by Colette
Aunt Alicia examined her niece critically, through narrowed eyelids.
‘Do you work hard, in class? Who are your friends? Ortolans should be cut in two, with one quick stroke of the knife, and no grating of the blade on the plate. Bite up each half. The bones don’t matter. Go on eating while you answer my question, but don’t talk with your mouth full. You must manage it. If I can, you can. What friends have you made?’
‘None, Aunt. Grandmamma won’t even let me have tea with the families of my school friends.’
‘She is quite right. Apart from that, there is no one who follows you, no little clerk hanging round your skirts? No schoolboy? No older man? I warn you, I shall know at once if you lie to me.’
Gilberte gazed at the bright face of the imperious old lady who was questioning her so sharply.
‘Why, no, Aunt, no one. Has somebody been telling you tales about me? I am always on my own. And why does Grandmamma stop me from accepting invitations?’
‘She is right, for orice. You would only be invited by ordinary people – that is to say, useless people.’
‘And what about us? Aren’t we ordinary people ourselves?’
‘No.’
‘What makes these ordinary people inferior to us?’
‘They have weak heads and dissolute bodies. Besides, they are married. But I don’t think you understand.’
‘Yes, Aunt, I understand that we don’t marry.’
‘Marriage is not forbidden to us. Instead of marrying “at once”, it sometimes happens that we marry “at last”.’
‘But does that prevent me from seeing girls of my own age?’
‘Yes. Are you bored at home? Well, be a little bored. It’s not a bad thing. Boredom helps one to make decisions. What is the matter? Tears? The tears of a silly child who is backward for her age. Have another ortolan.’
Aunt Alicia, with three glittering fingers, grasped the stem of her glass and raised it in a toast.
‘To you and me, Gigi! You shall have an Egyptian cigarette with your coffee. On condition that you do not make the end of it wet, and that you don’t spit out specks of tobacco – going ptu, ptu. I shall also give you a note to the première vendeuse at Béchoff-David, an old friend of mine who was not a success. Your wardrobe is going to be changed. Nothing venture, nothing have.’
The dark-blue eyes gleamed. Gilberte stammered with joy.
‘Aunt! Aunt! I’m going to . . . to Bé –’
‘– choff-David. But I thought you weren’t interested in clothes?’
Gilberte blushed.
‘Aunt, I’m not interested in home-made clothes.’
‘I sympathize with you. Can it be that you have taste? When you think of looking your best, how do you see yourself dressed?’
‘Oh, but I know just what would suit me, Aunt! I’ve seen –’
‘Explain yourself without gestures. The moment you gesticulate you look common.’
‘I’ve seen a dress . . . oh, a dress created for Madame Lucy Gérard! Myriads of tiny ruffles of pearl-grey silk muslin from top to bottom. And then a dress of lavender-blue cloth cut out on a black velvet foundation, the cut-out design making a sort of peacock’s tail on the train.’
The small hand with its precious stones flashed through the air.
‘Enough! Enough! I see your fancy is to be dressed like a leading comédienne at the Théâtre Français – and don’t take that as a compliment! Come and pour out the coffee. And without jerking up the lip of the coffee-pot to prevent the drop from falling. I’d rather have a foot-bath in my saucer than see you juggling like a waiter in a café.’
The next hour passed very quickly for Gilberte: Aunt Alicia had unlocked her casket of jewels to use for a lesson that dazzled her.
‘What is that, Gigi?’
‘A marquise diamond.’
‘We say, a marquise-shaped brilliant. And that?’
‘A topaz.’
Aunt Alicia threw up her hands and the sunlight, glancing off her rings, set off a myriad scintillations.
‘A topaz! I have suffered many humiliations, but this surpasses them all. A topaz among my jewels! Why not an aquamarine or a chrysolite? It’s a jonquil diamond, little goose, and you won’t often see its like. And this?’
Gilberte half-opened her mouth, as though in a dream.
‘Oh! That’s an emerald. Oh, how beautiful it is!’
Aunt Alicia slipped the large square-cut emerald on one of her thin fingers and was lost in silence.
‘Do you see,’ she said in a hushed voice, ‘that almost blue flame darting about in the depths of the green light? Only the most beautiful emeralds contain that miracle of elusive blue.’
