Gustave Flaubert - Sentimental Education (Chap. 10) lyrics

At the Races The Maréchale was prepared for his visit, and had been awaiting him. "This is nice of you!" she said, fixing a glance of her fine eyes on his face, with an expression at the same time tender and mirthful. When she had fastened her bonnet-strings, she sat down on the divan, and remained silent. "Shall we go?" said Frederick. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Oh, no! not before half-past one!" as if she had imposed this limit to her indecision. At last, when the hour had struck: "Ah! well, andiamo, caro mio!" And she gave a final touch to her head-bands, and left directions for Delphine. "Is Madame coming home to dinner?" "Why should we, indeed? We shall dine together somewhere—at the Café Anglais, wherever you wish." "Be it so!" Her little dogs began yelping around her. "We can bring them with us, can't we?" Frederick carried them himself to the vehicle. It was a hired berlin with two post-horses and a postilion. He had put his man-servant in the back seat. The Maréchale appeared satisfied with his attentions. Then, as soon as she had seated herself, she asked him whether he had been lately at the Arnouxs'. "Not for the past month," said Frederick. "As for me, I met him the day before yesterday. He would have even come to-day, but he has all sorts of troubles—another lawsuit—I don't know what. What a queer man!" Frederick added with an air of indifference: "Now that I think of it, do you still see—what's that his name is?—that ex-vocalist—Delmar?" She replied dryly: "No; that's all over." So it was clear that there had been a rupture between them. Frederick derived some hope from this circumstance. They descended the Quartier Bréda at an easy pace. As it happened to be Sunday, the streets were deserted, and some citizens' faces presented themselves at the windows. The carriage went on more rapidly. The noise of wheels made the pa**ers-by turn round; the leather of the hood, which had slid down, was glittering. The man-servant doubled himself up, and the two Havanese, beside one another, seemed like two ermine muffs laid on the cushions. Frederick let himself jog up and down with the rocking of the carriage-straps. The Maréchale turned her head to the right and to the left with a smile on her face. Her straw hat of mother-of-pearl colour was trimmed with black lace. The hood of her bournous floated in the wind, and she sheltered herself from the rays of the sun under a parasol of lilac satin pointed at the top like a pagoda. "What loves of little fingers!" said Frederick, softly taking her other hand, her left being adorned with a gold bracelet in the form of a curb-chain. "I say! that's pretty! Where did it come from?" "Oh! I've had it a long time," said the Maréchale. The young man did not challenge this hypocritical answer in any way. He preferred to profit by the circumstance. And, still keeping hold of the wrist, he pressed his lips on it between the glove and the cuff. "Stop! People will see us!" "Pooh! What does it signify?" After pa**ing by the Place de la Concorde, they drove along the Quai de la Conférence and the Quai de Billy, where might be noticed a cedar in a garden. Rosanette believed that Lebanon was situated in China; she laughed herself at her own ignorance, and asked Frederick to give her lessons in geography. Then, leaving the Trocadéro at the right, they crossed the Pont de Jéna, and drew up at length in the middle of the Champ de Mars, near some other vehicles already drawn up in the Hippodrome. The gra** hillocks were covered with common people. Some spectators might be seen on the balcony of the Military School; and the two pavilions outside the weighing-room, the two galleries contained within its enclosure, and a third in front of that of the king, were filled with a fashionably dressed crowd whose deportment showed their regard for this as yet novel form of amusement. The public around the course, more select at this period, had a less vulgar aspect. It was the era of trouser-straps, velvet collars, and white gloves. The ladies, attired in showy colours, displayed gowns with long waists; and seated on the tiers of the stands, they formed, so to speak, immense groups of flowers, spotted here and there with black by the men's costumes. But every glance was directed towards the celebrated Algerian Bou-Maza, who sat, impa**ive, between two staff officers in one of the private galleries. That of the Jockey Club contained none but grave-looking gentlemen. The more enthusiastic portion of the throng were seated underneath, close to the track, protected by two lines of sticks which supported ropes. In the immense oval described by this pa**age, cocoanut-sellers were shaking their rattles, others were selling programmes of the races, others were hawking cigars, with loud cries. On