In the Days of My Youth: A Novel

by Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards

  CHAPTER XII.

  BROADCLOTH AND CIVILIZATION.

  Allowing for my inexperience in the use of the language, I prosperedbetter than I had expected, and found, to my satisfaction, that I was byno means behind my French fellow-students in medical knowledge. I passedthrough my preliminary examination with credit, and although Dr. Cheronwas careful not to praise me too soon, I had reason to believe that hewas satisfied with my progress. My life, indeed, was now wholly given upto my work. My country-breeding had made me timid, and the necessity forspeaking a foreign tongue served only to increase my natural reserve; sothat although I lived and studied day after day in the society of sometwo or three hundred young men, I yet lived as solitary a life asRobinson Crusoe in his island. No one sought to know me. No one took aliking for me. Gay, noisy, chattering fellows that they were, theypassed me by for a "dull and muddy-pated rogue;" voted meuncompanionable when I was only shy; and, doubtless, quoted me to eachother as a rare specimen of the silent Englishman. I lived, too, quiteout of the students' colony. To me the _Quartier Latin_ (except as Iwent to and fro between the Hotel Dieu and the Ecole de Medicine) was aland unknown; and the student's life--that wonderful _Vie de Boheme_which furnishes forth half the fiction of the Paris press--a conditionof being, about which I had never even heard. What wonder, then, that Inever arrived at Dr. Cheron's door five minutes behind time, nevermissed a lecture, never forgot an appointment? What wonder that, afterdropping moodily into one or two of the theatres, I settled down quitequietly in my lodgings; gave up my days to study; sauntered about thelighted alleys of the Champs Elysees in the sweet spring evenings, and,going home betimes, spent an hour or two with my books, and kept almostas early hours as in my father's house at Saxonholme?

  After I had been living thus for rather longer than three weeks, I madeup my mind one Sunday morning to call at Dalrymple's rooms, and inquireif he had yet arrived in Paris. It was about eleven o'clock when Ireached the Chaussee d'Antin, and there learned that he was not onlyarrived, but at home. Being by this time in possession of the luxury ofa card, I sent one up, and was immediately admitted. I found breakfaststill upon the table; Dalrymple sitting with an open desk and cash-boxbefore him; and, standing somewhat back, with his elbow resting on thechimney-piece, a gentleman smoking a cigar. They both looked up as I wasannounced, and Dalrymple, welcoming me with a hearty grasp, introducedthis gentleman as Monsieur de Simoncourt.

  M. de Simoncourt bowed, knocked the ash from his cigar, and looked asif he wished me at the Antipodes. Dalrymple was really glad to see me.

  "I have been expecting you, Arbuthnot," said he, "for the last week. Ifyou had not soon beaten up my quarters, I should have tried, somehow, tofind out yours. What have you been about all this time? Where are youlocated? What mischief have you been perpetrating since our expeditionto the _guingette_ on the river? Come, you have a thousand thingsto tell me!"

  M. de Simoncourt looked at his watch--a magnificent affair, decoratedwith a costly chain, and a profusion of pendant trifles--and threw thelast-half of his cigar into the fireplace.

  "You must excuse me, _mon cher_" said he. "I have at least a dozen callsto make before dinner."

  Dalrymple rose, readily enough, and took a roll of bank-notes from thecash-box.

  "If you are going," he said, "I may as well hand over the price of thatTilbury. When will they send it home?"

  "To-morrow, undoubtedly."

  "And I am to pay fifteen hundred franks for it!"

  "Just half its value!" observed M. de Simoncourt, with a shrug of hisshoulders.

  Dalrymple smiled, counted the notes, and handed them to his friend.

  "Fifteen hundred may be half its cost," said he; "but I doubt if I ampaying much less than its full value. Just see that these are right."

  M. de Simoncourt ruffled the papers daintily over, and consigned them tohis pocket-book. As he did so, I could not help observing the whitenessof his hands and the sparkle of a huge brilliant on his little finger.He was a pale, slender, olive-hued man, with very dark eyes, andglittering teeth, and a black moustache inclining superciliously upwardsat each corner; somewhat too _nonchalant_, perhaps, in his manner, andsomewhat too profuse in the article of jewellery; but a very elegantgentleman, nevertheless.

  "_Bon_!" said he. "I am glad you have bought it. I would have taken itmyself, had the thing happened a week or two earlier. Poor Duchesne! Tothink that he should have come to this, after all!"

  "I am sorry for him," said Dalrymple; "but it is a case of wilful ruin.He made up his mind to go to the devil, and went accordingly. I am onlysurprised that the crash came no sooner."

