Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (62 page)

Under the green leaves of a pineapple, in the middle of the table-cloth, lay a dorade, with its head pointing towards a haunch of venison and its tail just grazing a mound of crayfish. Figs, huge cherries, pears, and grapes (the first fruits from Parisian hothouses) rose like pyramids in trays of old Saxon china. Here and there a bunch of flowers mingled with the shining silver. The white silk blinds, drawn down in front of the windows, filled the room with a soft 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 diplomat and the old Duchesse, who was elbow to elbow with Fumichon. Then came the painter, the earthenware dealer, and Mademoiselle Louise; and, thanks to Martinon, who had taken his place to be near Cécile, Frédéric found himself beside Madame Arnoux.

She wore a black barège gown, a gold bracelet 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 on occasion?”

“Why should I think of you?”

Frédéric was hurt by these words.

Perhaps, “You are right, 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 memory of her.

“I don’t believe a single word of it, Monsieur.”

“And yet, you know that I love you!”

Madame Arnoux made no reply.

“You know that I love you!”

She still kept silent.

“Well, then, go to blazes!” said Frédéric to himself.

And, as he raised his eyes, he caught sight of 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 too high and her collar cramped her neck. This lack of elegance had, no doubt, contributed to the coldness which Frédéric 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 three words out of her, so that, finally giving up on trying to please, he listened to the conversation which was now on the subject of pineapple purees at the Luxembourg.

Louis Blanc, according to Fumichon, owned a large house in the Rue Saint-Dominique, which he refused to rent to the workers.

“For my part, what I find funny,” said Nonancourt, “is Ledru-Rollin hunting on the royal estates.”

“He owes twenty thousand francs to a gold-smith!” Cisy interposed, “and ’tis said that—”

Madame Dambreuse stopped him.

“Ah! how dreadful to be getting hotheaded over politics! and for such a young man, too! Pay attention rather to your fair neighbour!”

After this, the serious-minded guests attacked the newspapers. Arnoux took it upon himself to defend them. Frédéric 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 jokers; he claimed to be acquainted with journalists, and combatted his friend’s generous sentiments with sarcasm.

Madame Arnoux did not notice that this was said through a feeling of spite against her.

Meanwhile, the Vicomte was racking his brain to find a way to conquer Mademoiselle Cécile. He began by finding fault with the shape of the decanters and the engraving on the knives, in order to show his artistic tastes. Then he talked about his stables, 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 an even better fashion. Talking at a monotonous pace and without taking his eyes off of her, he praised, her birdlike profile, her dull blond hair, and her hands, which were unusually short and stubby. 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 death penalty was abolished for political crimes. They ought to have all these scoundrels put to death together. “They’re cowards too,” said Fumichon. “I don’t see anything brave about taking shelter behind a barricade.”

“Speaking of that, tell us about Dussardier,” said M. Dambreuse, turning towards Frédéric.

The worthy shop-assistant was now a hero, like Sallesse, the brothers Jeanson, the wife of Pequillet, etc.

Frédéric, without waiting to be pressed, related his friend’s story, which shed a reflected glory on him.

Then they came quite naturally to refer to various acts of courage.

According to the diplomat, it was not hard to face death, 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 Frédéric,” returned Arnoux, in a very low tone.

“Do you know anything about it, Mademoiselle?” said Nonancourt quickly, and he related her reply to Madame Dambreuse, who, bending forward a little, began to fix her gaze on Frédéric.

Martinon did not wait for Cécile’s questions. He informed her that this affair concerned a woman of questionable character. The young girl drew back slightly in her chair, as if to escape from contact with such a libertine.

The conversation started up again. The great wines of Bordeaux were sent round, and the guests became animated. Pellerin had a grudge against 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 the painter of a very notable picture?”

“Perhaps! What is it?”

“It shows a lady in a costume—faith!—a little skimpy, with a purse, and a peacock behind her.”

Frédéric, 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 woman who is very much alive! Isn’t that so, Cisy?”

“Oh! I know nothing about it.”