every side there was a great murmur. The municipal guards pa**ed to and fro. A bell, hung from a post covered with figures, began ringing. Five horses appeared, and the spectators in the galleries resumed their seats. Meanwhile, big clouds touched with their winding outlines the tops of the elms opposite. Rosanette was afraid that it was going to rain. "I have umbrellas," said Frederick, "and everything that we need to afford ourselves diversion," he added, lifting up the chest, in which there was a stock of provisions in a basket. "Bravo! we understand each other!" "And we'll understand each other still better, shall we not?" "That may be," she said, colouring. The jockeys, in silk jackets, were trying to draw up their horses in order, and were holding them back with both hands. Somebody lowered a red flag. Then the entire five bent over the bristling manes, and off they started. At first they remained pressed close to each other in a single ma**; this presently stretched out and became cut up. The jockey in the yellow jacket was near falling in the middle of the first round; for a long time it was uncertain whether Filly or Tibi should take the lead; then Tom Pouce appeared in front. But Clubstick, who had been in the rear since the start, came up with the others and outstripped them, so that he was the first to reach the winning-post, beating Sir Charles by two lengths. It was a surprise. There was a shout of applause; the planks shook with the stamping of feet. "We are amusing ourselves," said the Maréchale. "I love you, darling!" Frederick no longer doubted that his happiness was secure. Rosanette's last words were a confirmation of it. A hundred paces away from him, in a four-wheeled cabriolet, a lady could be seen. She stretched her head out of the carriage-door, and then quickly drew it in again. This movement was repeated several times. Frederick could not distinguish her face. He had a strong suspicion, however, that it was Madame Arnoux. And yet this seemed impossible! Why should she have come there? He stepped out of his own vehicle on the pretence of strolling into the weighing-room. "You are not very gallant!" said Rosanette. He paid no heed to her, and went on. The four-wheeled cabriolet, turning back, broke into a trot. Frederick at the same moment, found himself bu*ton-holed by Cisy. "Good-morrow, my dear boy! how are you going on? Hussonnet is over there! Are you listening to me?" Frederick tried to shake him off in order to get up with the four-wheeled cabriolet. The Maréchale beckoned to him to come round to her. Cisy perceived her, and obstinately persisted in bidding her good-day. Since the termination of the regular period of mourning for his grandmother, he had realised his ideal, and succeeded in "getting the proper stamp." A Scotch plaid waistcoat, a short coat, large bows over the pumps, and an entrance-card stuck in the ribbon of his hat; nothing, in fact, was wanting to produce what he described himself as his chic—a chic characterised by Anglomania and the swagger of the musketeer. He began by finding fault with the Champ de Mars, which he referred to as an "execrable turf," then spoke of the Chantilly races, and the droll things that had occurred there, swore that he could drink a dozen gla**es of champagne while the clock was striking the midnight hour, offered to make a bet with the Maréchale, softly caressed her two lapdogs; and, leaning against the carriage-door on one elbow, he kept talking nonsense, with the handle of his walking-stick in his mouth, his legs wide apart, and his back stretched out. Frederick, standing beside him, was smoking, while endeavouring to make out what had become of the cabriolet. The bell having rung, Cisy took himself off, to the great delight of Rosanette, who said he had been boring her to d**h. The second race had nothing special about it; neither had the third, save that a man was thrown over the shaft of a cart while it was taking place. The fourth, in which eight horses contested the City Stakes, was more interesting. The spectators in the gallery had clambered to the top of their seats. The others, standing up in the vehicles, followed with opera-gla**es in their hands the movements of the jockeys. They could be seen starting out like red, yellow, white, or blue spots across the entire space occupied by the crowd that had gathered around the ring of the hippodrome. At a distance, their speed did not appear to be very great; at the opposite side of the Champ de Mars, they seemed even to be slackening their pace, and to be merely slipping along in such a way that the horses' bellies touched the ground without their outstretched legs bending at all. But, coming back at a more rapid stride, they looked bigger; they cut the air in their wild gallop. The sun's rays quivered; pebbles went flying about under their