Man and Maid

by Elinor Glyn

  III

  Is some nerve being touched by the new treatment? I seem alternately tobe numb and perfectly indifferent to how the war is going, and thenmadly interested. But I am too sensitive to leave my flat for anymeals--I drive whenever one of the "fluffies" (this is what Mauricecalls the widow, the divorcee and other rejoicers of men's war hearts)can take me in her motor--No one else has a motor--There is no petrolfor ordinary people.

  "It reminds one of Louis XV's supposed reply to his daughters"--I saidto Maurice yesterday. "When they asked him to make them a good road tothe Chateau of their dear _Gouvernante_, the Duchesse de la Bove--Heassured them he could not, his mistresses cost him too much! So theypaid for it themselves, hence the '_Chemin des Dames_.'"

  "What reminds you of what--?" Maurice asked, looking horribly puzzled.

  "The fluffies being able to get the petrol--."

  "But I don't see, the connection?"

  "It was involved--the mistresses got the money which should have madethe road in those days, and now--."

  Maurice was annoyed with himself; he could not yet see, and no wonder,for it _was_ involved!--but I am angry that the widow and the divorceeboth have motors and I none!

  "Poor Odette--she hates taxis! Why should she not have a motor?--You are_grinchant_, _mon cher_!--since she takes you out, too!"

  "Believe me, Maurice, I am grateful, I shall repay all theirkindnesses--they have all indicated how I can best do so--but I like tokeep them waiting, it makes them more keen."

  Maurice laughed again nervously.

  "It is divine to be so rich, Nicholas"!

  * * * * *

  All sorts of people come to talk to me and have tea (I have a smallhoard of sugar sent from a friend in Spain). Amongst them an ancientguardsman in some inspection berth here--He, like Burton, knows theworld.

  He tests women by whether or no they take presents from him, he tellsme. They profess intense love which he returns, and then comes themoment (he, like me, is disgustingly rich). He offers them a present,some accept at once, those he no longer considers; others hesitate, andsay it is too much, they only want his affection--He presses them, theyyield--they too, are wiped off the list--and now he has no one to carefor, since he has not been able to find one who refuses his gifts. Itwould be certainly my case also--were I to try.

  "Women"--he said to me last night--"are the only pleasure in life--menand hunting bring content and happiness, work brings satisfaction, butwomen and their ways are the only _pleasure_."

  "Even when you know it is all for some personal gain?"

  "Even so, once you have realized that, it does not matter, you take thejoy from another point of view, you have to eliminate vanity out of theaffair, your personal vanity is hurt, my dear boy, when you feel it isyour possessions, not yourself, they crave, but if you analyse that, itdoes not take away from the pleasure their beauty gives you--thetangible things are there just as if they loved you--I am now altogetherindifferent as to their feelings for me, as long as their table mannersare good, and they make a semblance of adoring me. If one had to dependupon their real disinterested love for their kindness to one, then itwould be a different matter, and very distressing, but since they canalways be caught by a bauble--you and I are fortunately placed,Nicholas."

  We laughed our vile laughs together.--It is true--I hate to hear my ownlaugh. I agree with Chesterfield, who said that no gentleman should makethat noise!

  * * * * *

  As I said before, all sorts of people come to see me, but I seem to bestripping them of externals all the time. What is the good in them? Whatis the truth in them? Strip me--if I were not rich what would anyonebother with me for? Is anyone worth while underneath?

  One or other of the fluffies come almost daily to play bridge with me,and any fellow who is on leave, and the neutrals who have no anxieties,what a crew! It amuses me to "strip" them. The married one, Coralie, hasabsolutely nothing to charm with if one removes the ambience of success,the entourage of beautiful things, the manicurist and the complexionspecialist, the Reboux hats, and the Chanel clothes. She would be aplain little creature, with not too fine ankles,--but thatself-confidence which material possessions bring, casts a spell overpeople.--Coralie _is_ attractive. Odette, the widow, is beautiful. Shehas the brain of a turkey, but she, too, is exquisitely dressed andsurrounded with everything to enhance her loveliness, and the serenityof success has given her magnetism. She announces platitudes asdiscoveries, she sparkles, and is so ravishing that one finds her trashwit. She thinks she is witty, and you begin to believe it!

  Odette can be best stripped, people could like her just for her looks.Alice, the divorcee, appeals to one.--She is gentle and feminine andclinging--she is the cruelest and most merciless of the three, Mauricetells me, and the most difficult to analyse: But most of one's friendswould find it hard to stand the test of denuding them of their worldlypossessions and outside allurements, it is not only the fluffies, whowould come out of not much value!

  Oh! the long, long days--and the ugly nights!

