again; and she sat down on the easy-chair, on the sofa, looked at herself in the mirror, examined her curtains, her commode, her clock, her table, her chairs. The bed was the only thing that she dared not examine. Was it from modesty?
“You are satisfied, then?” I said inquiringly, as I took her on my knees.
“Why, how could I help being? These rooms are charming; everything is so elegant, and nothing is lacking; I shall be just like anycomme il fautwoman.”
“And you think you will be happy here?”
“I feel already as if I could never go anywhere else.”
“I am delighted to have succeeded so well; everything here is yours.”
“Mine? really? You are too generous!”
“And if you don’t love me, you are at liberty to refuse to see me; I do not intend to put any price upon what I do.”
“Oh! what an idea! if I didn’t love you, would I have consented to come with you? would I accept anything from you?”
I allowed her to say no more; a kiss closed her mouth. The doorbell rang violently, and Caroline started up in alarm.
“Who can that be?” she asked.
I calmed her and opened the door.
It was the man from the restaurant, with the supper I had ordered; that sight restored Caroline’s gayety completely. We set the table; the basket was unloaded, the dishes placed on the table, the waiter dismissed. Wewere alone, on our own premises, our own masters. I was not very hungry, but I was pleased to see that my companion did honor to the repast. She partook of everything and declared that everything was good.
“At all events,” I said to myself, “she hasn’t begun to play thepetite-maîtresseyet; she doesn’t try to conceal her pleasure or her appetite.”
She admitted that she never had such a good supper at her aunt’s, and that she loved good things to eat, sweetmeats, and muscat wine. Thereupon I filled her glass with muscatel. I did not wish to make her tipsy; but a little “point,” I thought, would banish the last traces of ceremony that still held her gayety in check.
Caroline was bright; her conversation abounded in sallies and repartee—overabounded perhaps. I foresaw that she was likely to go far and to become a leader in her class. I could understand that she must have been bored to death on Rue des Rosiers; she secretly longed to shine upon a greater stage, because she had a presentiment of the triumph that awaited her. I determined to do my best not to encourage her taste for luxury, fine dresses, and extravagance; for it would be the devil’s own job to make her take a different road when she was fairly started.
But the clock struck eleven.
“Already!” said Caroline; “how the time flies!”
I was by her side, I held her in my arms, I rested my head on her shoulder; silence had followed our bursts of merriment, but silence expresses the emotion of the heart better than the noisy outbursts of folly.
“It is very late,” said Caroline, in an undertone.
“Must I go?” I said; “aren’t you your own mistress now?”
She lowered her eyes and made no reply; but did I need any other avowal than that? She defended herself very feebly; and I was such an expert lady’s-maid that in an instant she was in her night costume, if it may be called a costume. To be sure, I tore and broke whatever came in my way: strings, laces, and pins. Those were very trifling obstacles; luckily, fashion does not decree that our ladies must be clad in corselets of steel! but even so, love would find the defect in them. There was one pleasanter obstacle which I desired to find; but I am bound to confess that it did not exist. Ah! Mademoiselle Caroline, I might have suspected as much! But what does it matter, after all? Was she any less pretty on that account? No, to be sure; perhaps, indeed, it was that that gave to her face that expression of coquettish malice which fascinated me. But I could not help thinking that another man had obtained much more than I without providing her with an apartment; however, for my encouragement, I recalled the ballad:
“The first step’s taken unreflecting.”
“The first step’s taken unreflecting.”
Not until the second does reflection take a hand; therefore, there is much more glory in inducing the second step than the first; I tried to persuade myself that that was so.
At all events, I had no choice but to make the best of it, as there was no remedy. If I had been her husband—why, then I should have done just the same; for it is quite enough to be persuaded yourself that you are a Georges Dandin; I see no need of proclaiming it from the housetops.
