Gustave Flaubert - Sentimental Education (Chap. 15) lyrics

"How Happy Could I Be With Either" Madame Dambreuse, in her boudoir, between her niece and Miss John, was listening to M. Roque as he described the severe military duties he had been forced to perform. She was biting her lips, and appeared to be in pain. "Oh! 'tis nothing! it will pa** away!" And, with a gracious air: "We are going to have an acquaintance of yours at dinner with us,—Monsieur Moreau." Louise gave a start. "Oh! we'll only have a few intimate friends there—amongst others, Alfred de Cisy." And she spoke in terms of high praise about his manners, his personal appearance, and especially his moral character. Madame Dambreuse was nearer to a correct estimate of the state of affairs than she imagined; the Vicomte was contemplating marriage. He said so to Martinon, adding that Mademoiselle Cécile was certain to like him, and that her parents would accept him. To warrant him in going so far as to confide to another his intentions on the point, he ought to have satisfactory information with regard to her dowry. Now Martinon had a suspicion that Cécile was M. Dambreuse's natural daughter; and it is probable that it would have been a very strong step on his part to ask for her hand at any risk. Such audacity, of course, was not unaccompanied by danger; and for this reason Martinon had, up to the present, acted in a way that could not compromise him. Besides, he did not see how he could well get rid of the aunt. Cisy's confidence induced him to make up his mind; and he had formally made his proposal to the banker, who, seeing no obstacle to it, had just informed Madame Dambreuse about the matter. Cisy presently made his appearance. She arose and said: "You have forgotten us. Cécile, shake hands!" At the same moment Frederick entered the room. "Ha! at last we have found you again!" exclaimed Père Roque. "I called with Cécile on you three times this week!" Frederick had carefully avoided them. He pleaded by way of excuse that he spent all his days beside a wounded comrade. For a long time, however, a heap of misfortunes had happened to him, and he tried to invent stories to explain his conduct. Luckily the guests arrived in the midst of his explanation. First of all M. Paul de Grémonville, the diplomatist whom he met at the ball; then Fumichon, that manufacturer whose conservative zeal had scandalised him one evening. After them came the old Duchesse de Montreuil Nantua. But two loud voices in the anteroom reached his ears. They were that of M. de Nonancourt, an old beau with the air of a mummy preserved in cold cream, and that of Madame de Larsillois, the wife of a prefect of Louis Philippe. She was terribly frightened, for she had just heard an organ playing a polka which was a signal amongst the insurgents. Many of the wealthy cla** of citizens had similar apprehensions; they thought that men in the catacombs were going to blow up the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Some noises escaped from cellars, and things that excited suspicion were pa**ed up to windows. Everyone in the meantime made an effort to calm Madame de Larsillois. Order was re-established. There was no longer anything to fear. "Cavaignac has saved us!" As if the horrors of the insurrection had not been sufficiently numerous, they exaggerated them. There had been twenty-three thousand convicts on the side of the Socialists—no less! They had no doubt whatever that food had been poisoned, that Gardes Mobiles had been sawn between two planks, and that there had been inscriptions on flags inciting the people to pillage and incendiarism. "Aye, and something more!" added the ex-prefect. "Oh, dear!" said Madame Dambreuse, whose modesty was shocked, while she indicated the three young girls with a glance. M. Dambreuse came forth from his study accompanied by Martinon. She turned her head round and responded to a bow from Pellerin, who was advancing towards her. The artist gazed in a restless fashion towards the walls. The banker took him aside, and conveyed to him that it was desirable for the present to conceal his revolutionary picture. "No doubt," said Pellerin, the rebuff which he received at the Club of Intellect having modified his opinions. M. Dambreuse let it slip out very politely that he would give him orders for other works. "But excuse me. Ah! my dear friend, what a pleasure!" Arnoux and Madame Arnoux stood before Frederick. He had a sort of vertigo. Rosanette had been irritating him all the afternoon with her display of admiration for soldiers, and the old pa**ion was re-awakened. The steward came to announce that dinner was on the table. With a look she directed the Vicomte to take Cécile's arm, while she said in a low tone to Martinon, "You wretch!" And then they pa**ed into the dining-room. Under the green leaves of a pineapple, in the middle of the table-cloth, a dorado stood, with its snout reaching towards a quarter of roebuck and its tail just grazing a bushy dish of crayfish. Figs, huge cherries, pears, and