“I thought you were acquainted with her. But, since it makes you uncomfortable, I must beg a thousand pardons!”

Cisy lowered his eyes, proving by his embarrassment that he must have played a sorry part in connection with this portrait. As for Frédéric, the model could only be his mistress. It was one of those convictions which are immediately formed, and the faces of the assembly revealed it with the utmost clarity.

“How he lied to me!” said Madame Arnoux to herself.

“It is for her, then, that he left me,” thought Louise.

Frédéric had an idea that these two stories might compromise him; and when they were in the garden, he reproached Martinon with his indiscretion. Mademoiselle Cécile’s wooer burst out laughing in his face.

“Oh, not at all! it will 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 far end, where the ladies were seated. The men were standing round them, and, in their midst, Pellerin was spouting his ideas. The form of government most favourable for the arts was an enlightened monarchy. He was disgusted with modern times, “if only on account of the National Guard”—he looked back regretfully to 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 caught his attention.

Arnoux tried to prove that there were two Socialisms—a good one and a bad one. The manufacturer saw no difference whatsoever between them, his head becoming dizzy with rage at the mere mention of the word “property.”

“ ’Tis a law written on the face of Nature! Children cling to their toys. All peoples, all animals share my opinion. The lion even, if he were able to speak, would declare himself a landowner! Thus I myself, messieurs, began with 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 exploding like a bombshell.

“Good day, Arnoux,” said Hussonnet, who was walking briskly across the grass.

He brought M. Dambreuse the first sheet 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 candlemakers hired three hundred and ninety-two street urchins to bawl out every evening “Light up!” and then by ridiculing the principles of ’89, the emancipation of the negroes, and the orators of the Left; and he even went so far as to do a skit on “Prudhomme on a Barricade,”
¹¹
perhaps under the influence of a kind of simple-minded jealousy of these rich people who had enjoyed a good dinner. The caricature did not please them too much. Their faces grew long.

This, however, was not a time for joking, so Nonancourt observed, as he recalled the death of Monseigneur Affre and that of General de Bréa. These events were being constantly alluded to, and arguments were made about them. M. Roque described the archbishop’s conduct in his final moments as “everything that one could call sublime.” Fumichon gave the palm to the soldier, and instead of simply expressing regret for these two murders, they discussed them with a view to determining which excited the greatest indignation. A second comparison came next, namely, between Lamoricière and Cavaignac, M. Dambreuse glorifying Cavaignac, and Nonancourt, Lamoricière.
^cl

Not one of the persons present, with the exception of Arnoux, had ever seen either of them at work. None the less, everyone formulated an irrevocable judgment with reference to their activities.

Frédéric, however, declined to give an opinion on the matter, confessing that he had not served as a soldier. The diplomat 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, strengthened the republican cause; and now that they had gotten rid of the vanquished, they also wanted to be rid of the conquerors.

As soon as they had gone 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 isn’t any.”

“And all this, as it were, for the glory of M. Moreau. What is the reason for it?”

“There’s no reason. Frédéric is a charming fellow. I am very fond of him.”

“And so am I. Bring him here. Go and look for him!”

After two or three commonplace remarks, she began by lightly criticizing her guests, and in this way she placed him on a higher level than the others. He did not fail to put down the rest of the ladies a little, which was a subtle way of paying her compliments. But she left his side from time to time, as it was a reception-night, and ladies were constantly arriving; then she returned to her seat, and the fortuitous arrangement of the chairs enabled them to avoid being overheard.

She showed herself to be playful and yet serious, melancholy and yet quite rational. Her daily occupations interested her very little—there was a whole category of feelings of a more lasting nature. She complained about poets, who misrepresent the facts of life, then she raised her eyes towards heaven, asking him the name of a star.

Two or three Chinese lanterns had been suspended from the trees; the wind shook them, and rays of coloured light flickered across her white dress. She sat, in 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 sex present whose manners did not appear disdainful. Louise came and sat beside her; then, yielding to the desire to open her heart: