"Every Wednesday, is it not, Monsieur Moreau?" making up for her previous display of indifference by these simple words.
He was satisfied. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath when he got out into the open air; and, needing a less artificial environment, Frederick recalled to mind that he owed the Maréchale a visit.
The door of the anteroom was open. Two Havanese lapdogs rushed forward. A voice exclaimed:
"Delphine! Delphine! Is that you, Felix?"
He stood there without advancing a step. The two little dogs kept yelping continually. At length Rosanette appeared, wrapped up in a sort of dressing-gown of white muslin trimmed with lace, and with her stockingless feet in Turkish slippers.
"Ah! excuse me, Monsieur! I thought it was the hairdresser. One minute; I am coming back!"
And he was left alone in the dining-room. The Venetian blinds were closed. Frederick, as he cast a glance round, was beginning to recall the hubbub of the other night, when he noticed on the table, in the middle of the room, a man's hat, an old felt hat, bruised, greasy, dirty. To whom did this hat belong? Impudently displaying its torn lining, it seemed to say:
"I have the laugh, after all! I am the master!"
The Maréchale suddenly reappeared on the scene. She took up the hat, opened the conservatory, flung it in there, shut the door again (other doors flew open and closed again at the same moment), and, having brought Frederick through the kitchen, she introduced him into her dressing-room.
It could at once be seen that this was the most frequented room in the house, and, so to speak, its true moral centre. The walls, the armchairs, and a big divan with a spring were adorned with a chintz pattern on which was traced a great deal of foliage. On a white marble table stood two large washhand-basins of fine blue earthenware. Crystal shelves, forming a whatnot overhead, were laden with phials, brushes, combs, sticks of cosmetic, and powder-boxes. The fire was reflected in a high cheval-glass. A sheet was hanging outside a bath, and odours of almond-paste and of benzoin were exhaled.
"You'll excuse the disorder. I'm dining in the city this evening."
And as she turned on her heel, she was near crushing one of the little dogs. Frederick declared that they were charming. She lifted up the pair of them, and raising their black snouts up to her face:
"Come! do a laugh — kiss the gentleman!"
A man dressed in a dirty overcoat with a fur collar here entered abruptly.
"Felix, my worthy fellow," said she, "you'll have that business of yours disposed of next Sunday without fail."
The man proceeded to dress her hair. Frederick told her he had heard news of her friends, Madame de Rochegune, Madame de Saint-Florentin, and Madame Lombard, every woman being noble, as if it were at the mansion of the Dambreuses. Then he talked about the theatres. An extraordinary performance was to be given that evening at the Ambigu.
"Shall you go?"
"Faith, no! I'm staying at home."
Delphine appeared. Her mistress gave her a scolding for having gone out without permission.
The other vowed that she was just "returning from market."
"Well, bring me your book. You have no objection, isn't that so?"
And, reading the pass-book in a low tone, Rosanette made remarks on every item. The different sums were not added up correctly.
"Hand me over four sous!"
Delphine handed the amount over to her, and, when she had sent the maid away:
"Ah! Holy Virgin! could I be more unfortunate than I am with these creatures?"
Frederick was shocked at this complaint about servants. It recalled the others too vividly to his mind, and established between the two houses a kind of vexatious equality.
When Delphine came back again, she drew close to the Maréchale's side in order to whisper something in her ear.
"Ah, no! I don't want her!"
Delphine presented herself once more.
"Madame, she insists."
"Ah, what a plague! Throw her out!"
At the same moment, an old lady, dressed in black, pushed forward the door. Frederick heard nothing, saw nothing. Rosanette rushed into her apartment to meet her.
When she reappeared her cheeks were flushed, and she sat down in one of the armchairs without saying a word. A tear fell down her face; then, turning towards the young man, softly:
"What is your Christian name?"
"Frederick."
"Ha! Federico! It doesn't annoy you when I address you in that way?"