grapes (the first fruits of Parisian cultivation) rose like pyramids in baskets of old Saxe. Here and there a bunch of flowers mingled with the shining silver plate. The white silk blinds, drawn down in front of the windows, filled the apartment with a mellow light. It was cooled by two fountains, in which there were pieces of ice; and tall men-servants, in short breeches, waited on them. All these luxuries seemed more precious after the emotion of the past few days. They felt a fresh delight at possessing things which they had been afraid of losing; and Nonancourt expressed the general sentiment when he said: "Ah! let us hope that these Republican gentlemen will allow us to dine!" "In spite of their fraternity!" Père Roque added, with an attempt at wit. These two personages were placed respectively at the right and at the left of Madame Dambreuse, her husband being exactly opposite her, between Madame Larsillois, at whose side was the diplomatist and the old Duchesse, whom Fumichon elbowed. Then came the painter, the dealer in faïence, and Mademoiselle Louise; and, thanks to Martinon, who had carried her chair to enable her to take a seat near Louise, Frederick found himself beside Madame Arnoux. She wore a black barège gown, a gold hoop on her wrist, and, as on the first day that he dined at her house, something red in her hair, a branch of fuchsia twisted round her chignon. He could not help saying: "'Tis a long time since we saw each other." "Ah!" she returned coldly. He went on, in a mild tone, which mitigated the impertinence of his question: "Have you thought of me now and then?" "Why should I think of you?" Frederick was hurt by these words. "You are right, perhaps, after all." But very soon, regretting what he had said, he swore that he had not lived a single day without being ravaged by the remembrance of her. "I don't believe a single word of it, Monsieur." "However, you know that I love you!" Madame Arnoux made no reply. "You know that I love you!" She still kept silent. "Well, then, go be hanged!" said Frederick to himself. And, as he raised his eyes, he perceived Mademoiselle Roque at the other side of Madame Arnoux. She thought it gave her a coquettish look to dress entirely in green, a colour which contrasted horribly with her red hair. The buckle of her belt was large and her collar cramped her neck. This lack of elegance had, no doubt, contributed to the coldness which Frederick at first displayed towards her. She watched him from where she sat, some distance away from him, with curious glances; and Arnoux, close to her side, in vain lavished his gallantries—he could not get her to utter three words, so that, finally abandoning all hope of making himself agreeable to her, he listened to the conversation. She now began rolling about a slice of Luxembourg pineapple in her pea-soup. Louis Blanc, according to Fumichon, owned a large house in the Rue Saint-Dominique, which he refused to let to the workmen. "For my part, I think it rather a funny thing," said Nonancourt, "to see Ledru-Rollin hunting over the Crown lands." "He owes twenty thousand francs to a goldsmith!" Cisy interposed, "and 'tis maintained——" Madame Darnbreuse stopped him. "Ah! how nasty it is to be getting hot about politics! and for such a young man, too! fie, fie! Pay attention rather to your fair neighbour!" After this, those who were of a grave turn of mind attacked the newspapers. Arnoux took it on himself to defend them. Frederick mixed himself up in the discussion, describing them as commercial establishments just like any other house of business. Those who wrote for them were, as a rule, imbeciles or humbugs; he gave his listeners to understand that he was acquainted with journalists, and combated with sarcasms his friend's generous sentiments. Madame Arnoux did not notice that this was said through a feeling of spite against her. Meanwhile, the Vicomte was torturing his brain in the effort to make a conquest of Mademoiselle Cécile. He commenced by finding fault with the shape of the decanters and the graving of the knives, in order to show his artistic tastes. Then he talked about his stable, his tailor and his shirtmaker. Finally, he took up the subject of religion, and seized the opportunity of conveying to her that he fulfilled all his duties. Martinon set to work in a better fashion. With his eyes fixed on her continually, he praised, in a monotonous fashion, her birdlike profile, her dull fair hair, and her hands, which were unusually short. The plain-looking young girl was delighted at this shower of flatteries. It was impossible to hear anything, as all present were talking at the tops of their voices. M. Roque wanted "an iron hand" to govern France. Nonancourt even regretted that the political scaffold was abolished. They ought to have all these scoundrels put to d**h together. "Now that I think of it, are we speaking of Dussardier?" said M. Dambreuse, turning towards Frederick. The worthy shopman was now a hero, like Sallesse, the brothers Jeanson, the