The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

by Израэль Зангвилл

  But there was more than wigs and cheese-parings in their camaraderie. Madame Depine found a fathomless mine of edification in Madame Valiere's reminiscences, which she skilfully extracted from her, finding the average ore rich with noble streaks, though the old tirewoman had an obstinate way of harking back to her girlhood, which made some delvings result in mere earth.

  On the Day of the Dead Madame Depine emerged into importance, taking her friend with her to the Cemetery Montparnasse to see the glass flowers blooming immortally over the graves of her husband and children. Madame Depine paid the omnibus for both (inside places), and felt, for once, superior to the poor "Princess," who had never known the realities of love and death.

  VII.

  Two months passed. Another of Madame Valiere's teeth fell out. Madame Depine's cheeks grew more pendulous. But their brown wigs remained as fadeless as the cemetery flowers.

  One day they passed the hairdresser's shop together. It was indeed next to the tobacconist's, so not easy to avoid, whenever one wanted a stamp or a postcard. In the window, amid pendent plaits of divers hues, bloomed two wax busts of females-the one young and coquettish and golden-haired, the other aristocratic in a distinguished grey wig. Both wore diamond rosettes in their hair and ropes of pearls round their necks. The old ladies' eyes met, then turned away.

  "If one demanded the price!" said Madame Depine (who had already done so twice).

  "It is an idea!" agreed Madame Valiere.

  "The day will come when one's nieces will be married."

  "But scarcely when New Year's Day shall cease to be," the "Princess" sighed.

  "Still, one might win in the lottery!"

  "Ah! true. Let us enter, then."

  "One will be enough. You go." Madame Depine rather dreaded the coiffeur, whom intercourse with jocose students had made severe.

  But Madame Valiere shrank back shyly. "No, let us both go." She added, with a smile to cover her timidity, "Two heads are better than one."

  "You are right. He will name a lower price in the hope of two orders." And, pushing the "Princess" before her like a turret of defence, Madame Depine wheeled her into the ladies' department.

  The coiffeur, who was washing the head of an American girl, looked up ungraciously. As he perceived the outer circumference of Madame Depine projecting on either side of her turret, he emitted a glacial "Bon jour, mesdames."

  "Those grey wigs-" faltered Madame Valiere

  "I have already told your friend." He rubbed the American head viciously.

  Madame Depine coloured. "But-but we are two. Is there no reduction on taking a quantity?"

  "And why then? A wig is a wig. Twice a hundred francs are two hundred francs."

  "One hundred francs for a wig!" said Madame Valiere, paling. "I did not pay that for the one I wear."

  "I well believe it, madame. A grey wig is not a brown wig."

  "But you just said a wig is a wig."

  The coiffeur gave angry rubs at the head, in time with his explosive phrases. "You want real hair, I presume-and to your measure-and to look natural-and convenable!" (Both old ladies shuddered at the word.) "Of course, if you want it merely for private theatricals-"

  "Private theatricals!" repeated Madame Depine, aghast.

  "A comedienne's wig I can sell you for a bagatelle. That passes at a distance."

  Madame Valiere ignored the suggestion. "But why should a grey wig cost more than any other?"

  The coiffeur shrugged his shoulders. "Since there are less grey hairs in the world-"

  "Comment!" repeated Madame Valiere, in amazement.

  "It stands to reason," said the coiffeur. "Since most persons do not live to be old-or only live to be bald." He grew animated, professorial almost, seeing the weight his words carried to unthinking bosoms. "And since one must provide a fine hair-net for a groundwork, to imitate the flesh-tint of the scalp, and since each hair of the parting must be treated separately, and since the natural wave of the hair must be reproduced, and since you will also need a block for it to stand on at nights to guard its shape-"

  "But since one has already blocks," interposed Madame Depine.

  "But since a conscientious artist cannot trust another's block! Represent to yourself also that the shape of the head does not remain as fixed as the dome of the Invalides, and that-"

  "Eh bien, we will think," interrupted Madame Valiere, with dignity.

  VIII.

  They walked slowly towards the Hotel des Tourterelles.

  "If one could share a wig!" Madame Depine exclaimed suddenly.

  "It is an idea," replied Madame Valiere. And then each stared involuntarily at the other's head. They had shared so many things that this new possibility sounded like a discovery. Pleasing pictures flitted before their eyes-the country cousin received (on a Box and Cox basis) by a Parisian old gentlewoman sans peur and sans reproche; a day of seclusion for each alternating with a day of ostentatious publicity.

  But the light died out of their eyes, as Madame Depine recognised that the "Princess's" skull was hopelessly long, and Madame Valiere recognised that Madame Depine's cranium was hopelessly round. Decidedly either head would be a bad block for the other's wig to repose on.

  "It would be more sensible to acquire a wig together, and draw lots for it," said Madame Depine.

  The "Princess's" eyes rekindled. "Yes, and then save up again to buy the loser a wig."