And she gazed at him in a coaxing sort of way that was almost amorous.
All of a sudden she uttered an exclamation of delight at the sight of Mademoiselle Vatnaz.
The lady-artist had no time to lose before presiding at her table d'hôte at six o'clock sharp; and she was panting for breath, being completely exhausted. She first took out of her pocket a gold chain in a paper, then various objects that she had bought.
"You should know that there are in the Rue Joubert splendid Suède gloves at thirty-six sous. Your dyer wants eight days more. As for the guipure, I told you that they would dye it again. Bugneaux has got the instalment you paid. That's all, I think. You owe me a hundred and eighty-five francs."
Rosanette went to a drawer to get ten napoleons. Neither of the pair had any money. Frederick offered some.
"I'll pay you back," said the Vatnaz, as she stuffed the fifteen francs into her handbag. "But you are a naughty boy! I don't love you any longer — you didn't get me to dance with you even once the other evening! Ah! my dear, I came across a case of stuffed humming-birds which are perfect loves at a shop in the Quai Voltaire. If I were in your place, I would make myself a present of them. Look here! What do you think of it?"
And she exhibited an old remnant of pink silk which she had purchased at the Temple to make a mediæval doublet for Delmar.
"He came to-day, didn't he?"
"No."
"That's singular."
And, after a minute's silence:
"Where are you going this evening?"
"To Alphonsine's," said Rosanette, this being the third version given by her as to the way in which she was going to pass the evening.
Mademoiselle Vatnaz went on: "And what news about the old man of the mountain?"
But, with an abrupt wink, the Maréchale bade her hold her tongue; and she accompanied Frederick out as far as the anteroom to ascertain from him whether he would soon see Arnoux.
"Pray ask him to come — not before his wife, mind!"
At the top of the stairs an umbrella was placed against the wall near a pair of goloshes.
"Vatnaz's goloshes," said Rosanette. "What a foot, eh? My little friend is rather strongly built!"
And, in a melodramatic tone, making the final letter of the word roll:
"Don't tru-us-st her!"
Frederick, emboldened by a confidence of this sort, tried to kiss her on the neck.
"Oh, do it! It costs nothing!"
He felt rather light-hearted as he left her, having no doubt that ere long the Maréchale would be his mistress. This desire awakened another in him; and, in spite of the species of grudge that he owed her, he felt a longing to see Madame Arnoux.
Besides, he would have to call at her house in order to execute the commission with which he had been entrusted by Rosanette.
"But now," thought he (it had just struck six), "Arnoux is probably at home."
So he put off his visit till the following day.
She was seated in the same attitude as on the former day, and was sewing a little boy's shirt.
The child, at her feet, was playing with a wooden toy menagerie. Marthe, a short distance away, was writing.
He began by complimenting her on her children. She replied without any exaggeration of maternal silliness.
The room had a tranquil aspect. A glow of sunshine stole in through the window-panes, lighting up the angles of the different articles of furniture, and, as Madame Arnoux sat close beside the window, a large ray, falling on
the curls over the nape of her neck, penetrated with liquid gold her skin, which assumed the colour of amber.
Then he said:
"This young lady here has grown very tall during the past three years! Do you remember, Mademoiselle, when you slept on my knees in the carriage?"
Marthe did not remember.
"One evening, returning from Saint-Cloud?"
There was a look of peculiar sadness in Madame
Arnoux's face. Was it in order to prevent any allusion on his part to the memories they possessed in common?
Her beautiful black eyes, whose sclerotics were glistening, moved gently under their somewhat drooping lids, and her pupils revealed in their depths an inexpressible kindness of heart. He was seized with a love stronger than ever, a passion that knew no bounds. It enervated him to contemplate the object of his attachment; however, he shook off this feeling. How was he to make the most of himself? by what means? And, having turned the matter over thoroughly in his mind, Frederick could think of none that seemed more effectual than money.