wife of Pequillet, etc. Frederick, without waiting to be asked, related his friend's history; it threw around him a kind of halo. Then they came quite naturally to refer to different traits of courage. According to the diplomatist, it was not hard to face d**h, witness the case of men who fight duels. "We might take the Vicomte's testimony on that point," said Martinon. The Vicomte's face got very flushed. The guests stared at him, and Louise, more astonished than the rest, murmured: "What is it, pray?" "He sank before Frederick," returned Arnoux, in a very low tone. "Do you know anything, Mademoiselle?" said Nonancourt presently, and he repeated her answer to Madame Dambreuse, who, bending forward a little, began to fix her gaze on Frederick. Martinon did not wait for Cécile's questions. He informed her that this affair had reference to a woman of improper character. The young girl drew back slightly in her chair, as if to escape from contact with such a libertine. The conversation was renewed. The great wines of Bordeaux were sent round, and the guests became animated. Pellerin had a dislike to the Revolution, because he attributed to it the complete loss of the Spanish Museum. This is what grieved him most as a painter. As he made the latter remark, M. Roque asked: "Are you not yourself the painter of a very notable picture?" "Perhaps! What is it?" "It represents a lady in a costume—faith!—a little light, with a purse, and a peaco*k behind." Frederick, in his turn, reddened. Pellerin pretended that he had not heard the words. "Nevertheless, it is certainly by you! For your name is written at the bottom of it, and there is a line on it stating that it is Monsieur Moreau's property." One day, when Père Roque and his daughter were waiting at his residence to see him, they saw the Maréchale's portrait. The old gentleman had even taken it for "a Gothic painting." "No," said Pellerin rudely, "'tis a woman's portrait." Martinon added: "And a living woman's, too, and no mistake! Isn't that so, Cisy?" "Oh! I know nothing about it." "I thought you were acquainted with her. But, since it causes you pain, I must beg a thousand pardons!" Cisy lowered his eyes, proving by his embarra**ment that he must have played a pitiable part in connection with this portrait. As for Frederick, the model could only be his mistress. It was one of those convictions which are immediately formed, and the faces of the a**embly revealed it with the utmost clearness. "How he lied to me!" said Madame Arnoux to herself. "It is for her, then, that he left me," thought Louise. Frederick had an idea that these two stories might compromise him; and when they were in the garden, Mademoiselle Cécile's wooer burst out laughing in his face. "Oh, not at all! 'twill do you good! Go ahead!" What did he mean? Besides, what was the cause of this good nature, so contrary to his usual conduct? Without giving any explanation, he proceeded towards the lower end, where the ladies were seated. The men were standing round them, and, in their midst, Pellerin was giving vent to his ideas. The form of government most favourable for the arts was an enlightened monarchy. He was disgusted with modern times, "if it were only on account of the National Guard"—he regretted the Middle Ages and the days of Louis XIV. M. Roque congratulated him on his opinions, confessing that they overcame all his prejudices against artists. But almost without a moment's delay he went off when the voice of Fumichon attracted his attention. Arnoux tried to prove that there were two Socialisms—a good and a bad. The manufacturer saw no difference whatever between them, his head becoming dizzy with rage at the utterance of the word "property." "'Tis a law written on the face of Nature! Children cling to their toys. All peoples, all animals are of my opinion. The lion even, if he were able to speak, would declare himself a proprietor! Thus I myself, messieurs, began with a capital of fifteen thousand francs. Would you be surprised to hear that for thirty years I used to get up at four o'clock every morning? I've had as much pain as five hundred devils in making my fortune! And people will come and tell me I'm not the master, that my money is not my money; in short, that property is theft!" "But Proudhon——" "Let me alone with your Proudhon! if he were here I think I'd strangle him!" He would have strangled him. After the intoxicating drink he had swallowed Fumichon did not know what he was talking about any longer, and his apoplectic face was on the point of bursting like a bombshell. "Good morrow, Arnoux," said Hussonnet, who was walking briskly over the gra**. He brought M. Dambreuse the first leaf of a pamphlet, bearing the title of "The Hydra," the Bohemian defending the interests of a reactionary club, and in that capacity he was introduced by the banker to his guests. Hussonnet amused them by relating how the dealers in tallow hired three hundred and ninety-two street boys to bawl out every evening "Lamps,"[H] and then turning into ridicule