  "Parfaitement" said Madame Depine. They had slid out of pretending that they had large sums immediately available. Certain sums still existed in vague stockings for dowries or presents, but these, of course, could not be touched. For practical purposes it was understood that neither had the advantage of the other, and that the few francs a month by which Madame Depine's income exceeded Madame Valiere's were neutralised by the superior rent she paid for her comparative immunity from steam-trams. The accumulation of fifty francs apiece was thus a limitless perspective.

  They discussed their budget. It was really almost impossible to cut down anything. By incredible economies they saw their way to saving a franc a week each. But fifty weeks! A whole year, allowing for sickness and other breakdowns! Who can do penance for a whole year? They thought of moving to an even cheaper hotel; but then in the course of years Madame Valiere had fallen three weeks behind with the rent, and Madame Depine a fortnight, and these arrears would have to be paid up. The first council ended in despair. But in the silence of the night Madame Depine had another inspiration. If one suppressed the lottery for a season!

  On the average each speculated a full franc a week, with scarcely a gleam of encouragement. Two francs a week each-already the year becomes six months! For six months one can hold out. Hardships shared are halved, too. It will seem scarce three months. Ah, how good are the blessed saints!

  But over the morning coffee Madame Valiere objected that they might win the whole hundred francs in a week!

  It was true; it was heartbreaking.

  Madame Depine made a reckless reference to her brooch, but the Princess had a gesture of horror. "And wear your heart on your shawl when your friends come?" she exclaimed poetically. "Sooner my watch shall go, since that at least is hidden in my bosom!"

  "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Madame Depine. "But if you sold the other things hidden in your bosom!"

  "How do you mean?"

  "The Royal Secrets."

  The "Princess" blushed. "What are you thinking of?"

  "The journalist below us tells me that gossip about the great sells like Easter buns."

  "He is truly below us," said Madame Valiere, witheringly. "What! sell one's memories! No, no; it would not be convenable. There are even people living-"

  "But nobody would know," urged Madame Depine.

  "One must carry the head high, even if it is not grey."

  It was almost a quarrel. Far below the steam-tram was puffing past. At the window across the street a woman was beating her carpet with swift, spasmodic thwacks, as one who knew the legal time was nearly
up. In the tragic silence which followed Madame Valiere's rebuke, these sounds acquired a curious intensity.

  "I prefer to sacrifice the lottery rather than honour," she added, in more conciliatory accents.

  IX.

  The long quasi-Lenten weeks went by, and unflinchingly the two old ladies pursued their pious quest of the grey wig. Butter had vanished from their bread, and beans from their coffee. Their morning brew was confected of charred crusts, and as they sipped it solemnly they exchanged the reflection that it was quite equal to the coffee at the cremerie. Positively one was safer drinking one's own messes. Figs, no longer posing as a pastime of the palate, were accepted seriously as pieces de resistance. The Spring was still cold, yet fires could be left to die after breakfast. The chill had been taken off, and by mid-day the sun was in its full power. Each sustained the other by a desperate cheerfulness. When they took their morning walk in the Luxembourg Gardens-what time the blue-aproned Jacques was polishing their waxed floors with his legs for broom-handles-they went into ecstasies over everything, drawing each other's attention to the sky, the trees, the water. And, indeed, of a sunshiny morning it was heartening to sit by the pond and watch the wavering sheet of beaten gold water, reflecting all shades of green in a restless shimmer against the shadowed grass around. Madame Valiere always had a bit of dry bread to feed the pigeons withal-it gave a cheerful sense of superfluity, and her manner of sprinkling the crumbs revived Madame Depine's faded images of a Princess scattering New Year largess.

  But beneath all these pretences of content lay a hollow sense of desolation. It was not the want of butter nor the diminished meat; it was the total removal from life of that intangible splendour of hope produced by the lottery ticket. Ah! every day was drawn blank now. This gloom, this gnawing emptiness at the heart, was worse than either had foreseen or now confessed. Malicious Fate, too, they felt, would even crown with the grand prix the number they would have chosen. But for the prospective draw for the Wig-which reintroduced the aleatory-life would scarcely have been bearable.

  Madame Depine's sister-in-law's visit by the June excursion train was a not unexpected catastrophe. It only lasted a day, but it put back the Grey Wig by a week, for Madame Choucrou had to be fed at Duval's, and Madame Valiere magnanimously insisted on being of the party: whether to run parallel with her friend, or to carry off the brown wig, she alone knew. Fortunately, Madame Choucrou was both short-sighted and colour-blind. On the other hand, she liked a petit verre with her coffee, and both at a separate restaurant. But never had Madame Valiere appeared to Madame Depine's eyes more like the "Princess," more gay and polished and debonair, than at this little round table on the sunlit Boulevard. Little trills of laughter came from the half-toothless gums; long gloved fingers toyed with the liqueur glass or drew out the old-fashioned watch to see that Madame Choucrou did not miss her train; she spent her sou royally on a hawked journal. When they had seen Madame Choucrou off, she proposed to dock meat entirely for a fortnight so as to regain the week. Madame Depine accepted in the same heroic spirit, and even suggested the elimination of the figs: one could lunch quite well on bread and milk, now the sunshine was here. But Madame Valiere only agreed to a week's trial of this, for she had a sweet tooth among the few in her gums.

