Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (68 page)

The clerk in the office showed him a plan which indicated the different classes of interment, and a programme giving full particulars with regard to the aesthetic details of the funeral. Would he like to have an open funeral-car or a hearse with plumes, ribbons on the horses, and aigrettes on the footmen, initials or a coat-of-arms, funeral-lamps, a man to display the family distinctions? and what number of carriages would he require?

Frédéric did not economise in the slightest degree. Madame Dambreuse was determined to spare no expense.

After this he made his way to the church.

The curate in charge of burials found fault with the waste of money on an ornate funeral.

For instance, the officer for the display of armorial distinctions was really useless. It would be far better to have a goodly display of candles. A low mass accompanied by music would be appropriate.

Frédéric gave written directions to have everything that was agreed upon carried out, with a solid commitment to pay all the expenses.

He went next to the Hotel de Ville to purchase a burial plot. A plot which was two metres in length and one in breadth cost five hundred francs. Did he want a grant for fifty years or forever?

“Oh, forever!” said Frédéric.

He took the matter seriously and went to a lot of trouble over it. In the courtyard of the mansion a marble-cutter was waiting to show him estimates and plans of Greek, Egyptian, and Moorish tombs; but the family architect had already been in consultation with Madame; and on the table in the vestibule there were all sorts of prospectuses with reference to the cleaning of mattresses, the disinfection of rooms, and the various processes of embalming.

After dining, he went back to the tailor’s shop to order mourning clothes for the servants; and he had still to discharge another function, for the gloves that he had ordered were of beaver, whereas the right kind for a funeral were floss-silk.

When he arrived next morning, at ten o’clock, the large reception-room was filled with people, and nearly everyone said, on encountering the others, in a melancholy tone:

“It is only a month ago since I saw him! Good heavens! it will be the same way with us all!”

“Yes; but let us try to keep it as far away as possible!”

Then there were little smiles of satisfaction; and they even engaged in conversations entirely unsuited to the occasion. Finally, the master of the ceremonies, in a black coat in the French fashion and short breeches, with a cloak, mourning-bands, a long sword by his side, and a three-cornered hat under his arm, spoke, with a bow, the customary words:

“Messieurs, if you please.”

The funeral started. It was the market-day for flowers on the Place de la Madeleine. The weather was clear and mild; and the breeze, which shook the canvas tents, puffed out the edges of the enormous black cloth which was hung over the portal. M. Dambreuse’s coat of arms, which covered a square piece of velvet, was repeated there three times. It was: Sable, with an arm sinister and a
clenched hand with a
glove
argent,
with the coronet of a count, and this motto: By every path.

The bearers lifted the heavy coffin to the top of the staircase, and they entered the building. The six chapels, the apse, and the seats were hung with black. The catafalque at the bottom of the choir formed, with its large candles, a single blaze of yellow lights. At the two corners, over the candelabra, flames of spirits of wine were burning.

The persons of highest rank took up their position in the sanctuary, and the rest in the nave; and then the Mass began.

With the exception of a few, the religious ignorance of all was so profound that the master of the ceremonies had, from time to time, to make signs to them to rise, to kneel, or to resume their seats. The organ and the two double-basses could be heard alternately with the voices. In the intervals of silence, the only sounds that reached the ear were the mumblings of the priest at the altar; then the music and the chanting went on again.

The daylight shone dimly through the three cupolas, but the open door let in a stream of white radiance, which, entering in a horizontal direction, fell on every uncovered head; and in the air, half-way towards the ceiling of the church, floated a shadow, which was penetrated by the reflection of the gilding that decorated the ribs of the pendentives and the foliage of the capitals.

Frédéric, in order to pass the time, listened to the
Dies iræ.
He gazed at those around him, or tried to catch a glimpse of the pictures hanging too far above his head, wherein the life of Mary Magdalen was represented. Luckily, Pellerin came to sit down beside him, and immediately plunged into a long dissertation on the subject of frescoes. The bell began to toll. They left the church.

The hearse, adorned with hanging draperies and tall plumes, set out for Père-Lachaise
^cu
drawn by four black horses, with their manes braided with ribbons, their heads decked with tufts of feathers, and with large trappings embroidered with silver flowing down to their hooves. The driver of the vehicle, in Hessian boots, wore a three-cornered hat with a long crape ribbon. The ropes were held by four people: a treasurer of the Chamber of Deputies, a member of the General Council of the Aube, a delegate from the coal-mining company, and Fumichon, as a friend. The carriage of the deceased and a dozen mourning-coaches followed. The guests came in the rear, filling up the middle of the boulevard.

The passers-by stopped to look at the mournful procession. Women, with their children in their arms, got up on chairs, and people, who had been drinking glasses of beer in the cafés, came to the windows with billiard-cues in their hands.

The route was long, and, as at formal meals where people are at first reserved and then expansive, the general atmosphere soon relaxed. They talked of nothing but the refusal of a grant by the Chamber to the President. M. Piscatory had shown himself to be too harsh; Montalembert had been “magnificent, as usual,”
^cv
and MM. Chamballe, Pidoux, Creton, in short, the entire committee would be compelled perhaps to follow the advice of MM. Quentin-Bauchard and Dufour.

This conversation was continued as they passed through the Rue de la Roquette, with shops on each side, in which could be seen only chains of coloured glass and black discs covered with patterns and gold letters—which made them look like caves full of stalactites and china shops. But, when they had reached the cemetery-gate, everyone instantly stopped speaking.

The tombs among the trees: broken columns, pyramids, temples, dolmens, obelisks, and Etruscan vaults with doors of bronze. Some contained a sort of funereal boudoir, with rustic armchairs and folding-stools. Spider webs hung like rags from the little chains of the urns; and the bouquets of satin ribbons and the crucifixes were covered with dust. Everywhere, between the balustrades on the tombstones, were crowns of immortelles and candle sticks, vases, flowers, black discs set off with gold letters, and plaster statuettes—little boys or little girls or little angels suspended in the air by brass wires; several of them even had a zinc roof overhead. Huge cables made of glass strung together, black, white, or blue, descended from the tops of the monuments to the ends of the flagstones in long coils, like boas. The rays of the sun, striking them, made them glitter in the midst of the black wooden crosses. The hearse advanced along the broad paths, which are paved like the streets of a city. From time to time the axles creaked. Women, kneeling down, with their dresses trailing in the grass, addressed the dead in tones of tenderness. Little white plumes of smoke arose through the green leaves of the yew trees. These came from offerings that had been left behind, waste material that had been burnt.

M. Dambreuse’s grave was close to the graves of Manuel and Benjamin Constant.
^cw
The soil in this place slopes with an abrupt decline. One has a lofty view of the tops of green trees, further down the chimneys of steam-pumps, then the entire great city.

Frédéric found an opportunity of admiring the scene while the various speeches were being delivered.

The first was in the name of the Chamber of Deputies, the second in the name of the General Council of the Aube, the third in the name of the coal-mining company of Saone-et-Loire, the fourth in the name of the Agricultural Society of the Yonne, and there was another in the name of a Philanthropic Society. Finally, just as everyone was leaving, a stranger began reading a sixth address, in the name of the Amiens Society of Antiquaries.

And thereupon they all took advantage of the occasion to denounce Socialism, of which M. Dambreuse had died a victim. It was the effect produced on his mind by the exhibitions of anarchy, together with his devotion to order, that had shortened his days. They praised his intellectual powers, his integrity, his generosity, and even his silence as a representative of the people, “for, if he was not an orator, he possessed instead those solid qualities a thousand times more useful,” etc., with all the requisite phrases—“Premature end; eternal regrets; the better land; farewell, or rather no,
au revoir!”

The clay, mingled with stones, fell on the coffin, and he would never again be a subject for discussion in society.

