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The Bashful Lover (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XIX)

by Paul de Kock · English · Gutenberg #41225 · 655,403 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Bashful Lover (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XIX)

Author: Paul de Kock


        
Release date: October 29, 2012 [eBook #41225]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BASHFUL LOVER (NOVELS OF PAUL DE KOCK VOLUME XIX) ***




Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)







[Illustration: Copyright 1904 by G. Barrie & Sons.]

_CHÉRUBIN IN A DILEMMA_

_He tried to retrace his steps, but Madame de
Noirmont and her daughter had seated themselves
in front of him and closed the way by which he had
come; so that he was blockaded in a very confined
space, which he could not leave except by compelling
the ladies in front of him to rise._




NOVELS

BY

Paul de Kock

VOLUME XIX

THE BASHFUL LOVER

PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH

GEORGE BARRIE’S SONS

THE JEFFERSON PRESS

BOSTON NEW YORK

_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._




THE BASHFUL LOVER

    Shyness is a failing for which it is
    dangerous to reprove those whom we
    wish to correct of it.

    _Maxims_ of LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.




PART I




I

AN OLD YOUNG HUSBAND AND WIFE


It was the year 1818, I will not say of happy memory, because I do not
remember whether that year was happier than other years; probably it was
so to certain people, and just the opposite to others; and sometimes,
often, I may say almost always, the same cause produces contrary
results; that is to say, the thing that causes one person’s happiness
causes the unhappiness of another person.

But this has been so in all times, and doubtless it will continue to be
so till the end of time, assuming that time is to have an end. Nature
loves contrasts; I cannot guess why, but that does not prevent me from
believing that she is right, for Nature always does perfectly whatever
she does.

It was, then, the year 1818.

In an old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain, situated on I do not know
what street,--and that is of little importance,--a large company was
assembled; they were dancing, enjoying themselves--or, at least,
pretending to do so, which is not always the same thing; in short, it
was a wedding party, the wedding of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain
and Mademoiselle Aménaïde Dufoureau.

There was a choice orchestra, in which, however, there were no cornets,
because that instrument had not then acquired a commanding position in
our ballrooms; there was a select company also; the dancing was marked
by that decency, that gravity, that good-breeding which prevents French
dancing from being amusing, and which has given rise to the saying that
the merriest people on earth dance with the least indication of
merriment.

It is true that since that time a certain much more décolleté dance has
found its way from the dance hall to the masked ball, and from the
masked ball has insinuated itself into some salons; a dance which would
be fascinating, and which would have a genuine character of its own,
were it not that most of the people who dance it substitute burlesque
for grace and indecency for _abandon_. But that dance was not in
evidence at Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain’s wedding.

And then the bridegroom did not set the example for the dancers; he did
not run from one to the other, inviting them to dance and offering them
his hand. After opening the ball with his wife, he had thrown himself
into an immense easy-chair, contented to watch the others, smiling at
the ladies and beating time with his head.

You are surprised without doubt at the bridegroom’s behavior, and you
would like to know the explanation; your surprise will cease when I tell
you that on his wedding day Monsieur de Grandvilain was entering his
sixty-ninth year. At that age you will understand that a man is no
longer one of those inveterate dancers who refuse to leave the floor,
one of those dancers who engage partners for six quadrilles ahead.

Perhaps now you will say that monsieur le marquis was as old for
marriage as for balls; that it is folly to marry at sixty-nine years.

In the first place, what do you know about it? Has it ever happened to
you? And even if it be folly, what harm is there in it, if it makes one
happy? The maddest people are sometimes the wisest. Let us marry so long
as we are inclined, and let us dance as long as we can. Cato learned to
dance at sixty. Plato praises dancing; and you must be well aware that
King David gambolled in front of the Ark of the Covenant. I agree that
that was a strange way to manifest his faith and devotion, and I am glad
to think that, at all events, David did not know the dance which I have
just mentioned.

Let us return to the groom. Monsieur de Grandvilain deserved a different
name from the one which he bore: he was of medium height and well
proportioned; he had once had a fine figure, and he still possessed a
well-shaped leg and sufficient calf for a man about to marry. His face,
although it was a little like a sheep’s, lacked neither dignity nor
charm; his features were regular, his eyes had been very fine, and they
had retained an amiable expression; lastly, his smile was still passably
mischievous.

You see that that gentleman still retained many good qualities, and that
it was very excusable for him to have thought of marrying in order to
turn them all to some account.

Aménaïde Dufoureau, who had given her hand to Monsieur de Grandvilain,
was entering her forty-fourth year and had hitherto remained single.

Single! do you realize the full force of that word? It indicates an
inexperienced heart, an inexperienced soul, an untried love, and
charms--like all the rest! A single maiden of forty-four, and a flower
that has never been plucked! But what a flower, great heaven! and what a
long time it has had to go to seed!

For my part, I confess with all humility that I should prefer ten
married women at that age to one flower which has been left so long on
its stalk.

Probably Monsieur de Grandvilain did not agree with me. Opinions are
free, and if we all had the same opinions, it would be very tiresome,
because we should no longer have the pleasure of arguing and disputing.

Monsieur de Grandvilain had known Mademoiselle Aménaïde Dufoureau in
1798. At that time she was only twenty-four years old; it is to be
presumed that her heart was at least as fresh as at forty-four; and it
is certain that her face was more so.

At that time Aménaïde was a very pretty young woman, slender, graceful
and ethereal; her black eyes, level with her face, gleamed with health
and animation; her mouth, which was a little large, laughed frequently
to display a double row of faultless teeth; and although her nose was a
little coarse, her forehead a little low, and her complexion a little
dark, Mademoiselle Dufoureau might have passed for a very attractive
person.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, who was forty-nine at that time, and considered
himself still a young man, because he had retained the tastes and the
temperament of a young man, had met Aménaïde in society and had paid
court to her; but with the frivolity of a man accustomed to making
conquests, with the self-assurance of a rake who had never found women
cruel, and with the fatuity of a marquis, who thought that he bestowed
much honor upon a young woman of the middle class by allowing his eyes
to rest upon her.

Mademoiselle Dufoureau was, in fact, only a simple bourgeoise; her
parents, worthy tradespeople, had died, leaving her fifteen hundred
francs a year and excellent principles.

The fifteen hundred francs a year was but a slender fortune; but
combined with the young lady’s virtue and innocence, it formed a
marriage portion which some very wealthy young women would be sorely at
a loss to offer their husbands.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, still proud and magnificent, fluttered about
that flower of twenty-four years.

Mademoiselle Aménaïde found monsieur le marquis very agreeable; she was
flattered to be noticed by him; and she even allowed him to see that her
heart was not indifferent to his homage. But when she discovered that
Monsieur de Grandvilain had no idea of making her a marchioness, she
proudly repulsed him, saying:

“For what do you take me, monsieur?”

The marquis, offended by her resistance, turned on his heel, humming a
tune from _Blaise et Babet_, an opera-comique, then in great vogue; the
operas of those days abounded in tunes which were easily remembered, and
were sung and whistled on the streets. Other times, other music!

Monsieur de Grandvilain carried elsewhere his glances, his passions, his
homage and his heart. Mademoiselle Aménaïde Dufoureau concealed in the
depths of her heart her regrets, her sighs, and her ardor.

Think how fortunate men are! A woman resists them, they simply apply
elsewhere, and they always end by finding a place for their love, which
they offer to every pretty face they see. They are like those people who
have their pockets full of money and say to themselves: “I will buy
whatever I please, I will have the best and finest things I can find,
for I pay cash!” On the other hand, virtuous women are obliged to ask
for credit; for they are willing to promise their love, but they do not
propose to give it at once.

Six years passed, during which monsieur le marquis, passing constantly
from conquest to conquest, spending his time in a life of pleasure, did
not again see poor Aménaïde Dufoureau, who led a very tranquil, very
modest life, and did not frequent the society in which Monsieur de
Grandvilain moved.

At the end of that time, an outdoor fête in the suburbs of Paris brought
about a meeting between those two people who had ceased to seek each
other. The marquis still found Aménaïde attractive, and Aménaïde could
not restrain a sigh or two, which indicated that the past had not been
entirely forgotten.

Once more the marquis played the amiable seducer; he thought that the
flower of thirty years would be plucked more easily than that of
twenty-four; but he was mistaken; he encountered the same virtue, the
same resistance, as before, and yet she did not conceal from him that
she loved him. She desired to be a marchioness, however, and she did not
propose to give herself to anybody but her husband.

Once more our seducer turned on his heel. He travelled; he was away from
France six years. When he returned, he was much less active, much less
volatile; his bearing was still distinguished, but his step was slow and
heavy. However, although he was then sixty-one years old, the marquis
believed himself still to be very fascinating; there are people who
refuse to grow old; they are perfectly right, but in that case it is
time which is in the wrong.

Monsieur de Grandvilain once more met Aménaïde Dufoureau; she was still
unmarried, although she had seen thirty-six springs.--We must never
reckon except by springs, for that gives an air of youth.--Had she
remained unmarried for lack of opportunity to marry, or because she had
preferred to keep her heart for the marquis? We are too gallant not to
believe that it was for the last reason, and the marquis probably
thought the same, because that flattered his self-esteem.