  The very next morning, as they walked in the Luxembourg Gardens, Madame Depine's foot kicked against something. She stooped and saw a shining glory-a five-franc piece!

  "What is it?" said Madame Valiere.

  "Nothing," said Madame Depine, covering the coin with her foot. "My bootlace." And she bent down-to pick up the coin, to fumble at her bootlace, and to cover her furious blush. It was not that she wished to keep the godsend to herself,-one saw on the instant that le bon Dieu was paying for Madame Choucrou,-it was an instantaneous dread of the "Princess's" quixotic code of honour. La Valiere was capable of flying in the face of Providence, of taking the windfall to a bureau de police. As if the inspector wouldn't stick to it himself! A purse-yes. But a five-franc piece, one of a flock of sheep!

  The treasure-trove was added to the heap of which her stocking was guardian, and thus honestly divided. The trouble, however, was that, as she dared not inform the "Princess," she could not decently back out of the meatless fortnight. Providence, as it turned out, was making them gain a week. As to the figs, however, she confessed on the third day that she hungered sore for them, and Madame Valiere readily agreed to make this concession to her weakness.

  X.

  This little episode coloured for Madame Depine the whole dreary period that remained. Life was never again so depressingly definite; though curiously enough the "Princess" mistook for gloom her steady earthward glance, as they sauntered about the sweltering city. With anxious solicitude Madame Valiere would direct her attention to sunsets, to clouds, to the rising moon; but heaven had ceased to have attraction, except as a place from which five-francs fell, and as soon as the "Princess's" eye was off her, her own sought the ground again. But this imaginary need of cheering up Madame Depine kept Madame Valiere herself from collapsing. At last, when the first red leaves began to litter the Gardens and cover up possible coins, the francs in the stocking approached their century.

  What a happy time was that! The privations were become second nature; the weather was still fine. The morning Gardens were a glow of pink and purple and dripping diamonds, and on some of the trees was the delicate green of a second blossoming, like hope in the heart of age. They could scarcely refrain from betraying their exultation to the Hotel des Tourterelles, from which they had concealed their sufferings. But the polyglot population seething round its malodorous stairs and tortuous corridors remained ignorant that anything was passing in the life of these faded old creatures, and even on the day of drawing lots for the Wig the exuberant hotel retained its imperturbable activity.

  Not that they really drew lots. That was a figure of speech, difficult to translate into facts. They preferred to spin a coin. Madame Depine was to toss, the "Princess" to cry pile ou face. From the stocking Madame Depine drew, naturally enough, the solitary five-franc piece. It whirled in the air; the "Princess" cried face. The puff-puff of the steam-tram sounded like the panting of anxious Fate. The great coin fell, rolled, balanced itself between two destinies, then subsided, pile upwards. The poor "Princess's" face grew even longer; but for the life of her Madame Depine could not make her own face other than a round red glow, like the sun in a fog. In fact, she looked so young at this supreme moment that the brown wig quite became her.

  "I congratulate you," said Madame Valiere, after the steam-tram had become a far-away rumble.

  "Before next summer we shall have yours too," the winner reminded her consolingly.

  XI.

  They had not waited till the hundred francs were actually in the stocking. The last few would accumulate while the wig was making. As they sat at their joyous breakfast the next morning, ere starting for the hairdresser's, the casement open to the October sunshine, Jacques brought up a letter for Madame Valiere-an infrequent incident. Both old women paled with instinctive distrust of life. And as the "Princess" read her letter, all the sympathetic happiness died out of her face.

  "What is the matter, then?" breathed Madame Depine.

  The "Princess" recovered herself. "Nothing, nothing. Only my nephew who is marrying."

  "Soon?"

  "The middle of next month."

  "Then you will need to give presents!"

  "One gives a watch, a bagatelle, and then-there is time. It is nothing. How good the coffee is this morning!"

  They had not changed the name of the brew: it is not only in religious evolutions that old names are a comfort.

  They walked to the hairdresser's in silence. The triumphal procession had become almost a dead march. Only once was the silence broken.

  "I suppose they have invited you down for the wedding?" said Madame Depine.

  "Yes," said Madame Valiere.

  They walked on.

  The coiffeur was at his doo
r, sunning his aproned stomach, and twisting his moustache as if it were a customer's. Emotion overcame Madame Depine at the sight of him. She pushed Madame Valiere into the tobacconist's instead.

  "I have need of a stamp," she explained, and demanded one for five centimes. She leaned over the counter babbling aimlessly to the proprietor, postponing the great moment. Madame Valiere lost the clue to her movements, felt her suddenly as a stranger. But finally Madame Depine drew herself together and led the way into the coiffeurs. The proprietor, who had reentered his parlour, reemerged gloomily.

  Madame Valiere took the word. "We are thinking of ordering a wig."

  "Cash in advance, of course," said the coiffeur.

  "Comment!" cried Madame Valiere, indignantly. "You do not trust my friend!"

  "Madame Valiere has moved in the best society," added Madame Depine.

  "But you cannot expect me to do two hundred francs of work and then be left planted with the wigs!"

  "But who said two hundred francs?" cried Madame Depine. "It is only one wig that we demand-to-day at least."