He began talking about the weather, which was less cold than it had been at Havre.
"You have been there?"
"Yes; about a family matter — an inheritance."
"Ah! I am very glad," she said, with an air of such genuine pleasure that he felt quite touched, just as if she had rendered him a great service.
She asked him what he intended to do, as it was necessary for a man to occupy himself with something.
He recalled to mind his false position, and said that he hoped to reach the Council of State with the help of M. Dambreuse, the secretary.
"You are acquainted with him, perhaps?"
"Merely by name."
Then, in a low tone:
"He brought you to the ball the other night, did he not?"
Frederick remained silent.
"That was what I wanted to know; thanks!"
After that she put two or three discreet questions to him about his family and the part of the country in which he lived. It was very kind of him not to have forgotten them after having lived so long away from Paris.
"But could I do so?" he rejoined. "Have you any doubt about it?"
Madame Arnoux arose: "I believe that you entertain towards us a true and solid affection. Au revoir!"
And she extended her hand towards him in a sincere and virile fashion.
Was this not an engagement, a promise? Frederick felt a sense of delight at merely living; he had to restrain himself to keep from singing. He wanted to burst out, to do generous deeds, and to give alms. He looked around him to see if there were anyone near whom he could relieve. No wretch happened to be passing by; and his desire for self-devotion evaporated, for he was not a man to go out of his way to find opportunities for benevolence.
Then he remembered his friends. The first of whom he thought was Hussonnet, the second, Pellerin. The lowly position of Dussardier naturally called for consideration. As for Cisy, he was glad to let that young aristocrat get a slight glimpse as to the extent of his fortune. He wrote accordingly to all four to come to a housewarming the following Sunday at eleven o'clock sharp; and he told Deslauriers to bring Sénécal.
The tutor had been dismissed from the third boarding-school in which he had been employed for not having given his consent to the distribution of prizes — a custom which he looked upon as dangerous to equality. He was now with an engine-builder, and for the past six months had been no longer living with Deslauriers. There had been nothing painful about their parting.
Sénécal had been visited by men in blouses — all patriots, all workmen, all honest fellows, but at the same time men whose society seemed distasteful to the advocate. Besides, he disliked certain ideas of his friend, excellent though they might be as weapons of warfare. He held his tongue on the subject through motives of ambition, deeming it prudent to pay deference to him in order to exercise control over him, for he looked forward impatiently to a revolutionary movement, in which he calculated on making an opening for himself and occupying a prominent position.
Sénécal's convictions were more disinterested. Every evening, when his work was finished, he returned to his garret and sought in books for something that might justify his dreams. He had annotated the Contrat Social; he had crammed himself with the Revue Indépendante; he was acquainted with Mably, Morelly, Fourier, Saint-Simon, Comte, Cabet, Louis Blanc — the heavy cartload of Socialistic writers — those who claim for humanity the dead level of barracks, those who would like to amuse it in a brothel or to bend it over a counter; and from a medley of all these things he constructed an ideal of virtuous democracy, with the double aspect of a farm in which the landlord was to receive a share of the produce, and a spinning-mill, a sort of American Lacedæmon, in which the individual would only exist for the benefit of society, which was to be more omnipotent, absolute, infallible, and divine than the Grand Lamas and the Nebuchadnezzars. He had no doubt as to the approaching realisation of this ideal; and Sénécal raged against everything that he considered hostile to it with the reasoning of a geometrician and the zeal of an Inquisitor. Titles of nobility, crosses, plumes, liveries above all, and even reputations that were too loud-sounding scandalised him, his studies as well as his sufferings intensifying every day his essential hatred of every kind of distinction and every form of social superiority.
"What do I owe to this gentleman that I should be polite to him? If he wants me, he can come to me."
Deslauriers, however, forced him to go to Frederick's reunion.