hoofs. The wind, blowing out the jockeys' jackets, made them flutter like veils. Each of them lashed the animal he rode with great blows of his whip in order to reach the winning-post—that was the goal they aimed at. One swept away the figures, another was hoisted off his saddle, and, in the midst of a burst of applause, the victorious horse dragged his feet to the weighing-room, all covered with sweat, his knees stiffened, his neck and shoulders bent down, while his rider, looking as if he were expiring in his saddle, clung to the animal's flanks. The final start was retarded by a dispute which had arisen. The crowd, getting tired, began to scatter. Groups of men were chatting at the lower end of each gallery. The talk was of a free-and-easy description. Some fashionable ladies left, scandalised by seeing fast women in their immediate vicinity. There were also some specimens of the ladies who appeared at public balls, some light-comedy actresses of the boulevards, and it was not the best-looking portion of them that got the most appreciation. The elderly Georgine Aubert, she whom a writer of vaudevilles called the Louis XI. of her profession, horribly painted, and giving vent every now and then to a laugh resembling a grunt, remained reclining at full length in her big calash, covered with a sable fur-tippet, as if it were midwinter. Madame de Remoussat, who had become fashionable by means of a notorious trial in which she figured, sat enthroned on the seat of a brake in company with some Americans; and Thérèse Bachelu, with her look of a Gothic virgin, filled with her dozen furbelows the interior of a trap which had, in place of an apron, a flower-stand filled with roses. The Maréchale was jealous of these magnificent displays. In order to attract attention, she began to make vehement gestures and to speak in a very loud voice. Gentlemen recognised her, and bowed to her. She returned their salutations while telling Frederick their names. They were all counts, viscounts, dukes, and marquises, and carried a high head, for in all eyes he could read a certain respect for his good fortune. Cisy had a no less happy air in the midst of the circle of mature men that surrounded them. Their faces wore cynical smiles above their cravats, as if they were laughing at him. At length he gave a tap in the hand of the oldest of them, and made his way towards the Maréchale. She was eating, with an affectation of gluttony, a slice of pâté de foie gras. Frederick, in order to make himself agreeable to her, followed her example, with a bottle of wine on his knees. The four-wheeled cabriolet reappeared. It was Madame Arnoux! Her face was startlingly pale. "Give me some champagne," said Rosanette. And, lifting up her gla**, full to the brim as high as possible, she exclaimed: "Look over there! Look at my protector's wife, one of the virtuous women!" There was a great burst of laughter all round her; and the cabriolet disappeared from view. Frederick tugged impatiently at her dress, and was on the point of flying into a pa**ion. But Cisy was there, in the same attitude as before, and, with increased a**urance, he invited Rosanette to dine with him that very evening. "Impossible!" she replied; "we're going together to the Café Anglais." Frederick, as if he had heard nothing, remained silent; and Cisy quitted the Maréchale with a look of disappointment on his face. While he had been talking to her at the right-hand door of the carriage, Hussonnet presented himself at the opposite side, and, catching the words "Café Anglais": "It's a nice establishment; suppose we had a pick there, eh?" "Just as you like," said Frederick, who, sunk down in the corner of the berlin, was gazing at the horizon as the four-wheeled cabriolet vanished from his sight, feeling that an irreparable thing had happened, and that there was an end of his great love. And the other woman was there beside him, the gay and easy love! But, worn out, full of conflicting desires, and no longer even knowing what he wanted, he was possessed by a feeling of infinite sadness, a longing to die. A great noise of footsteps and of voices made him raise his head. The little ragamuffins a**embled round the track sprang over the ropes and came to stare at the galleries. Thereupon their occupants rose to go. A few drops of rain began to fall. The crush of vehicles increased, and Hussonnet got lost in it. "Well! so much the better!" said Frederick. "We like to be alone better—don't we?" said the Maréchale, as she placed her hand in his. Then there swept past him with a glitter of copper and steel a magnificent landau to which were yoked four horses driven in the Daumont style by two jockeys in velvet vests with gold fringes. Madame Dambreuse was by her husband's side, and Martinon was on the other seat facing them. All three of them gazed at Frederick in