Aménaïde was no longer so slender, so graceful or so willowy as she was
at twenty-four, but she was still fresh enough, and her eyes, while
losing their vivacity, had become more tender. Monsieur de Grandvilain,
always pleased to meet the only woman over whom he had not triumphed,
began again to pay court to the flower of thirty-six years. But he was
no more fortunate, and that was certain to be the case. After having had
the strength to resist him when he was young and good-looking, it was
not probable that she would falter when he was old and faded. Monsieur
de Grandvilain, still haughty and pretentious, turned on his heel once
more, swearing that he would never return again, and that he would carry
his homage elsewhere.

Poor old fellow, who had passed his sixtieth year, and who believed
himself still capable of inconstancy! The opportunities to forget
Aménaïde no longer offered themselves; time passed and brought no
distraction; all the ladies became as cruel to the marquis as
Mademoiselle Dufoureau, and our old rake said to himself:

“It is amazing how the fair sex changes! women no longer have such
susceptible hearts as they used to have!”

At last the marquis decided to return to Aménaïde; she was approaching
her forty-fourth spring, and Monsieur de Grandvilain said to himself:

“If I wait until her springs become more numerous, she will strongly
resemble a winter. I am beginning to be old enough to settle down.
Mademoiselle Dufoureau is not of noble birth, but she is virtuous; for
twenty years she has loved me, and that deserves a reward; I will marry
her.”

And our lover of sixty-nine years at last offered his hand to the maiden
whom he might have married twenty years earlier.

When Mademoiselle Dufoureau heard him offer her his heart and his
sixty-nine years, she was tempted to reply:

“It is hardly worth while to marry now!”

But she accepted him; and that is why the wedding of those old lovers
was celebrated in the hôtel de Grandvilain, in the year 1818.




II

A LITTLE GRANDVILAIN


When a man marries at sixty-nine, can he look forward to having heirs,
to living again in his children? It seems to me not; however, it is
probable that such men always look forward to it.

When such a thing happens, when an old man’s wife becomes a mother,
jests rain down upon the husband; but the puns and jocose remarks go
astray sometimes; in such a case, even if you do not choose to believe,
it is very difficult to prove that you are wrong.

“An ass can deny more than a philosopher can prove.”

About five months after Aménaïde Dufoureau had become Madame de
Grandvilain, she went to her husband one morning, blushing, with
downcast eyes and an embarrassed air, and informed him that she hoped to
present him with a pledge of her love.

Monsieur de Grandvilain uttered a cry of joy; he rose, ran about the
room, tried to perform a pirouette, and fell to the floor; but madame
assisted him to rise, and he began again to indulge in innumerable
follies, for the pleasure he felt made him forget his age. He was proud
to have a child, and with good reason, especially as his wife’s virtue
was like that of Caesar’s wife: it was absolutely above suspicion.

From that moment, they devoted all their attention to the child that was
not yet born.

Monsieur le marquis was persuaded that it would be a boy. And in order
to believe that, he said to himself: “Good fortune never comes singly.”

Madame la marquise was overjoyed to have a child. Boy or girl, she was
certain of loving it equally; but in order to please her husband she too
pretended to count on a boy.

“I will nurse him myself!” cried Aménaïde, smiling at her husband.

“Yes, yes, we will nurse him!” repeated the marquis; “we will raise him
better than any nurse could do. What the devil! people like us ought to
understand such things better than peasants; we will make a hearty blade
of him! for I want my son to resemble his father in everything.”

As he spoke, the old marquis stuck out his leg and tried to play the
exquisite. Since he had known that his wife was enceinte, he fancied
that he was twenty years old once more.

They bought a magnificent layette for the little one which was expected;
they made great preparations to receive that scion of Monsieur de
Grandvilain becomingly; and the intoxication which they felt was
perfectly natural: if a young couple celebrate the birth of their
child, surely they have much more reason to do so who have no hope of a
repetition of such an occurrence.

As the time approached when madame la marquise was to become a mother,
the more her old husband overwhelmed her with attentions and care; it
went so far sometimes that Madame de Grandvilain lost her appetite with
her freedom of action. Monsieur le marquis would not allow her to go out
on foot, he was apprehensive of the least fatigue, he watched to see
that she ate nothing that might injure her; and his espionage became
sheer cruelty to her who was the object of it, for the marquis detected
peril in the simplest thing, and it was at once irrevocably forbidden;
so that, toward the end of her pregnancy, Madame de Grandvilain was
given nothing but bread soup, the only sort of food which, according to
Monsieur de Grandvilain, was not dangerous for his wife. There was a
physician in attendance on the marchioness who prescribed an entirely
different diet; but the marquis depended more on himself than on the
physician, and as he grew older, he became very obstinate.

The great day arrived at last; and it was high time, for the poor
marchioness was not at all reconciled to eating nothing but bread soup.
Aménaïde brought a son into the world.

Monsieur de Grandvilain did not feel strong enough to remain with his
wife while she was in the pains of childbirth; but a servant, who had
first been a jockey, then a groom, then his master’s valet, and who had
now reached the age of fifty years, hastened to carry him the great
news.

When he caught sight of his old Jasmin, whose red and blotched face wore
a more stupid expression than usual, the marquis cried:

“Well, is it all over, Jasmin?”

“Yes, monsieur le marquis, it’s done! Ah! we had a very hard time, but
it’s all right at last.”

Everyone knows that the old servants in great families are in the habit
of saying _we_, when speaking of their master’s affairs, and Monsieur de
Grandvilain forgave his former jockey for employing that form of
expression.

“What! it is all over, Jasmin? Ah! the poor marchioness! But go on, you
villain! what is it?”

“It is something magnificent, monsieur, you will be well pleased!”

“But the sex, you rascal, the sex; hasn’t the child any sex?”

“Oh! yes, indeed! a superb sex! we have been delivered of a boy, my dear
master.”

“A boy, Jasmin? a boy! Oh! what happiness! but I said so; I was sure of
it; I would have bet on it; don’t I always know what I am doing?”

“You are very clever, monsieur le marquis.”

“A boy--I have a son--I have an heir to my name! Jasmin, I will give you
a present of ten crowns for bringing me this good news.”

“Thanks, my dear master. Vive les Grandvilains!”

“I have a boy--such pleasure--such--Ah! I can’t stand it any longer.
Jasmin, pass me my phial of salts--no, give me a small glass of madeira;
I feel as if my heart were stopping.”

“Come, come, monsieur le marquis, pull yourself together,” said Jasmin,
as he handed a glass of madeira to his master. “This is not the time to
be ill.”

“You are right; but what can you expect?--the shock, the joy--This is
the first time I have ever been a father,--to my knowledge, at
least--and it produces such an impression! Pray tell me some details
while I recover myself; for I haven’t the strength to go to my wife as
yet.”

“Well, monsieur le marquis, understand that I had stationed myself
outside madame’s door, so that I might come and tell you as soon as the
child was born; for I thought that you would be impatient to know about
it.”

“Very good, Jasmin; go on, go on.”

“After some time I heard cries. I was tempted to run away, but I held my
ground, and to give myself courage, I took a good pinch of snuff.
Suddenly the door opened; it was the doctor. He was looking for someone;
he saw me and motioned for me to go in. I obeyed.”

“What! you went into madame la marquise’s room, you rascal, while----”

“No, monsieur, I stayed in the little reception room. Everybody was
excited; the nurse, the lady’s maid,--that great idiot of a Turlurette
had chosen to be ill instead of making herself useful----”

“That proves her attachment to my wife; go on.”

“I beg pardon, monsieur, I must blow my nose first. Well, I was called
to help Turlurette; and as I was much more anxious about madame, I
asked:

“‘First tell me if we are delivered.’

“‘Yes,’ the doctor replied.

“‘Well then, what have we?’

“‘Look, you idiot.’

“As he spoke, the doctor put a little bundle in my arms. Just imagine,
monsieur, that at first I thought it was a cheese. It was round and it
had a funny smell; but on looking at it closely, I found it was a little
boy, just out of his shell.”

“What does this mean, Jasmin? What! it was my son that you mistook for a
cheese?”

“Bless my soul! when one has never seen a new-born child before,
monsieur,--and it was the first one that I ever saw.”

“Take my son for a cheese! You are a stupid lout, and you shall have no
present!”

“O monsieur le marquis! it isn’t that I regret the money, but I didn’t
think that I had deserved your anger; especially, as on looking at the
little boy that I had in my arms, I saw with delight that he has all our
features--he is the living image of us!”

“What! the living image of _us_!--Have you been drinking, Jasmin?”

“Pardon me, monsieur le marquis, but it is my affection that carries me
away! When I say we, my dear master knows very well that I mean him! In
fact, it is your noble face, monsieur, your fine aquiline nose, your
pretty little chin; and he will have your fine teeth, which you no
longer have. I would bet that he will have them.”

The old marquis could not help smiling, and he replied in a milder tone:

“The dear child!--Well, I promised you a present, and you shall have it.
I know that you are a faithful servant, my poor Jasmin, but you should
be careful what you say when you are speaking of your master’s son.”

“The little fellow is a real Love, monsieur. Ah! if I could have suckled
him, how happy I would have been!”