‘Who gave it to you, Aunt?’ Gilberte dared to ask.
‘A king,’ said Aunt Alicia simply.
‘A great king?’
‘No. A little one. Great kings do not give very fine stones.’
‘Why not?’
For a fleeting moment, Aunt Alicia proffered a glimpse of her tiny white teeth.
‘If you want my opinion, it’s because they don’t want to. Between ourselves, the little ones don’t either.’
‘Then who does give great big stones?’
‘Who? The shy. The proud, too. And the bounders, because they think that to give a monster jewel is a sign of good breeding. Sometimes a woman does, to humiliate a man. Never wear second-rate jewels; wait till the really good ones come to you.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Well, then it can’t be helped. Rather than a wretched hundred-guinea diamond, wear a half-crown ring. In that case you can say, “It’s a memento. I never part with it, day or night.” Don’t ever wear artistic jewellery; it wrecks a woman’s reputation.”
‘What is an artistic jewel?’
‘It all depends. A mermaid in gold, with eyes of chrysoprase. An Egyptian scarab. A large engraved amethyst. A not very heavy bracelet said to have been chased by a master-hand. A lyre or star, mounted as a brooch. A studded tortoise. In a word, all of them frightful. Never wear baroque pearls, not even as hat-pins. Beware above all things, of family jewels!’
‘But Grandmamma has a beautiful cameo, set as a medallion.’
‘There are no beautiful cameos,’ said Aunt Alicia with a toss of the head. ‘There are precious stones and pearls. There are white, yellow, blue, blue-white, or pink diamonds. We won’t speak of black diamonds, they’re not worth mentioning. Then there are rubies – when you can be sure of them; sapphires, when they come from Kashmir; emeralds, provided they have no fatal flaw, or are not too light in colour, or have a yellowish tint.’
‘Aunt, I am very fond of opals, too.’
‘I am very sorry, but you are not to wear them. I won’t allow it.’
Dumbfounded, Gilberte remained for a moment open-mouthed.
‘Oh! Do you too, Aunt, really believe that they bring bad luck?’
‘Why in the world not? You silly little creature,’ Alicia went bubbling on, ‘you must pretend to believe in such things. Believe in opals, believe – let’s see, what can I suggest – in turquoises that die, in the evil eye . . .’
‘But,’ said Gigi, haltingly, ‘those are . . . are superstitions!’
‘Of course they are, child. They also go by the name of weaknesses. A pretty little collection of weaknesses and a terror of spiders are our indispensable stock-in-trade with the men.’
‘Why, Aunt?’
The old lady closed the casket, and kept Gilberte kneeling before her.
‘Because nine men out of ten are superstitious, nineteen out of twenty believe in the evil eye, and ninety eight out of a hundred are afraid of spiders. They forgive us – oh! for many things, but not for the absence in us of their own feelings. What makes you sigh?’
‘I shall never remember all that!’
‘The important thing is not for you to remember, but for me to know it.’
‘Aunt, what is a writing-set in . . . in malachite?’
�
�Always a calamity. But where on earth did you pick up such terms?’
‘From the list of presents at grand weddings, Aunt, printed in the papers.’
‘Nice reading! But, at least you can gather from it what kind of presents you should never give or accept.’
While speaking, she began to touch here and there the young face on a level with her own, with the sharp pointed nail of her index finger. She lifted one slightly chapped lip, inspected the spotless enamel of the teeth.
‘A fine jaw, my girl! With such teeth, I should have gobbled up Paris, and the rest of the world into the bargain. As it was, I had a good bite out of it. What’s this you’ve got here? A small pimple? You shouldn’t have a small pimple near your nose. And this? You’ve squeezed a blackhead. You’ve no business to have such things, or to squeeze them. I’ll give you some of my astringent lotion. You mustn’t eat anything from the pork-butchers’ except cooked ham. You don’t put on powder?’
‘Grandmamma won’t let me.’
‘I should hope not . . . Let me smell your breath. Not that it means anything at this hour, you’ve just had luncheon.’
She laid her hands on Gigi’s shoulders.