They found their friend in his bedroom. Spring-roller blinds and double curtains, Venetian mirrors — nothing was wanting there. Frederick, in a velvet vest, was lying back on an easy-chair, smoking cigarettes of Turkish tobacco.
Sénécal wore the gloomy look of a bigot arriving in the midst of a pleasure-party.
Deslauriers gave him a single comprehensive glance; then, with a very low bow:
"Monseigneur, allow me to pay my respects to you!"
Dussardier leaped on his neck. "So you are a rich man now. Ah! upon my soul, so much the better!"
Cisy made his appearance with crape on his hat. Since the death of his grandmother, he was in the enjoyment of a considerable fortune, and was less bent on amusing himself than on being distinguished from others — not being the same as everyone else — in short, on "having the proper stamp." This was his favourite phrase.
However, it was now midday, and they were all yawning.
Frederick was waiting for some one.
At the mention of Arnoux's name, Pellerin made a wry face. He looked on him as a renegade since he had abandoned the fine arts.
"Suppose we pass over him — what do you say to that?"
They all approved of this suggestion.
The door was opened by a man-servant in long gaiters; and the dining-room could be seen with its lofty oak plinths relieved with gold, and its two sideboards laden with plate.
The bottles of wine were heating on the stove; the blades of new knives were glittering beside oysters. In the milky tint of the enamelled glasses there was a kind of alluring sweetness; and the table disappeared from view under its load of game, fruit, and meats of the rarest quality.
These attentions were lost on Sénécal. He began by asking for household bread (the hardest that could be got), and in connection with this subject, spoke of the murders of Buzançais and the crisis arising from lack of the means of subsistence.
Nothing of this sort could have happened if agriculture had been better protected, if everything had not been given up to competition, to anarchy, and to the deplorable maxim of "Let things alone! let things go their own way!" It was in this way that the feudalism of money was established — the worst form of feudalism. But let them take care! The people in the end will get tired of it, and may make the capitalist pay for their sufferings either by bloody proscriptions or by the plunder of their houses.
Frederick saw, as if by a lightning-flash, a flood of men with bare a
rms invading Madame Dambreuse's drawing-room, and smashing the mirrors with blows of pikes.
Sénécal went on to say that the workman, owing to the insufficiency of wages, was more unfortunate than the helot, the negro, and the pariah, especially if he has children.
"Ought he to get rid of them by asphyxia, as some English doctor, whose name I don't remember — a disciple of Malthus — advises him?"
And, turning towards Cisy: "Are we to be obliged to follow the advice of the infamous Malthus?"
Cisy, who was ignorant of the infamy and even of the existence of Malthus, said by way of reply, that after all, much human misery was relieved, and that the higher classes — —
"Ha! the higher classes!" said the Socialist, with a sneer. "In the first place, there are no higher classes. 'Tis the heart alone that makes anyone higher than another. We want no alms, understand! but equality, the fair division of products."
What he required was that the workman might become a capitalist, just as the soldier might become a colonel. The trade-wardenships, at least, in limiting the number of apprentices, prevented workmen from growing inconveniently numerous, and the sentiment of fraternity was kept up by means of the fêtes and the banners.
Hussonnet, as a poet, regretted the banners; so did Pellerin, too — a predilection which had taken possession of him at the Café Dagneaux, while listening to the Phalansterians talking. He expressed the opinion that Fourier was a great man.
"Come now!" said Deslauriers. "An old fool who sees in the overthrow of governments the effects of Divine vengeance. He is just like my lord Saint-Simon and his church, with his hatred of the French Revolution — a set of buffoons who would fain re-establish Catholicism."
M. de Cisy, no doubt in order to get information or to make a good impression, broke in with this remark, which he uttered in a mild tone:
"These two men of science are not, then, of the same way of thinking as Voltaire?"
"That fellow! I make you a present of him!"
"How is that? Why, I thought — — "
"Oh! no, he did not love the people!"
Complete Works of Gustave Flaubert Page 161