“I feel strong enough to go to see my wife and my son now. Come, Jasmin,
escort me.”

“Yes, monsieur, let us go to see our child.”

The old marquis, overjoyed to be born again at seventy, rose, took his
valet’s arm, and tried to run to his wife’s apartment; but as both
master and servant were heavy of foot, their progress was confined to a
rather swift walk, which did not, however, prevent them from being out
of breath when they reached the marchioness’s room.

Monsieur hastened forward to embrace madame, shedding tears of joy; and
in his emotion, he fell upon her bed, from which they had all the
difficulty in the world to raise him, because happiness changed his legs
and arms to cotton. When they had succeeded in placing Monsieur de
Grandvilain in a chair, he asked for a glass of madeira in order to
restore his strength and put him in a condition to embrace his son.
Jasmin went again to fetch the madeira; he filled a glass for his
master, and one for himself also, to drink which he retired behind a
long window curtain, finding that he too needed to replenish his
strength.

“And now, where is my son?” said the marquis in a trembling voice,
glancing about the room.

“He will be brought to you in a moment, monsieur,” said the buxom
Turlurette; “the nurse is fixing him to show you.”

“I don’t want him to be dressed,” said the marquis; “on the contrary, I
want to see him naked; then I shall be better able to judge of his
strength, of his constitution.”

“Yes, yes,” said Jasmin, “we shall be very glad to see what we have
made!”

“You hear, Turlurette,--tell the nurse to bring me my son as naked as a
worm.”

“Yes, let her bring him to us at once, like a savage, without any
fig-leaf.”

“Jasmin, will you be good enough to keep your tongue quiet for a
moment?”

“I beg pardon, monsieur le marquis; it is my impatience to admire our
dear love.”

Turlurette made haste to perform her errand, and the nurse soon
appeared, carrying before her a large basin, wherein the new-born child,
entirely naked, moved about and stretched out at pleasure its little
pink and white limbs.

The nurse handed the child to the marquis, as the keys of a city used in
the old days to be presented to a conqueror.

At sight of his son, Monsieur de Grandvilain uttered a joyful cry, and
put out his arms to take him; but his emotion caused another attack of
faintness; he had not the strength to take the child, but fell back in
his chair. Meanwhile, the nurse, thinking that the father was going to
take what she held out to him, had relaxed her hold of the child and the
basin alike, and both would have fallen to the floor if stout Turlurette
had not luckily caught the child by the part which presented itself
first to her grasp.

The bowl fell to the floor and broke into a thousand pieces. When she
heard the crash, madame la marquise thought that her son was killed.

“My child! what has happened to him?”

“Nothing, madame,” said Turlurette, giving the little boy to her
mistress; “he didn’t fall; I caught him by--I got hold of him.”

“The dear love! I had a terrible fright!--Great heaven! Turlurette, what
a very strange way to hold the child!”

“Bless me! it’s very lucky that I caught hold of him as I did! If it
hadn’t been so, he might have fallen with the basin, and God knows if he
wouldn’t have been smashed like it.”

While all this was taking place, Jasmin, seeing his master lying back in
his chair, pale and trembling, hastily poured out another glass of
madeira for him, and then retired behind the curtain once more.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, having recovered his strength for the third
time, took the child whom Turlurette still held, and embraced him
heartily; then held him up in the air, exclaiming:

“So this is my son! my heir! Corbleu! I was sure that I should have a
son.”

But the marchioness, fearing that her husband would faint again, and
that he would then drop the child altogether, begged him to sit down
beside her bed; Monsieur de Grandvilain complied, and then began to turn
the child over and over, scrutinizing every part.

“What a lovely child!” he cried; “and to think that I begot him!”

“Yes, we begot him!” muttered Jasmin, who stood behind his master’s
chair, with the bottle of madeira in his hand, in case of an emergency.

“How plump and pink he is; what pretty little calves!”

“Faith, I haven’t as much calf as that now!” said Jasmin, glancing at
his own legs.

“What a pretty little round head!”

“One would swear that it was a Dutch cheese,” muttered Jasmin; but
luckily for him, his master did not hear his reflection that time, or it
would have caused the suppression of his present for good and all.

“He is built like an Apollo!--and he has--why, it is herculean! Look,
Jasmin,--see how--how he has developed already!”

“It is marvelous,” said Jasmin, who, after examining the proportions of
the child, made mentally the same reflection that he had made on the
subject of his legs.

After Monsieur de Grandvilain had thoroughly scrutinized his son _per
fas et nefas_, he handed him to his spouse, saying:

“By the way, my dear love, what shall we call him?”

“That is what I have been thinking of, my dear husband, ever since he
was born.”

“My son must have a noble name. My own name is Sigismond; that is a good
name, but I don’t like the idea of sons having their fathers’ names;
that leads to mistakes, until you don’t know where you are.”

“Listen, monsieur le marquis, the most appropriate name for the dear
love would be Chérubin. What do you say to that? Isn’t it a very pretty
name?”

“Chérubin!” said the marquis, shaking his head; “that is very girlish;
there is nothing warlike about it.”

“Why, monsieur, what’s the necessity of giving a warrior’s name to our
son? That would have been very well in Napoléon’s time, but now it is no
longer the fashion; let us call our son Chérubin, I beg you!”

“Marchioness,” replied the marquis, kissing his wife’s hand, “you have
given me a son and I can refuse you nothing. His name shall be Chérubin;
that rather reminds one of the _Mariage de Figaro_; but after all,
Beaumarchais’s Chérubin is an attractive little rascal; all the women
dote on him, and it would not be a bad thing if our son should resemble
the little page.”

“Yes, yes,” murmured Jasmin, who stood behind his master’s chair,
swaying from side to side, for the visits behind the curtain had begun
to make his legs unsteady. “Yes, Chérubin is very nice; it rhymes with
Jasmin.”

The marquis turned, and was tempted to strike his servant; but he,
finding that he had made another foolish speech, assumed such a piteous
expression that his master simply said to him:

“You are impertinent beyond all bounds to-day, Jasmin!”

“I beg pardon, monsieur le marquis, it is my delight, my enthusiasm. I
am so happy, that it seems to me that everything in the room is
dancing.”

At that moment Turlurette appeared and said that all the servants in the
house had assembled and requested permission to offer their mistress a
bouquet, and their master their congratulations.

The marquis ordered his servants to be admitted.

They arrived in single file, and Jasmin, as the oldest, at once placed
himself at their head and began a complimentary harangue of which he
could not find the end, because he lost control of his tongue. But he
made the best of it, and cut his speech short by crying:

“Long live monsieur le marquis’s son and his august family!”

All the servants repeated this cry, tossing their hats or caps into the
air. Once more Monsieur de Grandvilain was deeply moved, tears came to
his eyes, and, fearing another attack of weakness, he motioned to
Jasmin, who, anticipating his command, instantly handed him a glass of
madeira.

The marquis drank it; then he thanked his people, gave them money and
sent them away to drink to the health of the newly-born. Jasmin left the
room with them, carrying a bottle of madeira, the rest of which he drank
before he joined his comrades. And that evening, the marquis’s valet was
completely drunk, and monsieur le marquis had himself taken something to
restore his strength so frequently, that he was obliged to retire
immediately on leaving the dinner table.

But one does not have a child every day, especially when one has reached
the age of seventy years.




III

JASMIN ARRANGES A SURPRISE


Little Chérubin’s baptism took place a few days after his birth; on that
occasion there were more festivities in the old mansion.

The marquis was open-handed and generous; those qualities are ordinarily
found in libertines. He spent money lavishly, and told Jasmin to despoil
the cellar. The valet, whose blotched nose betrayed his favorite
passion, promised his master to carry out his orders to the letter.

A select and fashionable company came to attend the baptism of little
Chérubin. The salons were resplendent with light; the guests chatted,
played cards, and then went to see the mother, and to admire her little
one--but not more than two at a time, for such was the doctor’s order.

The child, who had come into the world so plump and fresh and rosy, was
beginning to grow thin and yellow; one could still rave over his pretty
face, but no longer over his health.

And yet the marquis’s son was the object of the incessant care of his
mother, who had the most intense affection for him, who kept him
constantly by her side, and would not allow him to be out of her sight
for a single moment.

All this was very well; but children are not to be brought up with
affection, caresses, kisses and sweet words: nature demands a more
substantial nourishment; now, that which madame la marquise supplied to
her first-born was evidently of poor quality, and not only was not
abundant but was exceedingly deficient in quantity. In short, whether
because the bread soup diet had impaired Madame de Grandvilain’s
health--which was very probable--or for some entirely different reason,
concealed or apparent, it was a fact that little Chérubin’s mamma had
only a very little wretched milk to give her son, who had come into the
world with a hearty appetite.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau said that a mother should nurse her child, that it
was a crime to put the poor little creatures in the hands of mercenary
persons who could not have a mother’s affection for them and simply made
a business of hiring out their bodies; and in support of that argument
he cited the animals, which nurse their young themselves and never seek
others to replace them.

But, in the first place, we might remind Jean-Jacques that animals lead
a regular life--regular, that is to say, according to their nature and
their physical strength. Have you ever heard of lionesses, she-bears, or
cats even, passing their nights at balls, giving receptions, and dining
out frequently? I think not; nor have I!