the principles of '89, the emancipation of the negroes, and the orators of the Left; and he even went so far as to do "Prudhomme on a Barricade," perhaps under the influence of a kind of jealousy of these rich people who had enjoyed a good dinner. The caricature did not please them overmuch. Their faces grew long. This, however, was not a time for joking, so Nonancourt observed, as he recalled the d**h of Monseigneur Affre and that of General de Bréa. These events were being constantly alluded to, and arguments were constructed out of them. M. Roque described the archbishop's end as "everything that one could call sublime." Fumichon gave the palm to the military personage, and instead of simply expressing regret for these two murders, they held disputes with a view to determining which ought to excite the greatest indignation. A second comparison was next instituted, namely, between Lamoricière and Cavaignac, M. Dambreuse glorifying Cavaignac, and Nonancourt, Lamoricière. Not one of the persons present, with the exception of Arnoux, had ever seen either of them engaged in the exercise of his profession. None the less, everyone formulated an irrevocable judgment with reference to their operations. Frederick, however, declined to give an opinion on the matter, confessing that he had not served as a soldier. The diplomatist and M. Dambreuse gave him an approving nod of the head. In fact, to have fought against the insurrection was to have defended the Republic. The result, although favourable, consolidated it; and now they had got rid of the vanquished, they wanted to be conquerors. As soon as they had got out into the garden, Madame Dambreuse, taking Cisy aside, chided him for his awkwardness. When she caught sight of Martinon, she sent him away, and then tried to learn from her future nephew the cause of his witticisms at the Vicomte's expense. "There's nothing of the kind." "And all this, as it were, for the glory of M. Moreau. What is the object of it?" "There's no object. Frederick is a charming fellow. I am very fond of him." "And so am I, too. Let him come here. Go and look for him!" After two or three commonplace phrases, she began by lightly disparaging her guests, and in this way she placed him on a higher level than the others. He did not fail to run down the rest of the ladies more or less, which was an ingenious way of paying her compliments. But she left his side from time to time, as it was a reception-night, and ladies were every moment arriving; then she returned to her seat, and the entirely accidental arrangement of the chairs enabled them to avoid being overheard. She showed herself playful and yet grave, melancholy and yet quite rational. Her daily occupations interested her very little—there was an order of sentiments of a less transitory kind. She complained of the poets, who misrepresent the facts of life, then she raised her eyes towards heaven, asking of him what was the name of a star. Two or three Chinese lanterns had been suspended from the trees; the wind shook them, and lines of coloured light quivered on her white dress. She sat, after her usual fashion, a little back in her armchair, with a footstool in front of her. The tip of a black satin shoe could be seen; and at intervals Madame Dambreuse allowed a louder word than usual, and sometimes even a laugh, to escape her. These coquetries did not affect Martinon, who was occupied with Cécile; but they were bound to make an impression on M. Roque's daughter, who was chatting with Madame Arnoux. She was the only member of her own s** present whose manners did not appear disdainful. Louise came and sat beside her; then, yielding to the desire to give vent to her emotions: "Does he not talk well—Frederick Moreau, I mean?" "Do you know him?" "Oh! intimately! We are neighbours; and he used to amuse himself with me when I was quite a little girl." Madame Arnoux cast at her a sidelong glance, which meant: "I suppose you are not in love with him?" The young girl's face replied with an untroubled look: "Yes." "You see him often, then?" "Oh, no! only when he comes to his mother's house. 'Tis ten months now since he came. He promised, however, to be more particular." "The promises of men are not to be too much relied on, my child." "But he has not deceived me!" "As he did others!" Louise shivered: "Can it be by any chance that he promised something to her;" and her features became distracted with distrust and hate. Madame Arnoux was almost afraid of her; she would have gladly withdrawn what she had said. Then both became silent. As Frederick was sitting opposite them on a folding-stool, they kept staring at him, the one with propriety out of the corner of her eye, the other boldly, with parted lips, so that Madame Dambreuse said to him: "Come, now, turn round, and let her have a good look at you!" "Whom do you mean?" "Why, Monsieur Roque's daughter!" And she rallied him on having won the heart of this young girl from the provinces. He denied that this was so, and tried to make a laugh of