‘Pay attention to what I’m going to say. You have it in your power to please. You have an impossible little nose, a nondescript mouth, cheeks rather like the wife of a moujik –’
‘Oh, Aunt!’ sighed Gilberte.
‘But, with your eyes and eyelashes, your teeth, and your hair, you can get away with it, if you’re not a perfect fool. As for the rest –’
She cupped her hands like conch-shells over Gigi’s bosom and smiled.
‘A promise, but a pretty promise, neatly moulded. Don’t eat too many almonds; they add weight to the breasts. Ah! remind me to teach you how to choose cigars.’
Gilberte opened her eyes so wide that the tips of her lashes touched her eyebrows.
‘Why?’
She received a little tap on the cheek.
‘Because – because I do nothing without good reason. If I take you in hand at all, I must do it thoroughly. Once a woman understands the tastes of a man, cigars included, and once a man knows what pleases a woman, they may be said to be well matched.’
‘And then they fight,’ concluded Gigi with a knowing air.
‘What do you mean, they fight?’
The old lady looked at Gigi in consternation.
‘Ah!’ she added, ‘you certainly never invented the triple mirror! Come, you little psychologist! Let me give you a note for Madame Henriette at Béchoff.’
While her aunt was writing at a miniature rose-pink escritoire, Gilberte breathed in the scent of the fastidiously furnished room. Without wanting them for herself, she examined the objects she knew so well but hardly appreciated: Cupid, the Archer, pointing to the hours on the mantelpiece; two rather daring pictures; a bed like the basin of a fountain and its chinchilla coverlet; a rosary of small seed pearls and the New Testament on the bedside table; two red Chinese vases fitted as lamps – a happy note against the grey of the walls.
‘Run along, my little one. I shall send for you again quite soon. Don’t forget to ask Victor for the cake you’re to take home. Gently, don’t disarrange my hair! And remember, I shall have my eye on you as you leave the house. Woe betide you if you march like a guardsman, or drag your feet behind you!’
The month of May fetched Gaston Lachaille back to Paris, and brought to Gilberte two well-cut dresses and a light-weight coat – ‘a sack-coat like Cléo de Mérode’s’ she called it – as well as hats and boots and shoes. To these she added, on her own account, a few curls over the forehead, which cheapened her appearance. She paraded in front of Gaston in a blue-and-white dress reaching almost to the ground. ‘A full seven and a half yards round, Tonton, my skirt measures!’ She was more than proud of her slender waist, held in by a grosgrain sash with a silver buckle; but she tried every dodge to free her lovely strong neck from its whale-bone collar of ‘imitation Venetian point’ which matched the tucks of her bodice. The full sleeves and wide-flounced skirt of blue-and-white striped silk rustled deliciously, and Gilberte delighted in pecking at her sleeves, to puff them out just below the shoulder.
‘You remind me of a performing monkey,’ Lachaille said to her. ‘I liked you much better in your old tartan dress. In that uncomfortable collar you look just like a hen with a full crop. Take a peep at yourself!’
Feeling a little ruffled, Gilberte turned round to face the looking-glass. She had a lump in one of her cheeks caused by a large caramel, out of a box sent all the way from Nice at Gaston’s order.
‘I’ve heard a good deal about you, Tonton,’ she retorted, ‘but I’ve never heard it said that you had any taste in clothes.’
He stared, almost choking, at this newly-fledged young woman, then turned to Madame Alvarez.
‘Charming manners you’ve taught her! I congratulate you!’
Whereupon he left the house without drinking his camomile tea, and Madame Alvarez wrung her hands.
‘Look what you’ve done for us now, my poor Gigi!’
‘I know,’ said Gigi, ‘but then why does he go for me? He must know by now, I should think, that I can give as good as I get!’
Her grandmother shook her by the arm.
‘But think what you’ve done, you wretched child! Good heavens! when will you learn to think? You’ve mortally offended the man, as likely as not. Just when we are doing our utmost to –’
‘To do what, Grandmamma?’
‘Why! to do everything to make an elegant young lady of you, to show you off to advantage.’
‘For whose benefit, Grandmamma? You must admit that one doesn’t have to turn oneself inside out for an old friend like Tonton!’