We may be allowed then to insist upon a difference between animals and
men; and despite our profound regard for the philosopher of Geneva, we
will say to him further, that in this world of ours there are positions,
trades, branches of business, which make it impossible for a woman to
perform that maternal duty to which he insists that all women should
submit. When a woman, in order to earn her living, is obliged to sit all
day at a desk, or to work constantly with her needle, how do you expect
her to take her child in her arms every instant? There is a still
stronger reason for her not doing it, if her health is poor and failing.

Nurses sell their milk, you say, and never have a mother’s affection for
a strange child.

In the first place, it is not proved that a nurse does not love her
nursling dearly; there is every reason to believe, on the contrary, that
she becomes attached to the little creature whose life she sustains; and
after all, even if it were simply a matter of business, has the baker
any affection for the people to whom he sells bread? But that does not
prevent us from living on that bread.

Philosophers, men of genius, aye, even the greatest men, sometimes put
forth propositions which are far from being orthodox; and they make
mistakes like other men.

But there are people who take for very noble thoughts everything which
comes from the pen of a man who has written great things. Such people
are very generous. We rarely find gold without alloy; and can man
produce what Nature cannot produce? There are people also, who, when
they walk through a cemetery, believe in the truth of all the
inscriptions carved upon the tombs, according to which the people there
interred were models of virtue, goodness, uprightness, etc., etc. I have
infinite respect for the dead, but I do not see the necessity of trying
to deceive the living. Those who are no more were no better than we, and
we are no better than those who will come after us.

We were saying then that little Chérubin was no longer as beautiful as
an angel, although he bore the name of one; but that did not prevent all
those who went to pay their respects to the mother from complimenting
her upon her child. Honest Aménaïde listened with a sweet smile to all
the flattering words which were addressed to her son. Meanwhile,
Monsieur de Grandvilain lay back in an easy-chair, patted his legs, and
shook his head, and looked at the ladies with an air which seemed almost
to say:

“When you want one like him, apply to me.”

Luckily for him, none of the ladies was tempted to put him to the proof.

About ten o’clock in the evening, just as the doctor was urging Madame
de Grandvilain not to admit any more people to her room, and to try to
sleep, there was a sudden uproar in the courtyard, and a bright light
shone in the windows; then, something as brilliant as lightning shot
through the air.

It was the work of Jasmin, who, to celebrate the baptism of his master’s
son, had conceived the idea of a display of fireworks in the courtyard,
in order to afford the marquis and all his guests a pleasant surprise;
and who had just discharged a mortar and then a rocket, to attract
everybody to the windows.

In fact, the explosion of the mortar had caused a profound sensation in
the house; everyone thought it was the roar of cannon; the mother leaped
up in her bed, the child in its cradle, monsieur le marquis in his
chair, and all the guests, wherever they were. They gazed at each other
with a terrified expression, saying:

“What is it? What a noise! It is cannon! There must be fighting in
Paris!”

“Fighting?”

“Great heaven! can it be that the usurper has come back again?”

Remember that this happened in the year 1819, and that in the mansions
of Faubourg Saint-Germain, Napoléon was ordinarily referred to as the
usurper.

There was a moment of confusion in the salon; some of the men talked of
running to arms, others looked about for their hats, the women ran after
the men, or prepared to faint, and some talked in undertones, in
corners, with young men, whom, up to that time, they had pretended
barely to look at.

There are people who make the most of every opportunity and turn every
circumstance to advantage. Such people are necessarily those who have
the most presence of mind.

Amid the commotion, they heard a shrill voice in the courtyard:

“We are going to discharge a few fireworks in honor of the baptism, and
to celebrate the birth, of the son of our worthy master, Monsieur le
Marquis de Grandvilain and Madame la Marquise de Grandvilain, his
spouse.”

No sooner were these words heard, than a sudden change took place on
every face, except those of the people who were talking in corners. The
men laughed uproariously, the ladies threw aside the shawls and hats
which they had hastily donned, and ran to look at themselves in the
mirrors, for coquetry is the first sentiment that wakes in the ladies
when the others are still benumbed. Then everybody ran to the windows,
saying:

“Fireworks! it is fireworks! Oh! what a delightful surprise!”

“Yes,” said the old Marquis de Grandvilain, who had been more frightened
than all the others together, “yes, it is a pleasant idea of that devil
of a Jasmin. But he ought to have notified me that he intended to
surprise me, for then I should have expected it, and it would have--have
surprised me less.”

The guests were all at the windows, the ladies in front, the men behind
them, so that they were obliged to lean over a little to see; but
everybody seemed well pleased, and nobody would have changed his place
for another.

The marquis sat alone at a window in his wife’s room.

“You will not be able to see the pieces down below, my dear love,” he
said, “but I will explain them to you, and you will be able to see the
rockets and serpents perfectly from your bed.”

“Suppose it frightens Chérubin?” said the marchioness, placing her son’s
cradle at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t be afraid, marchioness; my son will take after me, he will love
the noise and smell of powder.”

Meanwhile, Jasmin, who had followed his master’s orders by levying
freely on the cellar, and had made himself, as well as his comrades,
very nearly tipsy, seemed to have gone back to his twentieth year; he
walked about the courtyard, amid the fireworks, like a general amid his
troops.

In the farthest corner of the courtyard the mortars had been placed;
they were the heavy artillery, and no more were to be fired until the
finale. But as sparks, falling in that direction, might land inside the
mortars and set them off before the time for which they were held in
reserve, the cook, who was a careful man, and who was acting as Jasmin’s
second in command, had brought from his kitchen saucepan covers, a
frying-pan, and a dish-pan, and had placed them over the mortars, which
were made like stove pipes, but of different dimensions, according to
the amount of powder they contained: so that the frying-pan was placed
on the largest one, the dish-pan on a smaller size, and the saucepan
covers on the smallest ones, all to prevent sparks or lighted fragments
of rockets from falling into the mortars.

Jasmin glanced from window to window; he waited till everybody was
placed before beginning.

The cook, who was no less impatient than the old valet, and whose brain
was excited by the marquis’s wine, stood near the fireworks with a
lighted slow-match in one hand, while with the other he pushed his
cotton cap over his left ear.

Meanwhile, stout Turlurette and two other servants were dancing about a
transparency representing a moon, which Jasmin declared to be a portrait
of young Chérubin.

“They are all there! everybody’s at the windows, and we can set them
off,” said Jasmin, after a last glance at the house.

“Yes, yes, begin,” said Turlurette. “Oh! isn’t it going to be fine?”

“No women here!” cried the cook in a determined tone; “you will make us
do some foolish thing; go up to the second floor, young women.”

“Oh! he told me that he would let me fire off one little petard at
least; didn’t you, Monsieur Jasmin?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Jasmin; “everybody must have a good time to-day; it is
for our young master! Turlurette shall fire a little rocket; that is the
least we can do for her; but not now, later.--Ready, cook, let us begin;
to our fireworks!”

The display began with a serpent or two, Bengal fire, and rockets; the
guests looked on, and when any piece seemed to be aimed at a window, the
ladies drew back with little exclamations of alarm, blended with bursts
of laughter; the men encouraged them, taking their hands and pressing
them; I am not sure that they took nothing else; however, the ladies
consented to be reassured, resumed their places, applauded and were
highly pleased; while the old marquis at his window, said to his wife:

“My dear love, it is superb! it is beautiful! it is dazzling! I am sorry
that you are so far away.”

“But, my dear, suppose it should set the house on fire!”

“Don’t be afraid; Jasmin is prudent; he has undoubtedly notified the
firemen at the station close by; besides, the courtyard is very large
and there is no danger.”

The loving Aménaïde was not thoroughly comforted; she would have
preferred that there should be no fireworks to celebrate the baptism;
but everybody seemed pleased, and she dared not deprive the company of
the pleasure which they took in the spectacle.

Soon applause rose on all sides; Jasmin had just lighted the
transparency with the moon, calling out as he did so:

“A portrait of our child, young Chérubin de Grandvilain.”

At that everybody applauded on trust, although they squinted in vain to
discover a face painted in the moon on the transparency; but they
ascribed that to the smoke, and several persons went so far as to cry
out:

“It is very like, on my word! anyone could recognize it! A very pretty
idea! such things as this are not seen anywhere except at the Marquis de
Grandvilain’s.”

While the company was admiring the transparency, Mademoiselle
Turlurette, still intent upon her idea of setting off something, went to
Jasmin and said:

“Give me your slow-match, it’s my turn; what am I going to set off?”

“Here, Mademoiselle Turlurette, set fire to this sun. But aren’t you
afraid?”

“Me, afraid! oh, no! just show me where to light it.”

“See, here is the match.”

Stout Turlurette took the slow-match which Jasmin handed to her, and
held it to the wick which protruded from the sun. Despite all the
courage which she was determined to display, the stout girl was terribly
excited, for she had never set off a piece of fireworks before. After
she had touched the match which she had in her hand to the place pointed
out to her, when she heard the powder hiss and the flame sputter close
beside her, a sudden terror took possession of Turlurette; fancying that
she was being burned by the sparks from the sun, she ran across the
courtyard, holding her dress up with one hand, as if she were trying to
make a belt of it, and with her lighted slow-match still in the other.
The latter she threw down, without looking, in the first convenient
spot.