  M. de Simoneourt twitched at the supercilious moustache.

  "And you think you would not care to take the black mare with theTilbury?" said he, negligently.

  "No--I have a capital horse, already."

  "Hah I--well--'tis almost a pity. The mare is a dead bargain. Shouldn'twonder if I buy her, after all."

  "And yet you don't want her," said Dalrymple.

  "Quite true; but one must have a favorite sin, and horseflesh is mine. Ishall ruin myself by it some day--_mort de ma vie!_ By the way, have youseen my chestnut in harness? No? Then you will be really pleased. Goesdelightfully with the gray, and manages tandem to perfection. _Parbleu!_I was forgetting--do we meet to-night?"

  "Where?"

  "At Chardonnier's."

  Dalrymple shook his head, and turned the key in his cash box.

  "Not this evening," he replied. I have other engagements."

  "Bah! and I promised to go, believing you were sure to be of the party.St. Pol, I know, will be there, and De Brezy also."

  "Chardonnier's parties are charming things in their way," saidDalrymple, somewhat coldly, "and no man enjoys Burgundy and lansquenetmore heartily than myself; but one might grow to care for nothing else,and I have no desire to fall into worse habits than those I havecontracted already."

  M. de Simoneourt laughed a dry, short laugh, and twitched again at thesupercilious moustache.

  "I had no idea you were a philosopher," said he.

  "Nor am I. I am a _mauvais sujet_--_mauvais_ enough, already, withoutseeking to become worse."

  "Well, adieu--I will see to this affair of the Tilbury, and desire themto let you have it by noon to-morrow."

  "A thousand thanks. I am ashamed that you have so much trouble in thematter. _Au revoir_."

  "_Au revoir_."

  Whereupon M. de Simoncourt honored me with a passing bow, and took hisdeparture. Being near the window, I saw him spring into an elegantcabriolet, and drive off with the showiest of high horses and thetiniest of tigers.

  He was no sooner gone than Dalrymple took me by the shoulders, placed mein an easy chair, poured out a couple of glasses of hock, and said:--

  "Now, then, my young friend, your news or your life! Out with it, everyword, as you hope to be forgiven!"

  I had but little to tell, and for that little, found myself, as I hadanticipated, heartily laughed at. My adventure at the restaurant, myunlucky meeting with Dr. Cheron, and the history of my interview withhim next morning, delighted Dalrymple beyond measure.

  Nothing would satisfy him, after this, but to call me Damon, to tease mecontinually about Doctor Pythias, and to remind me at every turn of thedesirableness of Arcadian friendships.

  "And so, Damon," said he, "you go nowhere, see nothing, and know nobody.This sort of life will never do for you! I must take you out--introduceyou--get you an _entree_ into society, before I leave Paris."

  "I should be heartily glad to visit at one or two private houses," Ireplied. "To spend the winter in this place without knowing a soul,would be something frightful."

  Dalrymple looked at me half laughingly, half compassionately.

  "Before I do it, however," said he, "you must look a little less like asavage, and more like a tame Christian. You must have your hair cut, andlearn to tie your cravat properly. Do you possess an evening suit?"

  Blushing to the tips of my ea
rs, I not only confessed that I wasdestitute of that desirable outfit, but also that I had never yet in allmy life had occasion to wear it.

  "I am glad of it; for now you are sure to be well fitted. Your tailor,depend on it, is your great civilizer, and a well-made suit of clothesis in itself a liberal education. I'll take you to Michaud--my ownespecial purveyor. He is a great artist. With so many yards of superfineblack cloth, he will give you the tone of good society and the exteriorof a gentleman. In short, he will do for you in eight or ten hours morethan I could do in as many years."

  "Pray introduce me at once to this illustrious man," I exclaimedlaughingly, "and let me do him homage!"

  "You will have to pay heavily for the honor," said Dalrymple. "Of that Igive you notice."

  "No matter. I am willing to pay heavily for the tone of good society andthe exterior of a gentleman."

  "Very good. Take a book, then, or a cigar, and amuse yourself for fiveminutes while I write a note. That done, you may command me for as longas you please."

  I took the first book that came, and finding it to be a history of thehorse, amused myself, instead, by observing the aspect of Dalrymple'sapartment.