So I kept all these reflections to myself; I bestowed upon Caroline caresses which she returned with a vivacity and a force of sentiment of which I should not havedeemed her capable, and which I certainly should not have found in an innocent; that was one source of consolation. She swore that she would continue to love me, that she would be happy with no one but me, that she did not want to see anybody else, that she would always be faithful to me and had no desire to win the love of any other man. I said about the same to her, and we fell asleep with these touching oaths of love on our lips.
When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Caroline was still asleep. It was only six o’clock, so I did not wake her; she must have been fatigued. I softly imprinted a kiss on lips which seemed to invite it even when asleep, and I left that bed where I had found in my inamorata’s arms all the delights of sensual pleasure, save only—but why think of that?
I dressed without making any noise, for I wanted to go away without waking her. I knew that very close companionship soon gives birth to satiety; therefore, I proposed not to see her too often, so that when we did meet we should enjoy ourselves more. Oh! I had had experience! When it is not used with care, there is nothing that becomes exhausted so quickly as love. And then, although Mademoiselle Caroline pleased me immensely, I had no idea of living with her altogether. When I was fully dressed, I glanced once more at my new friend, then crept from the room and closed the door very softly.
What a difference between Paris at six in the morning and the same Paris at six in the evening. What perfect tranquillity reigned in that quarter, which, a few hours later, would resound with the rumbling of calèches and tilburys, with the trampling of brilliantly attired equestrians, with the shouts of coachmen and footmen, with the uproar of tradesmen and foot passengers! A fewmilkwomen alone gave life to the picture. I walked toward the boulevards. How cool it was! what a delicious hour for walking! I could not resist the desire to walk the length of the boulevards before the dust and tumult of the day had transformed them into the rendezvous of dandies andpetite-maîtresses. I felt, too, that the air I was breathing did me good, that it tranquillized my mind; and I understood how one may at six in the morning repent of what one did at six in the evening.
But the shops began to open, the tradesmen took down their shutters, the concierges were sweeping down their steps, blinds were being raised, lazy folk were beginning to yawn and stretch their arms, working girls came out to buy their ounce of coffee, old bachelors their roll, maid-servants their beef stew, and old women their little pitcher of cream. The messenger went to the wine shop for his glass of wine, and the cabman for his glass of brandy, in order to begin the day aright! The peasant women, who had already done half their day’s work, remounted their donkeys and returned to the fields; and I left the boulevards and went home.
Three-fourths of the tenants were still asleep. It was only half-past seven, and I met nobody but a few maid-servants. My neighbor was not awake as yet, I sincerely hoped. Poor Raymond! after his adventure of the preceding evening, I presumed that we must have a grand explanation. He must inevitably be in a rage with me; for I credited him with sufficient common sense to understand that the young women in the milliner’s shop had deliberately made sport of him.
On reaching my door, I found something attached to the knob. It was a bouquet from Nicette, already a little withered; it had been there since the evening before, nodoubt. The little flower girl did not forget me; and I, who might have gone to say good-morning to her at six o’clock, had not even thought of her. I very seldom passed her shop. And yet, Nicette was well worth going out of one’s way to see; but for the last few days I had been so engrossed that I had had no time to think of my protégée; indeed, I had vowed not to think too much of her, and I believed that I should do well to keep my vow—for her sake especially. I wanted her to forget me, for I believed her to be very susceptible and quite capable of becoming deeply attached to the man she should chance to love.—“No,” I thought, “I will not go to see her; that is the wiser course. She will end by forgetting me.”—But I had a feeling that I should be very sorry if she did.
I detached the bouquet and entered my rooms; they too reminded me of Nicette and of the night we had passed together there. That night in no wise resembled the night which had just gone, and which had been marked by nothing that was abnormal in my experience. I had spent and expected to spend many nights as pleasurable as the last. But those nights are very rare when a girl of sixteen, emotional and attractive, succeeds, while she beguiles us by her charms, in forcing us to respect her innocence.