The sun produced a great effect; it whirled about like a top, and
everybody at the windows applauded. Some said:

“It is as pretty as at Tivoli.”

Another exclaimed:

“It is almost as fine as the fireworks we have at our house, in my park,
on my birthday.”

And the old marquis leaned far out of the window, crying:

“Bravo! I am much pleased, my children! You may regale yourselves again
after the fireworks.”

But Monsieur de Grandvilain had hardly ceased speaking when there was a
terrible report, and the old mansion was shaken to its foundation; it
was caused by all the mortars, large and small, exploding at the same
moment, because stout Turlurette, in her alarm, had thrown her
slow-match into the midst of the heavy pieces which were reserved for
the finale.

If the mortars had simply been discharged, nothing worse would have
happened than the premature occurrence of an explosion held in reserve
for the end of the fête; but unfortunately, when they took fire, they
were still covered by the various kitchen implements which the cook had
placed over them as a precautionary measure; and at the same moment that
the sudden report took everybody by surprise, even those who were
managing the fireworks, the frying-pan, the dish-pan, and the saucepan
covers were hurled through the air with terrific force.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, who had just been thanking his servants, had an
ear carried away by the frying-pan, which entered the bedroom and fell
at the foot of his wife’s bed. Several of the guests were struck by
saucepan covers; a pretty woman had four teeth broken, a young dandy who
was leaning over her had his nose split in the middle, which gave him
later the appearance of a Danish dog; and on all sides there was nothing
but shrieks, lamentations and imprecations. Even those who had sustained
no injury shouted louder than the others:

“This is what comes of allowing servants to discharge fireworks. The
cook put all his cooking utensils in the mortars; it is very lucky that
it didn’t occur to him to blow up his ovens.”

The guests had had quite enough; they all took their leave, some to have
their wounds dressed, others to tell of what had taken place at Monsieur
de Grandvilain’s.

During the disaster, Jasmin had received the dish-pan on his head, after
it had made an excursion through the air; and the faithful valet’s face
was covered with burns and bore a striking resemblance to a skimmer.
That did not prevent him from appearing with a piteous air before his
master, who was looking for his ear.

“Monsieur,” said the valet, “I am in despair; I don’t understand how it
all came about--but it wasn’t finished; there is the bouquet to
come--and if you would like----”

The marquis, in a frenzy of rage, raised his cane upon Jasmin, and would
listen to no more; while Madame de Grandvilain half rose in her bed and
said to the poor valet in an imposing voice:

“In my husband’s name, I forbid you henceforth to fire anything of any
sort in our house.”




IV

A NEW WAY OF BRINGING UP CHILDREN


The display of fireworks for little Chérubin’s baptism put an end to all
the festivities at the hôtel de Grandvilain. The marquis succeeded in
finding his ear, but it was impossible to put it in place again, so that
he was obliged to resign himself to the necessity of closing his career
with a single ear, a most disagreeable thing when one has worn two for
seventy years.

Aménaïde had conceived a horror of fireworks, rockets, in fact, of the
slightest explosion; the most trifling noise made her faint; it went so
far that nobody was allowed to uncork a bottle in her presence.

Jasmin continued to wear the aspect of a skimmer, but he soon consoled
himself therefor; the old valet had long since laid aside all pretension
to please the fair sex; the little holes with which his face was riddled
did not interfere with his drinking, and to him that was the principal
point.

Mademoiselle Turlurette had received no wound, and yet she deserved
better than any of the others to be struck by a saucepan cover at least,
for she was the author of all the disasters that had happened in the
house. But no one suspected how the thing took place, and Turlurette
confined herself to expressing the most profound detestation of
fireworks.

And so tranquillity had returned to the hôtel de Grandvilain, where they
received many fewer guests since the last festivity; for the young women
and the dandies feared to lose their teeth, or to have their noses slit.

The marquis was at liberty to devote all his time to the care of his
son, and little Chérubin demanded much care; for he became weak and
sickly and sallow, and at three months he was vastly smaller than when
he came into the world. Turlurette, who had weighed him at that time,
was certain of the fact, and one day she said to Jasmin in an undertone:

“It’s very funny, but madame’s boy is melting away, so that you can see
it! He weighs five ounces less to-day than he did the day he was born!”

Jasmin gave a leap when he heard that his master’s child was melting
away instead of increasing in size, and he said to Turlurette:

“If this goes on, before long he won’t weigh anything at all. You must
tell madame that the little fellow is falling off.”

“Oh, yes! so that madame may torment herself, and so that she won’t be
able to feed her son at all. No indeed, I will take pains not to tell
her.”

“But, mademoiselle, it’s for the child’s good!”

“But I don’t choose to make madame feel badly.”

Jasmin made up his mind like a devoted servant: he went to his master.
Monsieur de Grandvilain was lying on his couch, enveloped in his
morning gown; his head was covered with a jaunty green velvet cap, which
he was careful to place over the ear which he no longer had. For some
time the old marquis had had the habit of moving his jaws, as one does
when one is sucking or eating something, and that constant movement gave
his face the appearance of a nut-cracker. Those persons who were not
aware of this trick of the marquis, waited, before speaking to him, for
him to finish swallowing what he was chewing; but they waited in vain,
for the jaws continued to make the same movement.

Since the occasion of the fireworks, Monsieur de Grandvilain had treated
his valet with less affability. However, Jasmin’s face bore so many
scars that his master could hardly bear him ill-will for an accident of
which he had been the second victim.

“What do you want of me, Jasmin?” said Monsieur de Grandvilain, when he
saw that his valet stood before him with an embarrassed air.

“Monsieur, I hope that you will excuse me for what I am going to say,
but it is my attachment for you and our young marquis that has decided
me to speak.”

“I am aware of your attachment, Jasmin, although the proofs of it which
you have given me have sometimes had unfortunate results.”

As he spoke, Monsieur de Grandvilain scratched the place where his ear
should have been.

“Well, what have you to tell me?”

Jasmin glanced about him, walked closer to his master, and said in a low
voice and with a mysterious air:

“Let me tell you, monsieur, that your son is melting----”

The old man fell back on his couch and gazed anxiously at his servant,
exclaiming:

“Melting! my son! Great heaven! has he fallen into the stove?”

“When I say melting, my dear master, I mean simply falling away, that he
has lost five ounces, neither more nor less, since the day he was born.”

“The devil take you, Jasmin, you gave me a horrible fright! I wonder if
you will never be any less stupid!”

“It was my attachment for you, monsieur, that made me think that I ought
to tell you. Turlurette has weighed our little Chérubin, and she is sure
of what she says. She doesn’t dare to tell madame, but I thought it was
better to tell you; for if the child goes on like this, in a few months
he won’t weigh anything at all.”

Monsieur de Grandvilain sadly shook his head.

“In truth,” he said, “my son is not making any progress. He is taking on
a yellowish color that surprises me, for both his mother and I are very
white. Ah! my poor Jasmin, I am beginning to think that we should have
children when we are young, because then they inherit our strength.”

“Nonsense, monsieur! You are strong enough! You are a perfect horse when
you choose! Our Chérubin was magnificent when he was born, as you must
remember. If he is doing badly now, it’s only because he doesn’t eat
enough. Madame fondles him and pets him--that’s all very well; but
perhaps the little rascal would prefer some wine and a cutlet.”

“A cutlet! Are you mad, Jasmin? Whoever heard of giving cutlets to
children three months old?”

“Perhaps it would be better for them than milk, no one knows. If I was a
nurse, I’d try the experiment.”

“In truth, Jasmin, you recall to my mind the fact that the grandfather
of our good Henri IV gave his son wine to drink a few moments after he
was born; and it did the child no harm; far from it, for Henri IV was a
regular devil in every way. Judging from that, I believe that my son,
who is past three months, might safely swallow a drop of generous wine.”

“Surely, monsieur, wine can never do any harm, and you have such good
wine! Our little Chérubin, instead of turning yellow, will become a very
devil like the great king; and if with that you would venture to let him
suck a cutlet----”

“The wine will be enough, with a little beef juice perhaps. If only
madame la marquise will consent to let the child change his food!”

“Why, look you, monsieur, the little fellow is our son, after all! If
madame doesn’t give him enough to eat, we have the right to do as we
please. Deuce take it! A man doesn’t have a child every day, and if you
should have to try it over again, I think that----”

“Yes, Jasmin, yes, I will be firm. As my heir’s welfare is at stake, I
will show my strength of character.”

And monsieur le marquis, rising from his couch, betook himself to his
wife’s apartment, leaning on the arm of Jasmin, who repeated constantly
on the way:

“Give him wine to drink, monsieur, give him some good strong soups to
eat, and I will bet that within a month he will have recovered his five
ounces!”

Madame de Grandvilain had not dared to confess to her husband that she
had no milk to give their son; she had bought nursing bottles, and when
the marquis was not there, the child was given the bottle; but as soon
as his father arrived, she played nurse again, and little Chérubin was
given a sterile bosom, which supplied him with no nourishment.

When Monsieur de Grandvilain unexpectedly entered madame’s chamber, as
she was not looking for her husband at that moment, she did not have
time to put the bottle out of the way, and Chérubin was still attached
to it.