it. "Is it credible, I ask you? Such an ugly creature!" However, he experienced an intense feeling of gratified vanity. He recalled to mind the reunion from which he had returned one night, some time before, his heart filled with bitter humiliation, and he drew a deep breath, for it seemed to him that he was now in the environment that really suited him, as if all these things, including the Dambreuse mansion, belonged to himself. The ladies formed a semicircle around him while they listened to what he was saying, and in order to create an effect, he declared that he was in favor of the re-establishment of divorce, which he maintained should be easily procurable, so as to enable people to quit one another and come back to one another without any limit as often as they liked. They uttered loud protests; a few of them began to talk in whispers. Little exclamations every now and then burst forth from the place where the wall was overshadowed with aristolochia. One would imagine that it was a mirthful cackling of hens; and he developed his theory with that self-complacency which is generated by the consciousness of success. A man-servant brought into the arbour a tray laden with ices. The gentlemen drew close together and began to chat about the recent arrests. Thereupon Frederick revenged himself on the Vicomte by making him believe that he might be prosecuted as a Legitimist. The other urged by way of reply that he had not stirred outside his own room. His adversary enumerated in a heap the possible mischances. MM. Dambreuse and Grémonville found the discussion very amusing. Then they paid Frederick compliments, while expressing regret at the same time that he did not employ his abilities in the defence of order. They grasped his hand with the utmost warmth; he might for the future count on them. At last, just as everyone was leaving, the Vicomte made a low bow to Cécile: "Mademoiselle, I have the honour of wishing you a very good evening." She replied coldly: "Good evening." But she gave Martinon a parting smile. Pére Roque, in order to continue the conversation between himself and Arnoux, offered to see him home, "as well as Madame"—they were going the same way. Louise and Frederick walked in front of them. She had caught hold of his arm; and, when she was some distance away from the others she said: "Ah! at last! at last! I've had enough to bear all the evening! How nasty those women were! What haughty airs they had!" He made an effort to defend them. "First of all, you might certainly have spoken to me the moment you came in, after being away a whole year!" "It was not a year," said Frederick, glad to be able to give some sort of rejoinder on this point in order to avoid the other questions. "Be it so; the time appeared very long to me, that's all. But, during this horrid dinner, one would think you felt ashamed of me. Ah! I understand—I don't possess what is needed in order to please as they do." "You are mistaken," said Frederick. "Really! Swear to me that you don't love anyone!" He did swear. "You love nobody but me alone?" "I a**ure you, I do not." This a**urance filled her with delight. She would have liked to lose her way in the streets, so that they might walk about together the whole night. "I have been so much tormented down there! Nothing was talked about but barricades. I imagined I saw you falling on your back covered with blood! Your mother was confined to her bed with rheumatism. She knew nothing about what was happening. I had to hold my tongue. I could stand it no longer, so I took Catherine with me." And she related to him all about her departure, her journey, and the lie she told her father. "He's bringing me back in two days. Come to-morrow evening, as if you were merely paying a casual visit, and take advantage of the opportunity to ask for my hand in marriage." Never had Frederick been further from the idea of marriage. Besides, Mademoiselle Roque appeared to him a rather absurd young person. How different she was from a woman like Madame Dambreuse! A very different future was in store for him. He had found reason to-day to feel perfectly certain on that point; and, therefore, this was not the time to involve himself, from mere sentimental motives, in a step of such momentous importance. It was necessary now to be decisive—and then he had seen Madame Arnoux once more. Nevertheless he was rather embarra**ed by Louise's candour. He said in reply to her last words: "Have you considered this matter?" "How is that?" she exclaimed, frozen with astonishment and indignation. He said that to marry at such a time as this would be a piece of folly. "So you don't want to have me?" "Nay, you don't understand me!" And he plunged into a confused ma** of verbiage in order to impress upon her that he was kept back by more serious considerations; that he had business on hand which it would take a long time to dispose of; that even his inheritance had been placed in jeopardy (Louise cut all this explanation short with one plain word); that, last of