I was not so happy as I should have been. Having become the possessor of an adorable woman,—for Caroline was truly adorable, and she lost nothing by being seen in a simple négligé,—what more could I desire? Ah! I had been deceived so often, that I was justified in being fearful. My new mistress was at least as coquettish as my previous ones had been, and that fact was not very reassuring. But why torment myself in anticipation?Moreover, I had promised myself to be impassive and to take things philosophically. Yes, I had made myself that promise, but I had not succeeded in keeping it; perhaps with time and a little more experience I might succeed. They say that one becomes wonted to everything, but in my opinion it is very hard to become wonted to anything that wounds our self-esteem.
Someone knocked; it was Madame Dupont with a letter.
“Give it to me, Madame Dupont.”
My concierge had a most amusing way of doing even the simplest things with an air of great importance and mystery. She handed me the paper, accompanying it with a reverence which meant a great number of things. Noticing that the letter was folded simply, not sealed, I concluded that she knew its contents; and judging from her manner, they must be of serious import.
“Who gave you this, Madame Dupont?”
“Monsieur Raymond.”
“My neighbor?”
“Yes, monsieur; and he told me to bring him your answer.”
“Let us see what he has to say.”
“MONSIEURDORSAN:“We must have a serious explanation with regard to the dinner of the day before yesterday. The matter cannot be settled elsewhere than in the Bois de Boulogne, where I shall expect you to-day between noon and one o’clock. I shall be alone; do you come alone. I believe you to be too honorable a man to fail to be on hand. I shall be near Porte Maillot.“RAYMOND.”
“MONSIEURDORSAN:
“We must have a serious explanation with regard to the dinner of the day before yesterday. The matter cannot be settled elsewhere than in the Bois de Boulogne, where I shall expect you to-day between noon and one o’clock. I shall be alone; do you come alone. I believe you to be too honorable a man to fail to be on hand. I shall be near Porte Maillot.
“RAYMOND.”
I laughed like a madman when I read this epistle. Madame Dupont, whom Raymond doubtless had told that we were going to fight, seemed amazed at my hilarity, and asked me what answer she should give him.
“Go,” I said, “and assure my neighbor that I will be on hand promptly.”
My concierge, proud of her ambassadorship in a matter of such moment, made me the inevitable reverence and returned with my answer to Raymond, who was probably waiting in her lodge, swaggering gallantly before the gossips and housemaids, so that the whole household might know that he had an affair of honor on hand. I confess that I did not expect such a challenge from my neighbor. What weapons should I take? He did not mention the subject, and I had an idea that none would be needed; however, I concluded to put my pistols in my pocket. Who could say? perhaps I had judged Raymond ill. Moreover, madmen have their lucid moments, misers are sometimes extravagant, tyrants have paroxysms of kindliness, coquettes moments of sincerity, rascals gleams of honesty; and cowards, too, may have their days of valor.
I went to the rendezvous at the appointed hour. The weather was fine, delightful for walking, and everybody was out of doors. I could not avoid the reflection that my neighbor had selected for our duel an hour when it was very hard not to be seen; I knew that he was very fond of putting himself in evidence, but it seemed to me that that was not an opportune occasion for so doing; he was evidently quite capable of choosing his ground in front of a guardhouse. However, I concluded to be patient and to await events before judging him.
When I arrived at Porte Maillot I did not see Raymond. It was not yet one o’clock, so I strolled about in the neighborhood. Little did I think that morning that I should go to the Bois de Boulogne before night, and alone. Caroline, I thought, must be surprised at my non-appearance. In truth, it did imply rather a lack of warmth; and if she were exacting, she would be justified in scolding me. But I knew a sure way to make peace with her; it is easy enough to find a way when love still exists; only in old liaisons, or between those who have been long married, do quarrels destroy love, because in such cases the methods of reconciliation are no longer the same.
At half-past one, no one had appeared. Could it be that my neighbor had deliberately sent me on a fool’s errand; I realized that he was likely to require a vastdeal of preparation before fighting a duel; but it seemed to me that he had had plenty of time since eight o’clock in the morning to make his little arrangements, and to go about to tell all his acquaintances that he had an affair of honor on hand. Could he have gone to warn the police? Such things had been done; but, no, it was he who had sent the challenge; I was doing him an injustice. Poor Raymond! the dinner episode was terrific, beyond question, and he must have been terribly incensed at me, especially if he believed me to be the author also of the ingenious trick of pasting his picture on the wall on Rue Vivienne. But why that rhodomontade of sending me a challenge by the concierge? if he had no intention of fighting, he should have come to see me at my rooms; I would have confessed my faults, while laughing at the affair, for I am not one of those men who refuse to atone for the foolish pranks they have committed except by cutting the throats of the persons they have offended. I consider that there is more glory in avowing one’s fault frankly, and fighting afterward if the avowal does not give satisfaction.
Almost two o’clock! I lost my patience; I was tired of walking; moreover, the weather had changed, and the sky was overcast; a storm seemed impending, and I had no desire to await it in the woods. The idlers had become fewer, the riders were digging their spurs into their horses’ sides, the coachmen cracking their whips; everybody was hurrying back to the city. I determined to go with the rest. But who were the three men walking so fast toward the woods? I soon recognized the one who marched so proudly at their head: it was Raymond. He had brought two seconds, after telling me that he would come alone. But, no matter; doubtless he would beobliging enough to let me have one of them. I began to think that he had urged me not to bring one because he preferred to choose one for me.
As the three drew near, I recognized Raymond’s seconds: one was Vauvert the melomaniac, the other Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche. Parbleu! thought I, there is sport ahead! I had a strong suspicion that my neighbor was preparing some trick he had conceived. What in the devil had induced him to choose such seconds? Friquet only was lacking; I should not have been surprised to find him standing guard a short distance away, ready to summon the police at the first signal from his uncle.
All three were drenched with perspiration; and yet, they had had time enough to make the trip. Apparently, they had postponed their decision long enough to be sure of warming themselves up on the road. Raymond was as red as a turkey cock, Vauvert pale as a bride, and the baron made such fiendish grimaces that I could not tell just the color of his face. They seemed more at ease when they saw that I was alone. I very much regretted that I had not brought a second; I had an idea that by doing so I should have disarranged Raymond’s plan.
They saluted me as soon as they caught sight of me; I returned their salutation, then went back into the woods I had just left.
“Where are you going? Wait, wait!” cried Vauvert, stammering and hardly able to speak at all, he was so excited. I pretended not to hear, and went farther into the woods.
Vauvert started to run after me; he overtook me and seized my hand, and I felt that he was trembling like a rabbit.
“Where on earth are you going, my dear fellow? why do you go so far into the woods? Don’t you see that we’re going to have a storm?”
“It seems to me that the affair that brings us here can hardly be adjusted on the highroad; it would be as sensible to choose Boulevard Saint-Denis for the battlefield.”
“My friend, I hope that—at all events——”
“As for the storm, that needn’t disturb us; on the contrary, it will keep bystanders away.”
While I was talking with Vauvert, I heard my neighbor shouting in the distance:
“No adjustment, Monsieur Vauvert, no adjustment! I don’t propose to consent to any compromise; I am determined to fight!”
“You hear him!” said Vauvert; “he’s crazy. Oh! he’s a terrible fellow when he gets started. He has said everywhere that he proposed to have your life, or that you should have his.”
I could not help laughing at Raymond’s bluster; and I ventured to reassure poor Vauvert, who did not know which way to turn, having never been present at such a function. At last we were joined by my adversary and the Baron de Witcheritche, the latter of whom wore a three-cornered hat, eight inches high, cocked over his left ear, which gave him the aspect of a bully from the Rue Coquenard.
“Monsieur!” said Raymond, striding toward me with a warlike air, “I wrote you that I should come alone, and that was my intention; but, as I passed through the Palais-Royal, I met my friend Vauvert, who had come out to buy a roll for his second breakfast, and who, when he learned that I had an affair of honor with you, dropped everything to come with me, and——”
“That is to say,” interrupted Vauvert, “that you didn’t tell me that that was what was up, and that I didn’t find it out till we got to the barrier; for, when you saw me, you grabbed my arm and didn’t give me time to pay for my newspaper.”
Raymond pretended not to hear what Vauvert said, and continued:
“So I yielded to his urgent entreaties. Besides, he is as much your friend as mine, and his presence cannot be disagreeable to you. As for Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche, we met him at the barrier, going out to dine in the country with his good wife. I thought it better to have two seconds than one, because then I could let you have one of them. Monsieur de Witcheritche consented to leave madame la baronne, who is waiting for him under the trees not far away. He will be my second then, and Monsieur Vauvert yours, if agreeable to you.”
Monsieur le baron, who had bowed every time that his name was mentioned, took his place beside Raymond, and Vauvert stood behind me.
“Monsieur Raymond,” said I, “it seems to me that we might very well settle this affair between ourselves, without troubling these gentlemen. I am afraid that madame la baronne may get wet during our engagement, and Vauvert would be better off at his desk than here.”
“That is true enough,” said Vauvert, who asked nothing better than to go away; “I have a great deal of work to do to-day, and I’m afraid I shall be reproved by my deputy chief clerk.”
“Matame la paronne, she haf ov te shtorm no fear; she loaf mooch to see te lidening flashes,” said Monsieur de Witcheritche, smiling so expansively that his mouth seemed to reach from ear to ear.
“Well, since these gentlemen have been good enough to come,” said I, with a smile, “it must not be for nothing; so I accept Monsieur Vauvert for my second.”
Vauvert fell back with an air of dismay.
“Don’t be alarmed,” I said to him; “seconds rarely fight; if, however, I should fall, and you should choose to avenge me, it will be in your power.”
“I, my dear friend! I do not need to tell you how fond I am of you; and certainly—I wish the affair might be settled amicably. Friends ought not to fall out!—Monsieur de Witcheritche, we ought not to allow these gentlemen to fight.”
The baron seemed much more deeply interested in something that he had in his pocket than in our combat, and to no purpose did Vauvert, with tears in his eyes, strive frantically to make him understand that it was their duty to reconcile Raymond and myself. But my neighbor was obstinate.
“I intend to fight,” he said; “nobody shall insult me with impunity! I have seen Monsieur Gerville, and I know that he did not dine with you and Agathe; I need say no more! And my silhouette on the wall—that was a betrayal of confidence! You must give me satisfaction, Monsieur Dorsan; this affair will make a sensation.”
“Oh! bless my soul, neighbor, I am at your service! Let us get through with it, for it is going to rain, and I shall be distressed to have these gentlemen get wet, and especially madame la baronne, who is under the trees.”
“I am the insulted party; I have the choice of weapons.”
“That is true.”
“I am very skilful with the sword; I have taken lessons from the most expert teacher in Paris; but I will not fightwith anything but pistols, because I don’t wish to make an unfair use of my advantages.”
“That is very generous on your part; I divined your purpose and brought some pistols along.”
As I spoke, I took mine from my pocket; I saw that Raymond was disturbed and changed color; then he produced a pair of great holster pistols and showed them to me.
“That’s all right,” said I; “each of us will have his own pistols.”
“No, no! put yours back in your pocket; we must use mine. You understand what an advantage I should have in using one of my pistols against one of yours, which are two inches shorter.”
“Your behavior is truly noble. Very well, since you insist upon it.”
“I do, monsieur; besides, I have the choice of weapons, and I fight with none but my own.”
“Very well; let us call our friends to load them.”
I turned to look for Vauvert, who, as soon as we produced our pistols, had walked away in the direction of the highroad and could with difficulty be induced to come near us.