“What’s this, my dear love?” said monsieur le marquis, scrutinizing what
his son was sucking.

“My dear,” said madame, sorely confused, “it’s a supplement.”

“A supplement! The deuce, my dear love, you use a supplement, and
without letting me know?”

“My dear, there are times when my milk doesn’t flow freely, and we must
not let this dear little fellow suffer on that account.”

“Certainly not, madame, but if you had only confessed to me sooner that
you use a supplement, I, for my part, should not have hesitated to tell
you that I wished to change our son’s diet. He is not making progress,
marchioness, that is evident. I believe that milk is not what he needs.
I am less surprised since I find that it is not yours. In short, I
propose to try another method; I propose to give my son wine to drink.”

“Wine, my dear! Can you think of such a thing! A child of three months!”

“Who was magnificent when he came into the world, and who is visibly
pining away with your bottle. I will give him claret, that is a mild and
generous wine. If that works well, later we will try burgundy.”

“But, monsieur, on the contrary, the very lightest things, ass’s milk,
is what Chérubin needs!”

“Ass’s milk for my son! Fie, madame! I will not listen to such a thing.
Can it be that you would like to make an ass of him? He shall drink
wine.”

“He shall drink milk.”

For the first time the husband and wife quarrelled, and neither of them
would give way.

Monsieur de Grandvilain took his son in his arms, carried him to his
room, ordered Jasmin to bring a bottle of old claret, and gave some
spoonfuls of it to his heir.

The child swallowed the wine without making too wry a face; in a few
moments his little cheeks flushed, and the old valet, who was assisting
his master to pour wine into little Chérubin, exclaimed:

“Look, monsieur le marquis, look! already our son’s color is coming
back! He is better already, and recovering his strength. Oh! what an
excellent idea it was to give him wine! Let us go on, master. He turns
his eyes toward us; I think that he wants some more.”

Monsieur de Grandvilain thought that it was better to be prudent the
first time and not to make the dose too large; so he returned to his
wife and gave her the child, saying:

“Madame, Chérubin is better already; his color has come back and his
eyes shine like diamonds. I shall continue what I have begun to-day, and
you will see that our heir will be the better for it.”

Madame made no reply, but as soon as her husband had left the room, she
called Turlurette and said to her:

“Dear Turlurette, just see what a state they have put this poor little
fellow in! He smells frightfully of wine, and I believe that he is
tipsy!”

“Why, yes, he really is, madame,” cried the stout girl, after smelling
the child. “That old idiot of a Jasmin is responsible for all this; he’s
a sot himself, and he would like to make everybody drink, even a nursing
child. If you take my advice, madame, you will give the child some syrup
of ipecac. That will make him throw up the wine; it will purge him.”

“No, Turlurette, no! I am afraid of doing my son an injury, and of
angering monsieur le marquis. But I am going to give the dear little
fellow some ass’s milk, and that will correct the ill effects of the
wine.”

The ass’s milk was offered to the child in the bottle. Little Chérubin
drank it without objection, for he had an excellent disposition; he
accepted whatever was offered him, so that the important thing was to
offer him what would be good for him.

This system of nourishment was continued for several days. The marquis
gave his son wine to drink and madame gave him ass’s milk. The child was
very red when he left his father’s hands, but he became very pale again
with his mother. They soon discovered that the dear boy was out of
order, and stout Turlurette added the syringe to all the other remedies;
and Jasmin, determined at all risks to fatten the little Grandvilain,
gave him a piece of pie crust, or a slice of sausage, as soon as he was
left alone with him.

Before little Chérubin had been on this diet of ass’s milk, pie crust
and syringes a month, instead of growing fat, he was in a shocking
condition. The marchioness wept, and Monsieur de Grandvilain decided to
send for a doctor. After examining the child and learning all that they
had been doing to nourish him, the doctor exclaimed in a very severe
tone:

“Allow me to inform you that, if you go on like this, in a week you will
not have any child.”

The marchioness sobbed, the marquis turned green, and they both cried in
one breath:

“What must we do, doctor, to restore our child’s health?”

“What must you do? Why give him a nurse, a good nurse, and send him into
the country with her, and leave him there a long while, a very long
while; that’s what you must do, and at once, this very day; you have no
time to waste if you want to preserve the life of this child.”

The tone in which the doctor spoke admitted no reply; luckily their love
for the child was above all self-esteem, so they were fain to agree that
they had done wrong, and to obey in all haste.

The marquis sent all his people in search of a nurse. The marchioness
herself went about among her acquaintances, asking for information and
advice; but the time passed, and those who were well recommended could
not be obtained at once. As evening approached, they had not succeeded
in finding a nurse; the marchioness and her husband embraced their child
and had no idea what to give him, as they dared not continue to feed him
as they had been doing.

Suddenly Jasmin appeared with a fresh, buxom, red-cheeked peasant woman,
exclaiming:

“I have found what we want, I think; if she doesn’t bring our little one
back to life, faith, I will have nothing more to do with it.”

The nurse whom Jasmin had brought had such an attractive face and seemed
to enjoy such excellent health that they were prepossessed in her favor.
Madame de Grandvilain uttered a joyful cry and handed her child to the
peasant woman, who presented her bosom to him; he took it greedily, like
one who had found what he needed.

The marquis tapped Jasmin on the shoulder, saying:

“You are an invaluable fellow! How did you go to work to discover this
excellent nurse?”

“How did I go to work, monsieur? Why, I just went to the office, on Rue
Sainte-Apolline, and asked for a nurse; I saw nurses of all colors, and
I chose this one. That’s all the difficulty there was about it.”

What Jasmin had done was the simplest thing to do, but ordinarily the
simplest thing is what nobody thinks of doing.

Little Chérubin’s nurse was from Gagny, and as the doctor’s orders were
definite, she returned to her village the next morning, carrying with
her a superb layette, money, gifts, strict orders, and her little
nursling.




V

THE VILLAGE OF GAGNY


Gagny is a pretty village near Villemonble, of which it is a sort of
continuation, and is a little nearer Paris than Montfermeil. When I say
that it is a pretty village, I do not mean by that that the streets are
very straight and well paved, and that all the houses have a uniform,
comfortable, or even elegant aspect; in that case, it would resemble a
small provincial town, and would not be the country with its
picturesqueness and its freedom from constraint.

What I like in a village is the mixture of architectural styles, the
very irregularity of the buildings, which is such a pleasant change from
the monotony of the streets of a capital. What I like to see in a
village is the farmhouse and all its outbuildings, the pond in which
ducks are splashing, the dung-heap with the hens pecking about it; and
then the cottage of the well-to-do peasant, who has had his shutters
painted green, and who allows the vines to climb all about the windows;
the thatched roof of a laborer not far from the fine house of a wealthy
bourgeois; the charming villa of one of our Parisian celebrities; the
humble dwelling of the market gardener; the schoolhouse, the church and
its belfry; and in the midst of all these, tall trees, paths bordered by
hedges of elderberry or wild fruit; hens and roosters strutting
fearlessly before the house; ruddy-cheeked, merry, healthy children
playing in the middle of the streets or squares, with nothing to fear
from carriages and omnibuses; and even the odor of the cow barn, when I
pass by a dairyman’s place; because all these remind you that you are
really in the country; and when you truly love the country, you have a
sense of well-being, a feeling of happiness, the effects of which you at
once realize without any need to try to explain them--effects which you
owe to the pure air which you breathe, to the rustic scenes which rest
your eyes, and to the pleasant freedom which you enjoy!

Gagny offers you all these things. Situated as it is near Raincy, the
forest of Bondy, and the lovely woods of Montfermeil, and only a short
distance from the Marne, whose banks are delightful, especially near
Nogent and Gournay,--in whichever direction you turn your steps when you
leave the village, you find charming walks and beautiful views. The
neighborhood is embellished by some lovely estates: Maison Rouge, Maison
Blanche, and the pretty little château of L’Horloge, flanked by towers
and battlements, which represents in miniature--but in a highly
flattered miniature--the abodes of the ancient feudal lords. Such is the
village of Gagny, which sees every day one more beautiful and
comfortable house built in its neighborhood, where, during the summer,
charming women from Paris, artists, scholars or tradesmen, come to seek
repose from the constant activity of the capital.

I observe that I have been describing Gagny as it is to-day, whereas it
was in the year 1819 that little Chérubin, son of the Marquis de
Grandvilain, was taken there. But after all, the aspect of the village
has not changed, except for some fine houses which did not then exist,
but which are universally admired to-day.

Let us make the acquaintance first of all of the villagers to whose
house our hero was taken.

You know that the nurse who had carried Chérubin away was a buxom
peasant with a fresh round face, and a solid figure, whose corsets
indicated a sufficient supply of food for four marquises and as many
plebeians; but what you do not know is that her name was Nicole
Frimousset, that she was twenty-eight years old, and had three little
boys, and a husband who drove her to despair, although he was a model of
obedience and submission to her will.

Jacquinot Frimousset was of the same age as his wife; he was a stout,
well-built fellow, with broad shoulders and a sturdy, shapely leg; his
round red face, his heavy eyebrows, his bright black eyes, his white,
even teeth would have done credit to a gentleman from the city.
Frimousset was a handsome youth, and seemed to give promise of becoming
a husband capable of fulfilling all the duties which marriage imposes.
Peasant women are not insensible to physical advantages; indeed it is
said that there are ladies--very great ladies--who attach much value to
such bagatelles.