astonishment. "They have recognised me!" said he to himself. Rosanette wished to stop in order to get a better view of the people driving away from the course. Madame Arnoux might again make her appearance! He called out to the postilion: "Go on! go on! forward!" And the berlin dashed towards the Champs-Élysées in the midst of the other vehicles—calashes, britzkas, wurths, tandems, tilburies, dog-carts, tilted carts with leather curtains, in which workmen in a jovial mood were singing, or one-horse chaises driven by fathers of families. In victorias crammed with people some young fellows seated on the others' feet let their legs both hang down. Large broughams, which had their seats lined with cloth, carried dowagers fast asleep, or else a splendid machine pa**ed with a seat as simple and coquettish as a dandy's black coat. The shower grew heavier. Umbrellas, parasols, and mackintoshes were put into requisition. People cried out at some distance away: "Good-day!" "Are you quite well?" "Yes!" "No!" "Bye-bye!"—and the faces succeeded each other with the rapidity of Chinese shadows. Frederick and Rosanette did not say a word to each other, feeling a sort of dizziness at seeing all these wheels continually revolving close to them. At times, the rows of carriages, too closely pressed together, stopped all at the same time in several lines. Then they remained side by side, and their occupants scanned one another. Over the sides of panels adorned with coats-of-arms indifferent glances were cast on the crowd. Eyes full of envy gleamed from the interiors of hackney-coaches. Depreciatory smiles responded to the haughty manner in which some people carried their heads. Mouths gaping wide expressed idiotic admiration; and, here and there, some lounger, in the middle of the road, fell back with a bound, in order to avoid a rider who had been galloping through the midst of the vehicles, and had succeeded in getting away from them. Then, everything set itself in motion once more; the coachmen let go the reins, and lowered their long whips; the horses, excited, shook their curb-chains, and flung foam around them; and the cruppers and the harness getting moist, were smoking with the watery evaporation, through which struggled the rays of the sinking sun. Pa**ing under the Arc de Triomphe, there stretched out at the height of a man, a reddish light, which shed a glittering lustre on the naves of the wheels, the handles of the carriage-doors, the ends of the shafts, and the rings of the carriage-beds; and on the two sides of the great avenue—like a river in which manes, garments, and human heads were undulating—the trees, all glittering with rain, rose up like two green walls. The blue of the sky overhead, reappearing in certain places, had the soft hue of satin. Then, Frederick recalled the days, already far away, when he yearned for the inexpressible happiness of finding himself in one of these carriages by the side of one of these women. He had attained to this bliss, and yet he was not thereby one jot the happier. The rain had ceased falling. The pedestrians, who had sought shelter between the columns of the Public Storerooms, took their departure. Persons who had been walking along the Rue Royale, went up again towards the boulevard. In front of the residence of the Minister of Foreign Affairs a group of b**bies had taken up their posts on the steps. When it had got up as high as the Chinese Baths, as there were holes in the pavement, the berlin slackened its pace. A man in a hazel-coloured paletot was walking on the edge of the footpath. A splash, spurting out from under the springs, showed itself on his back. The man turned round in a rage. Frederick grew pale; he had recognised Deslauriers. At the door of the Café Anglais he sent away the carriage. Rosanette had gone in before him while he was paying the postilion. He found her subsequently on the stairs chatting with a gentleman. Frederick took her arm; but in the lobby a second gentleman stopped her. "Go on," said she; "I am at your service." And he entered the private room alone. Through the two open windows people could be seen at the casements of the other houses opposite. Large watery ma**es were quivering on the pavement as it began to dry, and a magnolia, placed on the side of a balcony, shed a perfume through the apartment. This fragrance and freshness had a relaxing effect on his nerves. He sank down on the red divan underneath the gla**. The Maréchale here entered the room, and, kissing him on the forehead: "Poor pet! there's something annoying you!" "Perhaps so," was his reply. "You are not alone; take heart!"