But Madame Alvarez admitted nothing: not even to her astonishment, when, the following day, Gaston Lachaille arrived in the best of spirits, wearing a light-coloured suit.
‘Put on your hat, Gigi! I’m taking you out to tea.’
‘Where?’ cried Gigi.
‘To the Réservoirs, at Versailles!’
‘Hurrah! ! Hurrah! Hurrah!’ chanted Gilberte.
She turned towards the kitchen.
‘Grandmamma, I’m having tea at the Réservoirs, with Tonton!’
Madame Alvarez appeared, and without stopping to untie the flowered satinette apron across her stomach, interposed her soft hand between Gilberte’s arm and that of Gaston Lachaille.
‘No, Gaston,’ she said simply.
‘What do you mean, No?’
‘Oh, Grandmamma!’ wailed Gigi.
Madame Alvarez seemed not to hear her.
‘Go to your room a minute, Gigi! I should like to talk to Monsieur Lachaille in private.’
She watched Gilberte leave the room and close the door behind her; then, returning to Gaston, she met his dark rather brutal stare without flinching.
‘What is the meaning of all this, Mamita? Ever since yesterday, I find quite a change here. What’s going on?’
‘I shall be glad if you will sit down, Gaston. I’m tired,’ said Madame Alvarez. ‘Oh, my poor legs!’
She sighed, waited for a response that did not come, and then untied her apron, under which she was wearing a black dress with a large cameo pinned upon it. She motioned her guest to a high-backed chair, keeping the armchair for herself. Then she sat down heavily, smoothed her greying black coils, and folded her hands on her lap. The unhurried movement of her large, dark, lambent eyes, and the ease with which she remained motionless, were sure signs of her self-control.
‘Gaston, you cannot doubt my friendship for you.’ Lachaille emitted a short, businesslike laugh, and tugged at his moustache. ‘My friendship and my gratitude. Nevertheless, I must never forget that I have a soul entrusted to my care. Andrée, as you know, has neither the time nor the inclination to look after the girl. Our Gilberte has not got the gumption to make her own way in the world, like so many. She is just a child.’
‘Of sixteen,’ said Lachaille.
‘Of nearly sixteen,’ consented Madame Alvarez. ‘For years you have been giving her sweets and playthings. She swears by Tonton, and by him alone. And now you want to take her out to tea, in your automobile, to the Réservoirs!’
Madame Alvarez placed a hand on her heart.
‘Upon my soul and conscience, Gaston, if there were only you and me, I should say to you, “Take Gilberte anywhere you like, I entrust her to you blindly.” But there are always the others. The eyes of the world are on you. To be seen tête-à-tête with you, is, for a woman –’
Gaston Lachaille lost patience.
‘All right, all right. I understand. You want me to believe that once she is seen having tea with me, Gilberte is compromised! A slip of a girl, a flapper, a chit whom no one notices!’
‘Let us say, rather,’ interrupted Madame Alvarez gently, ‘that she will be labelled. No matter where you put in an appearance, Gaston, your presence is remarked upon. A young girl who goes out alone with you is no longer an ordinary girl, or even – to put it bluntly – a respectable girl. Now our little Gilberte must not, above all things, cease to be an ordinary young girl, at least not by that method. So far as it concerns you, it will simply end in one more story to be added to the long list already in existence, but personally, when I read of it in Gil Blas, I shall not be amused.’
Gaston Lachaille rose, paced from the table to the door, then from the door to the window, before replying.
‘Very good, Mamita, I have no wish to vex you. I shan’t argue,’ he said coldly. ‘Keep your precious child.’
He turned round again to face Madame Alvarez, his chin held high.
‘I can’t help wondering, as a matter of interest, whom you are keeping her for! A clerk earning a hundred a year, who’ll marry her and give her four children in three years?’
‘I know the duty of a mother better than that,’ said Madame Alvarez composedly. ‘I shall do my best to entrust Gigi only to the care of a man capable of saying, “I take charge of her and answer for her future.” May I have the pleasure of brewing you some camomile tea, Gaston?’
‘No, thank you, I’m late already.’
‘Would you like Gigi to come and say goodbye?’
‘Don’t bother. I’ll see her another time. I can’t say when, I’m sure. I’m very much taken up these days.’