Nicole, who had some property, and a dowry of goodly proportion, could
not lack aspirants; she selected Jacquinot Frimousset, and all the women
in the village exclaimed that Nicole was not squeamish; which meant
doubtless that they too would have been glad to marry Frimousset. But
there is an old proverb which declares that appearances are deceitful.
There are many people who do not choose to believe in proverbs! Those
people make a great mistake. Erasmus said:

“Of all forms of knowledge, there is none older than that of proverbs;
they were like so many symbols which formed the philosophical code of
the early ages; they are the compendium of human verities.”

Aristotle agreed with Erasmus; he thought that proverbs were the remains
of the old philosophy destroyed by the wearing effect of time; and that,
these sentences having been preserved by reason of their conciseness,
far from disdaining them, we should reflect upon them with care, and
search after their meaning.

Chrysippus and Cleanthes wrote at great length in favor of proverbs.
Theophrastus composed a whole volume upon that subject. Among the famous
men who have discussed it are Aristides and Clearchus, disciples of
Aristotle; and Pythagoras wrote symbols which Erasmus ranks with
proverbs; and Plutarch, in his _Apothegms_, collected the wise remarks
of the Greeks.

We might proceed to cite all the authors of modern times who have
written in favor of proverbs, but that would carry us too far, and we
fancy that you will prefer to return to Chérubin’s nurse.

Nicole had never heard of Erasmus, or of Aristotle; we have met people
in the city who have no knowledge concerning those philosophers, and are
none the worse off for that. As a general rule, we should not carry the
study of antiquity too far; what we know about the past often prevents
us from being well informed concerning what is going on to-day.

Nicole soon perceived that when she married Jacquinot she did not
feather her nest very well. The handsome peasant was lazy, careless; in
short, a do-nothing in every sense of the term. Three days after her
marriage, Nicole sighed when she was congratulated upon her choice.

But Frimousset had that rustic cunning which knows how to disguise its
inclinations, its faults, beneath an air of good-humor and frankness
which deceives many people. His wife was lively, active, hard-working;
it required very little time for him to learn her character. Far from
thwarting her in anything, Frimousset seemed to be the most docile, the
most compliant husband in the village; but he carried his servility to a
point which finally irritated Nicole, and that was the very thing he
counted upon.

For instance, in the morning, while his wife was attending to the
housework, Jacquinot, after eating a hearty breakfast, would say to her:

“What do you want me to do now, Nicole?”

And Nicole would reply quickly:

“It seems to me that there’s work enough to do! There’s our field to
plow, and the stones and stumps to be taken out of the piece by the
road, and the garden to be planted. Ain’t that work enough?”

“Yes, yes!” Frimousset would reply, shaking his head; “I know well
enough that it ain’t work that’s lacking; but where shall I begin--in
the field, or the pasture, or the garden? I am waiting for you to tell
me; you know very well that I want to do just what you want me to.”

“My word! what nonsense! Don’t you know enough to know what there’s most
hurry about?”

“Why no! Don’t I tell you that I want you to give me orders as to what I
shall do; I want to do my best to please you, my little wife.”

“Do whatever you want to, and let me alone.”

Frimousset would ask no further questions; when by dint of being
submissive he had irritated his wife, she never failed to say: “Do
whatever you please and let me alone.” Thereupon Nicole’s husband would
go off to the wine-shop and pass the day there. Nicole would look in
vain for him in the pasture and the garden, and at night, when he came
home to supper she would ask:

“Where on earth have you been working? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

And Jacquinot would reply in a cajoling tone:

“Faith, you wouldn’t tell me what work to begin on, and I was afraid of
doing something wrong; I didn’t want to do anything without your
orders.”

With a man of Frimousset’s stamp, comfort, when it exists, soon gives
place to straitened circumstances, and then to poverty; among the small
as among the great, there is no fortune which is large enough to
withstand disorder. After five years of married life, Nicole was obliged
to sell her field and her pasture, all because Monsieur Jacquinot never
knew where to begin when it was a question of working.

Meanwhile Nicole had seen her family increased by three small boys,
healthy boys with excellent appetites. Three children more and several
pieces of land less could not bring comfort to Frimousset’s home. Then
it was that Nicole conceived the idea of becoming a nurse; and as the
peasant was as active and determined as her husband was lazy and
shiftless, her plan was soon carried out.

And that was why Jasmin, when he went to Rue Sainte-Apolline, to the
Nurses’ Bureau, had found the peasant from Gagny, whom he had selected
because of her pleasant face, and whom he had carried in triumph to his
master, the Marquis de Grandvilain.

Nicole was an excellent woman, and she became sincerely attached to the
child that was placed in her charge; she took him as soon as he cried,
and was never weary of giving him the breast and of dancing him in her
arms; she took care too that he should always be neat and clean. But the
peasant woman was a mother too; she had three _gas_--that is what she
called them,--and despite all her affection for her nursling, it was to
her _gas_ that Nicole gave the sweetmeats, the preserves, the biscuit
and the gingerbread of which Madame la Marquise de Grandvilain had not
failed to give her an abundant supply, urging her not to spare them,
never to deny Chérubin anything, and to send to her for other delicacies
when those should be exhausted.

Luckily for Chérubin, Nicole did not follow to the letter the
instructions that were given her. As one is a mother before being a
nurse, the peasant woman necessarily had more affection for her children
than for her foster-child. She gave milk to the latter, while the others
stuffed themselves with dainties, candy and gingerbread, which soon
upset their health, whereas, on the contrary, little Grandvilain became
fresh and rosy and plump and hearty.

The coming of the nursling placed the Frimousset household upon its feet
once more. Nicole had asked for thirty francs a month, but the marquis
had said to her:

“Just let my son get well, let him recover his health, and I will give
you twice that!”

And Jacquinot, who had more time than ever to idle away and to spend in
the wine-shop, because his wife, being occupied with her nursling, could
not keep an eye upon him, exclaimed every day:

“My eye, Nicole, that was a mighty good idea of yours to be a nurse! If
you only had three or four little brats like this, we should be mighty
well off, I tell you!”

And Chérubin’s little foster-brothers, who did nothing but eat
sweetmeats and gingerbread, were also delighted that their mother had a
nursling who provided them with so many good things, thanks to which
they were constantly ill.

Chérubin had been at his nurse’s house only six weeks, when, on a fine
day in autumn, a fashionable carriage stopped on the public square of
Gagny, which square is not absolutely beautiful, although the guardhouse
has been built there.

A vehicle which does not resemble a cart is always an object of
wonderment in a village. Five or six women, several old men, several
peasants, and a multitude of children assembled about the carriage, and
were gazing at it with curiosity, when a window was lowered and a man’s
head appeared.

Instantly a low murmur and a sneering laugh or two were heard among the
bystanders, together with such remarks as these, not all of which were
uttered in undertones:

“Oh! how ugly he is!”--”Oh! what a face!”--”Is it legal to be as ugly as
that, when you have a carriage?”--”Upon my word! I’d rather go
afoot!”--”That fellow hasn’t been vaccinated!”

There were other reflections of the same sort, which might have reached
the ears of him who suggested them, and which it would have been more
polite to make in a low tone; but politeness is not the favorite virtue
of the peasants of the suburbs of Paris.

Luckily, the man who had put his head out of the window was a little
hard of hearing, and, besides, he was not a man to lose his temper for
such trifles; on the contrary, assuming a smiling expression, he said,
bowing to the assemblage:

“Which of you, my good people, can direct me to Nicole Frimousset’s
house? I know well enough that it’s on a street leading into the square,
but that is all I know.”

“Nicole Frimousset!” said a peasant about half seas over, who had just
come from one wine-shop and was about to enter another; “she’s my wife,
Nicole is; I am Jacquinot Frimousset, her husband; what do you want of
my wife?”

“What do we want of her? Parbleu! we’ve come to see the little one that
we’ve placed in her charge, and to find out how he is, the dear child.”

“The deuce! it’s monsieur le marquis!” cried Jacquinot, removing his hat
and throwing several children to the ground in order to reach the
carriage more quickly. “Excuse me, monsieur le marquis; you see, I
didn’t know you. I’ll show you the way; that’s our street over there;
it’s up hill, but you’ve got good horses.”

And Jacquinot ran ahead of the carriage, shouting at the top of his
lungs, and trying to dance.

“Here’s little Chérubin’s father! Here’s the Marquis de Grandvilain,
coming to our house! Ah! I’m going to drink his health.”

The man who was in the carriage answered:

“No, I am not the marquis, I am Jasmin, his first valet; and
mademoiselle who is with me is not madame la marquise; she is
Turlurette, her maid. But it’s all the same, our masters or us, it’s
absolutely the same thing.”

“What a stupid thing to say, Jasmin,” said Turlurette, nudging her
companion; “the idea! our masters or us being the same thing!”

“I mean so far as the child we have come to see is concerned. They have
sent us to find out about his health; can’t we see that as well as our
masters? And even better, for we have better eyes than they have.”