  One does not sleep very well now, the noise of "Bertha" from six A.M.and the raids at night!--but I believe I grow to like the raids--andlast night we had a marvelous experience. I had been persuaded byMaurice to have quite a large dinner party. Madame de Clerte, who isreally an amusing personality, courageous and agreeable, and DaisyRyven, and the fluffies, and four or five men. We were sitting smokingafterwards, listening to de Vole playing, he is a great musician.People's fears are lulled, they have returned to Paris. Numbers of menare being killed,--"The English in heaps--but what will you!" thefluffies said, "they had no business to make that break with the FifthArmy! Oh! No! and, after all, the country is too dull--and we have allour hidden store of petrol. If we must fly at the last moment, why onearth not go to the theatre and try to pass the time!"

  de Vole was playing "Madame Butterfly"--when the sirens went for araid--and almost immediately the guns began--and bombs crashed. One veryseldom sees any fear on people's faces now, they are accustomed to thenoise. Without asking any of us, de Vole commenced Chopin's FuneralMarch. It was a very wonderful moment, the explosions and the gunsmingling with the splendid chords. We sat breathless--a spell seemed tobe upon us all--We listened feverishly. de Vole's face was transfigured.What did he see in the dim light?--He played and played. And the wholetragedy of war--and the futility of earthly interests--the glory, thesplendour and the agony seemed to be brought home to us. From this, asthe noise without became less loud, he glided into Schubert, and so atlast ceased when the "all clear" commenced to rend the air. No one hadspoken a word, and then Daisy Ryven laughed--a queer little awed laugh.She was the only Englishwoman there.

  "We are keyed up," she said.

  And when they had all gone I opened my window wide and breathed in theblack dark night. Oh! God--what a rotter I am.

  * * * * *

  _Friday_--Maurice has a new suggestion--he says I should write abook--he _knows_ I am becoming insupportable, and he thinks if heflatters me enough I'll swallow the bait, and so be kept quiet and nottry him so much.--A novel?--A study of the causes of altruism? What?--Ifeel--yes, I feel a spark of interest. If it could take me out ofmyself--I shall consult the Duchesse--I will tell Burton to telephoneand find out if I can see her this afternoon. She sometimes takes halfan hour off between four and five to attend to her family.

  Yes--Burton says she will see me and will send me one of her Red Crosscars to fetch me, then I can keep my leg up.

  I rather incline to a treatise upon altruism and the philosophicalsubjects. I fear if I wrote a novel it would be saturated by my uglyspirit, and I should hate people to read it. I must get that part of meoff in my journal, but a book about--Altruism?

  I must have a stenographer of course, a short-hand typist, if I do beginthis thing. There are some English ones here no doubt. I do not wish towrite in French--Maurice must find me a suitable one.--I w
on't haveanything young and attractive. In my idiotic state she might get thebetter of me! The idea of some steady employment quite bucks me up.

  * * * * *

  I felt rather jarred when I arrived at the Hotel Courville--the pavingacross the river is bad; but I found my way to the Duchesse's ownsitting room on the first floor--the only room apparently left not award--and somehow the smell of carbolic had not penetrated here. It wastoo hot, and only a little window was open.

  How wonderfully beautiful these eighteenth century rooms are! What graceand charm in the panelling--what dignity in the proportions! This one,like all rooms of women of the Duchesse's age, is too full--crammedalmost, with gems of art, and then among them, here and there, ashocking black satin stuffed and buttoned armchair, with a bit ofwoolwork down its centre, and some fringe! And her writing table!--thefamous one given by Louis XV to the ancestress, who refused hisfavours--A mass of letters and papers, and reports, a bottle of creosoteand a feather! A servant in black, verging upon ninety, brought in thetea, and said Madame la Duchesse would be there immediately--and shecame.

  Her twinkling eyes kindly as ever "Good day Nicholas," she said andkissed me on both cheeks, "Thou art thy mother's child--_Va!_--And Ithank thee for the fifty thousand francs for my _blesses_--I say nomore--_Va!_--."

  Her scissors got caught in her pocket, not the purple jersey this time,and she played with them for a minute.

  "Thou art come for something--out with it!"

  "Shall I write a book?, that's it. Maurice thinks it might divertme--What do you think?"

  "One must consider," and she began pouring out the tea, "paper isscarce--I doubt, my son, if what you would inscribe upon it wouldjustify the waste--but still--as a _soulagement_--an asperine so tospeak--perhaps--yes. On what subject?"

  "That is what I want your advice about, a novel?--or a study uponAltruism, or--or--something like that?"

  She chuckled and handed me my tea, thin tea and a tiny slice of blackbread, and a scrape of butter. There is no cheating of the regulationshere, but the Sevres cup gave me satisfaction.

  "You have brought me your bread coupon, I hope?" she interruptedwith,--"if you eat without it one of my household has less!"

  I produced it.

  "Two days old will do here," then she became all interest in my projectagain and chuckled anew.

  "Not a novel my son, at your age and with your temperament, it wouldarouse emotions in you if you created them in your characters, you arebetter without them.--No!--Something serious; Altruism as well asanother, by all means!"

  "I expected you to say that, you are always so practical and kind, thenwe will choose a research subject to keep me busy."

  "Why not the history of Blankshire, your old county where the Thormondeshave sat since the conquest--_hein_?"

  This delighted me, but I saw the impossibility. "I cannot get at thenecessary reference books, and it is impossible to receive anything fromEngland."