They did still continue talking about him as they left the cemetery and they were not embarrassed to say what they really thought about him. Hussonnet, who would have to give an account of the interment in the newspapers, joked about the speeches, for, in truth, the worthy Dambreuse had been one of the most notable palm-greasers of the last reign. Then the citizens were driven in the mourning-coaches to their places of business; the ceremony had not lasted very long, thank God.

Frédéric returned to his own home quite worn out.

When he presented himself next day at Madame Dambreuse’s residence, he was informed that she was busy below stairs in the room where M. Dambreuse had kept his papers.

The filing cabinets, the different drawers were open in disarray, and the account-books had been flung about right and left. A roll of papers which were labelled “Bad debts” lay on the ground. He was near falling over it, and picked it up. Madame Dambreuse had sunk back in the armchair, so that he did not see her.

“Well? where are you? What is the matter!”

She sprang to her feet with a bound.

“What is the matter? I am ruined, ruined! do you understand?”

M. Adolphe Langlois, the notary, had sent her a message to call at his office, and had informed her about the contents of a will made by her husband before their marriage. He had bequeathed everything to Cécile; and the other will was lost. Frédéric turned very pale. No doubt she had not made a sufficient search.

“Well, then, look yourself?” said Madame Dambreuse, pointing at the objects around the room.

The two strong-boxes were gaping wide, having been broken open with blows of a cleaver, and she had turned over the desk, rummaged in the cupboards, and shaken the straw-mattings, when, all of a sudden, letting out a piercing cry, she dashed into a corner where she had just noticed a little box with a brass lock. She opened it—nothing!

“Ah! the swine! I, who took such devoted care of him!”

Then she burst into sobs.

“Perhaps it is somewhere else?” said Frédéric.

“Oh! no! it was there! in that strong-box. I saw it there lately. ’Tis burned! I’m certain of it!”

One day, in the early stage of his illness, M. Dambreuse had gone down to this room to sign some documents.

“ ’Tis then he must have done the deed!”

And she fell back on a chair, crushed. A mother grieving beside an empty cradle was not more woeful than Madame Dambreuse was at the sight of the open strong-boxes. Indeed, her sorrow, in spite of the baseness of the motive which inspired it, appeared so deep that he tried to console her by reminding her that, after all, she was not reduced to sheer poverty.

“It is poverty, when I am not in a position to offer you a large fortune!”

She had not more than thirty thousand francs a year, without taking into account the mansion, which was worth from eighteen to twenty thousand, perhaps.

Although to Frédéric this would have been opulence, he felt, none the less, a certain amount of disappointment. Farewell to his dreams and to the grand life he would have led! Honour compelled him to marry Madame Dambreuse. For a minute he reflected; then, in a tone of tenderness:

“I’ll always have you!”

She threw herself into his arms, and he clasped her to his chest with an emotion in which there was a slight element of admiration for himself

Madame Dambreuse, whose tears had ceased to flow, raised her face, beaming all over with happiness, and seizing his hand:

“Ah! I never doubted you! I knew I could count on you!”

This anticipated certainty with regard to what he considered a noble action annoyed the young man.

Then she brought him into her own room, and they began to make plans for the future. Frédéric should now consider the best way of advancing himself in life. She even gave him excellent advice with reference to his candidature.

The first point was to learn two or three phrases on political economy. It was necessary to take up a specialty, such as horse-breeding, for example; to write a number of notes on questions of local interest, to have always at his disposal post-office appointments or tobacco licenses and to do a host of small services. In this respect M. Dambreuse had shown himself a true model. Thus, on one occasion, in the country, he had drawn up his wagonette, full of friends of his, in front of a cobbler’s stall, and had bought a dozen pairs of shoes for his guests and for himself a dreadful pair of boots, which he had the heroism to wear for an entire fortnight. This anecdote put them into a good humour. She related others, with a renewal of grace, youthfulness, and wit.