  Rooms are eloquent biographies. They betray at once if the owner becareless or orderly, studious or idle, vulgar or refined. Flowers on thetable, engravings on the walls, indicate refinement and taste; while awell-filled book-case says more in favor of its possessor than the mostelaborate letter of recommendation. Dalrymple's room was a monograph ofhimself. Careless, luxurious, disorderly, crammed with all sorts ofcostly things, and characterized by a sort of reckless elegance, itexpressed, as I interpreted it, the very history of the man. Richhangings; luxurious carpets; walls covered with paintings; cabinets ofbronze and rare porcelain; a statuette of Rachel beside a bust of Homer;a book-case full of French novels with a sprinkling of Shakespeare andHorace; a stand of foreign arms; a lamp from Pompeii; a silver casketfull of cigars; tables piled up with newspapers, letters, pipes,riding-whips, faded bouquets, and all kinds of miscellaneousrubbish--such were my friend's surroundings; and such, had I speculatedupon them beforehand, I should have expected to find them. Dalrymple, inthe meanwhile, despatched his letter with characteristic rapidity. Hispen rushed over the paper like a dragoon charge, nor was once laid asidetill both letter and address were finished. Just as he was sealing it, anote was brought to him by his servant--a slender, narrow, perfumednote, written on creamy paper, and adorned on the envelope with anelaborate cypher in gold and colors. Had I lived in the world of societyfor the last hundred seasons, I could not have interpreted theappearance of that note more sagaciously.

  "It is from a lady," said I to myself. Then seeing Dalrymple tear up hisown letter immediately after reading it, and begin another, I added,still in my own mind--"And it is from the lady to whom he was writing."

  Presently he paused, laid his pen aside, and said:--

  "Arbuthnot, would you like to go with me to-morrow evening to one or two_soirees_?"

  "Can your Civilizer provide me with my evening suit in time?"

  "He? The great Michaud? Why, he would equip you for this evening, if itwere necessary!"

  "In that case, I shall be very glad."

  "_Bon!_ I will call for you at ten o'clock; so do not forget to leave meyour address."

  Whereupon he resumed his letter. When it was written, he returned to thesubject.

  "Then I will take you to-morrow night," said he, "to a reception atMadame Rachel's. Hers is the most beautiful house in Paris. I know fiftymen who would give their ears to be admitted to her _salons_."

  Even in the wilds of Saxonholme I had heard and read of the great_tragedienne_ whose wealth vied with the Rothschilds, and whosediamonds might have graced a crown. I had looked forward to theprobability of beholding her from afar off, if she was ever to be seenon the boards of the Theatre Francais; but to be admitted to herpresence--received in her house--introduced to her in person ... itseemed ever so much too good to be true!

  Dalrymple smiled good-naturedly, and put my thanks aside.

  "It is a great sight," said he, "and nothing more. She will bow toyou--she may not even speak; and she would pass you the next morningwithout remembering that she had ever seen you in her life. Actressesare a race apart, my dear fellow, and care for no one who is neitherrich nor famous."

  "I never imagined," said I, half annoyed, "that she would take anynotice of me at all. Even a bow from such a woman is an event to beremembered."

  "Having received that bow, then," continued Dalrymple, "and havingenjoyed the ineffable satisfaction of returning it, you can go on withme to the house of a lady close by, who receives every Monday evening.At her _soirees_ you will meet pleasant and refined people, and havingbeen once introduced by me, you will, I have no doubt, find the houseopen to you for the future."

  "That would, indeed, be a privilege. Who is this lady?"

  "Her name," said Dalrymple, with an involuntary glance at the littlenote upon his desk, "is Madame de Courcelles. She is a very charming andaccomplished lady."

  I decided in my own mind that Madame de Courcelles was the writer ofthat note.

  "Is she married?" was my next question.

  "She is a widow," replied Dalrymple. "Monsieur de Courcelles was manyyears older than his wife, and held office as a cabinet minister duringthe greater part of the reign of Louis Phillippe. He has been dead thesefour or five years."

  "Then she is rich?"

  "No--not rich; but sufficiently independent."

  "And handsome?"

  "Not handsome, either; but graceful, and very fascinating."

  Graceful, fascinating, independent, and a widow! Coupling these factswith the correspondence which I believed I had detected, I grouped theminto a little romance, and laid out my friend's future career asconfidently as if it had depended only on myself to marry him out ofhand, and make all parties happy.

  Dalrymple sat musing for a moment, with his chin resting on his handsand his eyes fixed on the desk. Then shaking back his hair as if hewould shake back his thoughts with it, he started suddenly to his feetand said, laughingly:--

  "Now, young Damon, to Michaud's--to Michaud's, with what speed we may!Farewell to 'Tempe and the vales of Arcady,' and hey for civilization,and a swallow-tailed coat!"

  I noticed, however, that before we left the room, he put the little notetenderly away in a drawer of his desk, and locked it with a tiny goldkey that hung upon his watch-chain.