  She realized this before I spoke.

  "No--philosophy it must be--or your pet hobby, the furniture of yourWilliam and Mary!"

  This seemed the best of all, and I decided in a moment. This shall be mysubject. I really know something of William and Mary furniture! So wesettled it. Then she became reflective.

  "The news is _tres grave_ to-day, my son," she whispered softly, "thefearful ones predict that the Boche will be within range in a fewdays.--Why not leave Paris?"

  "Are you going, Duchesse?"

  "I,--_Mon Dieu!_--Of course not!--I must stay to get my _Blesses_out--if the worst should come--but I never believe it.--Let the cowardsflee--. Some of my relatives have gone again. Those I speak to will havebecome a minority when peace arrives, it would seem!"--then she frownedangrily. "Many are so splendid--devoted, untiring, but there aresome--!--_Mon Dieu!_ the girls play tennis at the _tix auxpigeons_!--and the Germans are sixty-five kilometers from Paris!"

  I did not speak, and then, as though I had said something disparagingand she must defend them--"But you must not judge them hardly--No!--itis not possible with our National temperament that young girls of theworld can nurse men--No--No--and our ministry of War won't employwomen--what can they do--ask yourself, what can they do?--but wait andpray! Other nations must not judge us--our men know what they want ofus--yes, yes--"

  "Of course they do."

  "My niece Madelaine--a lighthead--dragged me to the Ritz to lunch lastweek, before the wild rush cleared them off again--_Mon Dieu!_ what asight there in that restaurant!--Olivier and the waiters are the onlythings of dignity left! The women dressed to the eyes as Red Crossnurses. Some Americans, and, yes, French--nursing the well Englishofficers I must believe--no nearer wounded than that!--floating veils,painted lips--high heels--Heavens! it filled me with rage--I who knowthe devoted and good of both nations who are not seen, and youEnglish--. But there it is easy for you with your temperament to begood and really work--France is full of sensible kind Americans andEnglish--but those in Paris--they make me sick! Quarter of an hour twicea day--to have the right to a passport to come--and to wear auniform--Pah! Sick, sick!--"

  I thought of the fluffies!--they too played at something the first yearof the war, but now have given up even the pretence of that.

  The Duchesse was still angry.

  "My nephew Charles, le Prince de Vimont, eats chicken and cutlets on themeatless days, he told me with pride, his _maitre d'hotel_--he of theone eye--like thou, Nicholas, is able to procure plenty on the daybefore from friends in the trade, and with ice--_Mon Dieu!_--and I paytwenty-eight francs apiece for the best poulets for my _blesses_ forextra rations!--and ice!--impossible to procure--. Oh! I would punishthem all, choke them with their own meat--it is they who should be "foodfor the guns" as you English say,--they, these few disgrace our braveFrance, and make the other nations laugh at us."

  I tried to assure her that no one laughed, and that we all understoodand worshipped the spirit of France, that it was only the few, and thatwe were not deceived, but I could not calm her.

  "It makes me weep" at last she said and I could not comfort her.

  "Heloise de Tavantaine--my Cousin's Jew daughter-in-law--paid fourthousand francs for a new evening dress, which did not cover a tenth ofher fat body--Four thousand francs would have given my_blesses_--Ah!--well--I rage, I rage."

  Then she checked herself--.

  "But why do I say this to thee Nicholas?--because I am sore--it is everthus--we are all human, and must cry to someone."

  So after all there is some meaning in my journal.

  "_One must cry to someone!_"

  * * * * *

  Burton is delighted that I shall write a book!--He wrote at once to myaunt Emmeline to tell her that I was better. I have her letter withcongratulations in it to-day. Burton does the correspondence with my fewrelations, all war working hard in England. I am becoming quite excited,I long to begin, but there is no use until Maurice finds me astenographer. He has heard of two. One a Miss Jenkins, agedforty--sounds good, but she can only give three hours a day--and I musthave one at my beck and call--There is a second one, a Miss Sharp--butshe is only twenty-three--plain though, Maurice says, and wears hornspectacles--that should not attract me! She makes bandages all theevening, but is obliged to work for her living so could come for theday. She is not out of a job, because she is very expert, but she doesnot like her present one. I would have to pay her very highly Mauricesays--I don't mind that, I want the best.--I had better see Miss Sharp,and judge if I can stand her. She may have a personality I could notwork with. Maurice must bring her to-morrow.

  The news to-night is worse.--The banks have sent away all theirsecurities.--But I shall not leave--one might as well die in abombardment as any other way. The English Consul has to know all thenames of the English residents in case of evacuation. But I will not go.

  Bertha is making a most fiendish noise, there were two raids lastnight,--and she began at six this morning--one gets li
ttle sleep. I havea one horse Victoria now, driven by Methusala; I picked Maurice up atthe Ritz this evening at nine o'clock--there was not a human soul to beseen in the _Rue de la Paix_, or the _Place Vendome_, or the _RueCastiglione_--a city of the dead--And the early June sky full of peaceand soft light.

  What does it all mean?