—which was as much as to say: "Let us each forget our own concerns in a bliss which we shall enjoy in common." Then she placed the petal of a flower between her lips and extended it towards him so that he might peck at it. This movement, full of grace and of almost voluptuous gentleness, had a softening influence on Frederick. "Why do you give me pain?" said he, thinking of Madame Arnoux. "I give you pain?" And, standing before him, she looked at him with her lashes drawn close together and her two hands resting on his shoulders. All his virtue, all his rancour gave way before the utter weakness of his will. He continued: "Because you won't love me," and he took her on his knees. She gave way to him. He pressed his two hands round her waist. The crackling sound of her silk dress inflamed him. "Where are they?" said Hussonnet's voice in the lobby outside. The Maréchale arose abruptly, and went across to the other side of the room, where she sat down with her back to the door. She ordered oysters, and they seated themselves at table. Hussonnet was not amusing. By dint of writing every day on all sorts of subjects, reading many newspapers, listening to a great number of discussions, and uttering paradoxes for the purpose of dazzling people, he had in the end lost the exact idea of things, blinding himself with his own feeble fireworks. The embarra**ments of a life which had formerly been frivolous, but which was now full of difficulty, kept him in a state of perpetual agitation; and his impotency, which he did not wish to avow, rendered him snappish and sarcastic. Referring to a new ballet entitled Ozai, he gave a thorough blowing-up to the dancing, and then, when the opera was in question, he attacked the Italians, now replaced by a company of Spanish actors, "as if people had not quite enough of Castilles[12] already!" Frederick was shocked at this, owing to his romantic attachment to Spain, and, with a view to diverting the conversation into a new channel, he enquired about the Collége of France, where Edgar Quinet and Mickiewicz had attended. But Hussonnet, an admirer of M. de Maistre, declared himself on the side of Authority and Spiritualism. Nevertheless, he had doubts about the most well-established facts, contradicted history, and disputed about things whose certainty could not be questioned; so that at mention of the word "geometry," he exclaimed: "What fudge this geometry is!" All this he intermingled with imitations of actors. Sainville was specially his model. Frederick was quite bored by these quibbles. In an outburst of impatience he pushed his foot under the table, and pressed it on one of the little dogs. Thereupon both animals began barking in a horrible fashion. "You ought to get them sent home!" said he, abruptly. Rosanette did not know anyone to whom she could intrust them. Then, he turned round to the Bohemian: "Look here, Hussonnet; sacrifice yourself!" "Oh! yes, my boy! That would be a very obliging act!" Hussonnet set off, without even requiring to have an appeal made to him. In what way could they repay him for his kindness? Frederick did not bestow a thought on it. He was even beginning to rejoice at finding himself alone with her, when a waiter entered. "Madame, somebody is asking for you!" "What! again?" "However, I must see who it is," said Rosanette. He was thirsting for her; he wanted her. This disappearance seemed to him an act of prevarication, almost a piece of rudeness. What, then, did she mean? Was it not enough to have insulted Madame Arnoux? So much for the latter, all the same! Now he hated all women; and he felt the tears choking him, for his love had been misunderstood and his desire eluded. The Maréchale returned, and presented Cisy to him. "I have invited Monsieur. I have done right, have I not?" "How is that! Oh! certainly." Frederick, with the smile of a criminal about to be executed, beckoned to the gentleman to take a seat. The Maréchale began to run her eye through the bill of fare, stopping at every fantastic name. "Suppose we eat a turban of rabbits à la Richeliéu and a pudding à la d'Orléans?"[13] "Oh! not Orléans, pray!" exclaimed Cisy, who was a Legitimist, and thought of making a pun. "Would you prefer a turbot à la Chambord?" she next asked. Frederick was disgusted with this display of politeness. The Maréchale made up her mind to order a simple fillet of beef cut up into steaks, some crayfishes, truffles, a pine-apple salad, and vanilla ices. "We'll see what next. Go on for the present! Ah! I was forgetting! Bring me a sausage!—not with garlic!" And she called the waiter "young man," struck her gla** with her knife, and flung up the crumbs of her bread to the ceiling. She wished to drink some Burgundy immediately. "It is not taken in the beginning," said Frederick. This was sometimes done, according to the Vicomte. "Oh! no. Never!" "Yes, indeed; I a**ure you!" "Ha! you see!" The look with which she accompanied these words meant: "This is a rich man—pay attention to what he says!" Meantime, the door was opening every moment; the waiters kept shouting; and on an infernal piano in the adjoining room some one was strumming a waltz. Then the races led to a discussion about horsemanship and the two rival systems. Cisy was upholding Baucher and Frederick the Comte d'Aure when Rosanette shrugged her shoulders: "Enough—my God!