“The pistols are loaded,” said Raymond; “I always look after that in advance.”
“Ordinarily, my dear neighbor, that is the duty of the seconds.”
“Oh! but I don’t trust anybody but myself with that. Besides, my friend Witcheritche has examined them;—isn’t that so, monsieur le baron?”
The baron was busily engaged in wrapping in two thicknesses of paper some small Neufchâtel cheeses, which he seemed to fear would be dissolved in his pocketby the rain; so he replied to my adversary’s question only by a smile of assent. Everything that I saw tended to confirm my suspicions: Raymond’s valor was unnatural; his insistence upon using his own pistols, the pains he had taken to load them at home, certainly implied some trickery on his part, which I was determined. He handed me his pistols and asked me to choose one.
“How many paces apart shall we stand?” I asked.
“Why—about twenty-five.”
“Great God!” cried Vauvert; “why, that’s point-blank range. Forty paces, messieurs! that’s quite near enough when you’re hit!”
“No; let’s call it thirty; that’s the most I can consent to.—Monsieur de Witcheritche, come and measure the ground.”
Monsieur le baron regretfully parted from his cheeses, which he laid on the grass, taking care to put his hat over them, for the rain was beginning to fall violently. He came toward us; I took my place, and he measured thirty gigantic paces, so that I could hardly see Raymond. As for my second, he was so afraid of being hit that he did not know where to go. He urged us to be very careful not to aim at the wrong man, and I reassured him. Monsieur de Witcheritche gave the signal by beating time, as if we were to play a Haydn quartette.
Raymond fired, and either the noise or downright terror felled Vauvert to the ground, where he lay with his face buried in the grass. I was not touched; I did not even hear the bullet whistle by my ears.
I suggested to my neighbor that we let it go at that.
“No, no, fire!” he cried.
“He is ein Zazar!” exclaimed the baron, in his admiration of Raymond’s courage.
I was desirous to ascertain the truth. My second still lay at full length on the ground; Monsieur de Witcheritche had thought it better to retire to a considerable distance, behind a clump of trees; my adversary turned his head aside, waiting for me to take aim, which I had no purpose of doing, although convinced that his weapons were not dangerous; but the baron’s cheeses were within two yards of me, and I discharged my pistol at them. The explosion blew the three-cornered hat away, and a multitude of scraps of paper adhered to the little Neufchâtels. While I was laughing over the end of my duel, Raymond came toward me with outstretched hand, shouting at a distance:
“It’s all settled, my friend; I am satisfied, embrace me!”
“What!” said I; “you don’t want another shot? I have pistols, too.”
“No, my dear fellow, let’s forget it all; embrace me, I beg you.”
“So be it; I will do whatever is agreeable to you.”
While my neighbor threw himself into my arms, the baron ran to his cheeses, and was like one turned to stone when he saw that they were all speckled with bits of paper.
“Mein jheese, tay shmell ov te bowder lige te teffel!” he said, putting his nose to them.
“A thousand pardons, monsieur le baron; but as I did not wish to fire at my friend Raymond, I aimed in this direction; the bullet must have gone through them.”
Raymond flushed to his ears; my ironical manner led him to fear that I had detected his little fraud; but I did not care to deprive him of the pleasure of being able to say everywhere that he had fought a duel. I ran to mysecond, who was still on the ground, and urged him to rise; he did not stir, and I saw that the poor devil had swooned during our battle. I called Raymond to my assistance; he had a flask of strong aromatic vinegar in his pocket, with which we inundated Vauvert’s face, and he finally came to himself. After feeling himself all over and making sure that he was not wounded, he tried to make us think that his swoon was caused by his affection for us both. We thanked him and set him on his legs; but we had to take an arm each to help him to walk; for he was in no condition to stand erect without our support.