all, the present political situation made the thing undesirable. So, then, the most reasonable course was to wait patiently for some time. Matters would, no doubt, right themselves—at least, he hoped so; and, as he could think of no further grounds to go upon just at that moment, he pretended to have been suddenly reminded that he should have been with Dussardier two hours ago. Then, bowing to the others, he darted down the Rue Hauteville, took a turn round the Gymnase, returned to the boulevard, and quickly rushed up Rosanette's four flights of stairs. M. and Madame Arnoux left Pére Roque and his daughter at the entrance of the Rue Saint-Denis. Husband and wife returned home without exchanging a word, as he was unable to continue chattering any longer, feeling quite worn out. She even leaned against his shoulder. He was the only man who had displayed any honourable sentiments during the evening. She entertained towards him feelings of the utmost indulgence. Meanwhile, he cherished a certain degree of spite against Frederick. "Did you notice his face when a question was asked about the portrait? When I told you that he was her lover, you did not wish to believe what I said!" "Oh! yes, I was wrong!" Arnoux, gratified with his triumph, pressed the matter even further. "I'd even make a bet that when he left us, a little while ago, he went to see her again. He's with her at this moment, you may be sure! He's finishing the evening with her!" Madame Arnoux had pulled down her hat very low. "Why, you're shaking all over!" "That's because I feel cold!" was her reply. As soon as her father was asleep, Louise made her way into Catherine's room, and, catching her by the shoulders, shook her. "Get up—quick! as quick as ever you can! and go and fetch a cab for me!" Catherine replied that there was not one to be had at such an hour. "Will you come with me yourself there, then?" "Where, might I ask?" "To Frederick's house!" "Impossible! What do you want to go there for?" It was in order to have a talk with him. She could not wait. She must see him immediately. "Just think of what you're about to do! To present yourself this way at a house in the middle of the night! Besides, he's asleep by this time!" "I'll wake him up!" "But this is not a proper thing for a young girl to do!" "I am not a young girl—I'm his wife! I love him! Come—put on your shawl!" Catherine, standing at the side of the bed, was trying to make up her mind how to act. She said at last: "No! I won't go!" "Well, stay behind then! I'll go there by myself!" Louise glided like an adder towards the staircase. Catherine rushed after her, and came up with her on the footpath outside the house. Her remonstrances were fruitless; and she followed the girl, fastening her undervest as she hurried along in the rear. The walk appeared to her exceedingly tedious. She complained that her legs were getting weak from age. "I'll go on after you—faith, I haven't the same thing to drive me on that you have!" Then she grew softened. "Poor soul! You haven't anyone now but your Catau, don't you see?" From time to time scruples took hold of her mind. "Ah, this is a nice thing you're making me do! Suppose your father happened to wake and miss you! Lord God, let us hope no misfortune will happen!" In front of the Théâtre des Variétés, a patrol of National Guards stopped them. Louise immediately explained that she was going with her servant to look for a doctor in the Rue Rumfort. The patrol allowed them to pa** on. At the corner of the Madeleine they came across a second patrol, and, Louise having given the same explanation, one of the National Guards asked in return: "Is it for a nine months' ailment, ducky?" "Oh, damn it!" exclaimed the captain, "no blackguardisms in the ranks! Pa** on, ladies!" In spite of the captain's orders, they still kept cracking jokes. "I wish you much joy!" "My respects to the doctor!" "Mind the wolf!" "They like laughing," Catherine remarked in a loud tone. "That's the way it is to be young." At length they reached Frederick's abode. Louise gave the bell a vigorous pull, which she repeated several times. The door opened a little, and, in answer to her inquiry, the porter said: "No!" "But he must be in bed!" "I tell you he's not. Why, for nearly three months he has not slept at home!" And the little pane of the lodge fell down sharply, like the blade of a guillotine. They remained in the darkness under the archway. An angry voice cried out to them: "Be off!" The door was again opened; they went away. Louise had to sit down on a boundary-stone; and clasping her face with her hands, she wept copious tears welling up from her full heart. The day was breaking, and carts were making their way into the city. Catherine led her back home, holding her up, kissing her, and offering her every sort of consolation that she could extract from her own experience. She need not give herself so much trouble about a lover. If this one failed her, she could find others. Footnotes [H] The word also means "grease-pots."—Translator.