—he is a better judge of these things than you are—come now!" She kept nibbling at a pomegranate, with her elbow resting on the table. The wax-candles of the candelabrum in front of her were flickering in the wind. This white light penetrated her skin with mother-of-pearl tones, gave a pink hue to her lids, and made her eyeballs glitter. The red colour of the fruit blended with the purple of her lips; her thin nostrils heaved; and there was about her entire person an air of insolence, intoxication, and recklessness that exasperated Frederick, and yet filled his heart with wild desires. Then, she asked, in a calm voice, who owned that big landau with chestnut-coloured livery. Cisy replied that it was "the Comtesse Dambreuse" "They're very rich—aren't they?" "Oh! very rich! although Madame Dambreuse, who was merely a Mademoiselle Boutron and the daughter of a prefect, had a very modest fortune." Her husband, on the other hand, must have inherited several estates—Cisy enumerated them: as he visited the Dambreuses, he knew their family history. Frederick, in order to make himself disagreeable to the other, took a pleasure in contradicting him. He maintained that Madame Dambreuse's maiden name was De Boutron, which proved that she was of a noble family. "No matter! I'd like to have her equipage!" said the Maréchale, throwing herself back on the armchair. And the sleeve of her dress, slipping up a little, showed on her left wrist a bracelet adorned with three opals. Frederick noticed it. "Look here! why——" All three looked into one another's faces, and reddened. The door was cautiously half-opened; the brim of a hat could be seen, and then Hussonnet's profile exhibited itself. "Pray excuse me if I disturb the lovers!" But he stopped, astonished at seeing Cisy, and that Cisy had taken his own seat. Another cover was brought; and, as he was very hungry, he snatched up at random from what remained of the dinner some meat which was in a dish, fruit out of a basket, and drank with one hand while he helped himself with the other, all the time telling them the result of his mission. The two bow-wows had been taken home. Nothing fresh at the house. He had found the cook in the company of a soldier—a fictitious story which he had especially invented for the sake of effect. The Maréchale took down her cloak from the window-screw. Frederick made a rush towards the bell, calling out to the waiter, who was some distance away: "A carriage!" "I have one of my own," said the Vicomte. "But, Monsieur!" "Nevertheless, Monsieur!" And they stared into each other's eyes, both pale and their hands trembling. At last, the Maréchale took Cisy's arm, and pointing towards the Bohemian seated at the table: "Pray mind him! He's choking himself. I wouldn't care to let his devotion to my pugs be the cause of his d**h." The door closed behind him. "Well?" said Hussonnet. "Well, what?" "I thought——" "What did you think?" "Were you not——?" He completed the sentence with a gesture. "Oh! no—never in all my life!" Hussonnet did not press the matter further. He had an object in inviting himself to dinner. His journal,—which was no longer called L'Art, but Le Flambart,[14] with this epigraph, "Gunners, to your cannons!"—not being at all in a flourishing condition, he had a mind to change it into a weekly review, conducted by himself, without any a**istance from Deslauriers. He again referred to the old project and explained his latest plan. Frederick, probably not understanding what he was talking about, replied with some vague words. Hussonnet snatched up several cigars from the tables, said "Good-bye, old chap," and disappeared. Frederick called for the bill. It had a long list of items; and the waiter, with his napkin under his arm, was expecting to be paid by Frederick, when another, a sallow-faced individual, who resembled Martinon, came and said to him: "Beg pardon; they forgot at the bar to add in the charge for the cab." "What cab?" "The cab the gentleman took a short time ago for the little dogs." And the waiter put on a look of gravity, as if he pitied the poor young man. Frederick felt inclined to box the fellow's ears. He gave the waiter the twenty francs' change as a pour-boire. "Thanks, Monseigneur," said the man with the napkin, bowing low. Footnotes [12] This pun of Hussonnet turns on the double sense of the word "Castille," which not only means a place in Spain, but also an altercation.—Translator. [13] The word "Orléans" means light woollen cloth, and possibly Cisy's pun might be rendered: "Oh! no cloth pudding, please."—Translator. [14] The Blaser.