Monsieur de Witcheritche put the remains of his cheeses in his pocket handkerchief, and we left the wood. The rain continued, but my second could not walk fast, so that we were compelled to endure it. Raymond was in the highest spirits; he was overjoyed by his day’s experience. He knew Vauvert, and he was sure that his duel would soon be the absorbing topic of the whole company of amateur musicians, even if he himself should not take pains to spread it everywhere.
“You showed extraordinary courage, messieurs,” said Vauvert, as we marched along; “such sang-froid! such calmness! that was true valor!”
“Oh! yez! yez! tese two chentlemens pe fery prave.”
“Oh! my neighbor Raymond’s not like other men; I am sure that he would fight the same way ten times a day.”
Raymond bowed, but said nothing. I fancied that he realized that I knew how his pistols were loaded.
At last, we spied madame la baronne seated under a large tree; her husband ran to her and took her arm, and we walked toward the barrier.
“I haf mooch abbetide,” said Madame de Witcheritche to her husband.
“Ve vill tine soon, matame.”
The couple bowed to us and quickened their pace. I presumed that they were on the lookout for a restaurant; but I noticed that, all the way from the barrier, two huge dogs had been following monsieur le baron, who did all that he could to drive them away, but to no purpose.
“Do those two dogs belong to Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche?” I asked Vauvert.
“No, I don’t think so; I never saw at his place anything but poodles.”
“It’s strange,” said Raymond; “he must have something in his pocket that attracts them.”
I looked for a cab, but the rain had caused them all to be taken up. We had lost sight of Monsieur de Witcheritche and his wife, when we heard loud cries, and soon saw the two dogs running for their lives, one with a bologna sausage, the other with a bit of salt pork in its mouth. The baron and baroness came running after them, crying:
“Shtop tief! shtop tief! Ach! te file peasts! tey haf shtole our tinner!”
Madame la baronne, being weaker than her husband, was obliged to stop, and told us how the two dogs had succeeded in extracting from monsieur le baron’s pocket the dinner she and her dear spouse, who had been a long time arranging that little outing for her, expected to eat in the country.
While we were consoling the poor woman, Monsieur de Witcheritche, who was not the man to abandon his sausage and his pork, kept on in pursuit of the dogs, atwhich he threw all the stones he could find on the road. He had already wounded one and compelled it to slacken its pace. Hoping to hit the other, which was just passing the barrier, he threw a great stone at it with all his force. But the stone was ill-aimed, and, instead of striking the dog, struck the customs clerk in the eye, as he was looking up at the sky to see if the storm were passing away.
The poor man fell, crying:
“I am dead!”
His comrades ran to him. One of the dogs, which was then passing the city limits, ran among the clerks’ legs and made them stagger. The second dog, trying to escape, was seized by monsieur le baron, who thought of nothing but his dinner and pursued his course, unmindful of anything else. He succeeded in catching the dog by the tail, and a battle ensued between him and the animal, which refused to give up the sausage. The soldiers from the neighboring post ran up in response to the outcries of the clerks. The vehicles of all kinds passing in or out were compelled to stop; the soldiers would allow no one to pass until they had found out what the matter was. A crowd gathered to see what was going on, and everyone put forward some conjecture.
“It’s an important prisoner whom they arrested just as he was leaving the city,” said one, “and it seems that he wounded the clerk who seized him.”
“No; they’ve just discovered some contraband goods in one of those wagons; it was being smuggled in.”
Amid the tumult, which was augmented by the barking of the dogs, the baron shouted triumphantly:
“I haf him! I haf him!” and he waved aloft the bologna sausage, which he had snatched from his enemy’s jaws;then, before the poor devil whose eye he had put out had recovered consciousness, Monsieur de Witcheritche slipped into the crowd and returned to his wife, leaving the clerks, soldiers, and bystanders asking one another what it was all about. Madame la baronne had recovered her husband, Vauvert was in a condition to walk unaided, and Raymond began to play the dandy. I left the company and took a cab to return to Paris.