“You speak of your masters with very little respect, Monsieur Jasmin.”

“Mademoiselle, I respect and venerate them, but that doesn’t prevent me
from saying that they are both of them in a miserable state. What
wretched carcasses! They make me feel very sad!”

“Hush, Monsieur Jasmin, here we are!”

The carriage had stopped in front of Frimousset’s house, and Jacquinot’s
shouts had put the whole household in commotion.

“Those are Chérubin’s parents,” was heard in every direction. The little
boys rushed to meet the carriage; Jacquinot went to draw wine to offer
to his guests; while Nicole, after hastily washing her nursling and
wiping his nose, took him in her arms and presented him to Jasmin and
Turlurette, just as they alighted from the carriage, and called out to
them:

“Here he is, monsieur and madame; take him, and see how well he is! Ah!
I flatter myself that he wasn’t as pretty as that when you gave him to
me!”

“True; he’s superb!” said Jasmin, kissing the child.

“Yes, he is as well as can be!” said Turlurette, turning little Chérubin
over and over in every direction.

But while they admired her nursling, Nicole, who had had time to recover
herself, looked closely at Jasmin and Turlurette, and then exclaimed:

“But I say, it seems to me that monsieur and madame ain’t the child’s
father and mother. Pardi! I recognize monsieur by his red nose and his
peppered face; he’s the one who came to the bureau and picked me out.”

“Yes, nurse, you are not mistaken,” replied Jasmin, “I am not my master;
I mean that I am not the marquis, and that is what I shouted to your
husband, but he didn’t listen. But that doesn’t make any difference; we
were sent here, Turlurette and I, to satisfy ourselves about young
Grandvilain’s health, and to report to monsieur le marquis and his
wife.”

“You will always be welcome,” said Nicole.

“And then you won’t refuse to taste our wine and refresh yourselves,”
cried Jacquinot, bringing a huge jar, full to the brim of a wine
perfectly _nif_, which means new in the language of the country people.

“I never refuse to taste any wine, and I am always glad to refresh
myself, even when I am not warm,” replied Jasmin. “But first of all, I
must fulfil to the letter my dear master’s orders. Nurse, undress the
child, if you please, and let me see him all naked, so that I can judge
if he is in good condition from top to toe--inclusively.”

“Oh, bless my soul! drink and let us alone! That is my business!” said
Mademoiselle Turlurette, still keeping the child in her arms.

“Mademoiselle, I will not prevent you from looking at the child too, but
I know what my master ordered me to do, and I propose to obey him. Give
me Chérubin, and let me make a little Cupid of him.”

“I won’t give him to you.”

“Then I’ll take him!”

“Come and try it!”

Jasmin leaped upon the child, but Turlurette would not let him go, and
each of them pulled him; Chérubin shrieked, and the nurse, to put an end
to this imitation of the judgment of Solomon, adroitly took the child
from both of them. In the twinkling of an eye she undressed him, and,
handing him to the two servants, bade them kiss her nursling’s plump
little posterior.

“There! what do you think of him?” she cried; “ain’t he fine? You’d like
to be as fresh and plump as that, wouldn’t you?--but I wish you may get
it!”

The nurse’s action restored general good-humor and peace between the
servants of the house of Grandvilain. Turlurette did not tire of kissing
her master’s child. As for Jasmin, he took a huge pinch of snuff, then
seated himself at a table, and said:

“Yes, yes, everything is all right; we have a superb scion. And now, let
us taste your wine, foster-father.”

Jacquinot made haste to fill the glasses, drink, and fill again; and
Jasmin was as well pleased with the foster-father as with the nurse.

“But why did not monsieur le marquis and madame come themselves?” asked
Nicole.

“Oh!” Turlurette replied with a sigh, “my poor mistress isn’t very well;
when she tried to nurse the child, she didn’t get along well, and now
that she’s given it up, she’s worse than ever!”

“But I offered to take our Chérubin’s place, in order to relieve my
excellent mistress!” murmured Jasmin, tossing off a great bumper of sour
wine.

“Mon Dieu! Monsieur Jasmin, you’re forever saying stupid things,” said
Turlurette; “the idea of madame feeding you.”

“Why not, when it was the doctor’s orders? I once knew a lady who nursed
several cats and two rabbits, because she had too much milk.”

“Oh! we’ve had enough of your stories!--In short, my mistress is very
weak; she can’t leave her room, or else she’d have come long ago to see
her dear child; she talks about him all the time.”

“As for monsieur le marquis,” said Jasmin, “he has the gout in his
heels, which makes it very hard for him to walk. I suggested a way to do
it, and that was to walk on his toes and not touch his heels to the
ground; he tried it, but after taking a few steps that way, _patatras_!
he fell flat on the floor, and he has never been willing to try again.
But they sent us in their place, and never fear, we will make a good
report of what we have seen. You have restored our son’s life! You are
excellent people! Here’s your health, foster-father; your wine scrapes
the palate, but it isn’t unpleasant, and it has a taste of claret.”

While Jasmin drank and chattered, Turlurette went to the carriage to
fetch what her mistress had sent to the nurse. There were presents of
all sorts: sugar, coffee, clothes, and even toys for Chérubin’s
foster-brothers. The room in which the peasants usually sat would hardly
hold all that came out of the carriage. The little Frimoussets jumped
and shouted for joy, and rolled on the floor, at sight of all those
presents, and Nicole said again and again:

“Madame la marquise is very kind! but she can be sure that her son will
eat all these nice things; my _gas_ won’t touch ‘em! Besides, they
prefer pork.”

Jasmin enjoyed himself exceedingly with Jacquinot, and Turlurette was
finally obliged to remind him that their masters were impatiently
awaiting their return. The domestics bade the villagers farewell. They
kissed little Chérubin again, but on the face this time, and returned to
their master’s carriage, which quickly took them back to Paris.

The marchioness awaited the return of her servants with the anxiety of a
mother who fears for the life of the only child that Heaven has granted
her. And despite his gout, Monsieur de Grandvilain dragged himself to
the window from time to time, to see if he could discover his carriage
in the distance.

Turlurette, who was young and active, ran ahead of Jasmin and entered
the room with a radiant air; her face announced that she brought good
news.

“Magnificent, madame! magnificent health! A superb child! Oh! no one
would ever know him; he was so pale and thin when he went away, and now
he’s as fat and solid as a rock.”

“Really, Turlurette,” cried the marchioness; “you are not deceiving us?”

“Oh! just ask Jasmin, madame; here he comes.”

Jasmin appeared, puffing like an ox, because he had tried to go upstairs
as quickly as Turlurette. He walked forward, bowed gravely to his
masters and said:

“Our young marquis is in a most flourishing condition; I had the honor
to kiss his posterior; I ask your pardon for taking that liberty, but he
is such a lovely child and so well kept! I assure you that the
Frimousset family is worthy of our confidence, and that we have only
praise to give the nurse and her husband.”

These words filled the atmosphere of the hôtel de Grandvilain with joy.
Chérubin’s mamma promised herself that she would go to Gagny to see her
son as soon as her health was restored, and Monsieur le Marquis de
Grandvilain swore that he would do the same as soon as the gout should
be obliging enough to leave his heels.




VI

TIME AND ITS EFFECTS


The old marquis and his wife were very happy when they knew that their
son was in good health; they forgot that their own health was poor, and
they made great plans for the future.

There is an old song that says:

    “To-day belongs to us,
     To-morrow belongs to no one.”

All of which is very true; and it means that we must never rely upon the
morrow; but that does not prevent us from often making plans in which we
stride over a great number of years, which is much more than a morrow!
And most of those same plans are destined never to be executed. We are
wise to make them, however, for in them consists the better part of our
happiness; what we actually have in hand never seems so sweet as what we
expect; it is with that as with those landscapes which seem charming to
us at a distance, but very commonplace when we come close to them.

A month after receiving the assurance that her son was well, and that he
had entirely recovered his health, Aménaïde, feeling somewhat better,
determined to go out and take the air, in order that she might sooner be
in a condition to go to Gagny. But whether it was that she went out too
soon, or that a new disease declared itself, the marchioness was
feeling wretched when she returned; she went back to bed, and a
fortnight later little Chérubin’s mother was laid in her grave. However,
she had not realized that she was dying, and up to the last moment had
retained the hope of going to embrace her son.

The old marquis was in despair at his loss; but at seventy years a man
no longer loves as at thirty; as it grows old, the heart becomes less
loving, and that is the effect of experience no less than of years; men
are so deceived in their affections during the course of their lives,
that they inevitably end by becoming selfish and by concentrating upon
themselves the affection which they once offered to others.

Moreover, the marquis was not left alone on earth; had he not his son to
comfort him? His faithful retainer said to him one day:

“My dear master, think of your little Chérubin; he has no mother now;
you certainly ought to have died before her, for you were much older,
but things don’t always go as one expects! Madame la marquise is dead
and you are alive; to be sure, you have the gout, but there are people
whom it doesn’t carry away at once; you are a proof of it. Be a man,
monsieur le marquis, and remember your son, of whom you will make a
lusty blade, such as you used to be; for you were a famous young rake,
monsieur, although no one would suspect it to look at you now.”

“What do you mean, Jasmin? Am I very much changed? Do I look as if I
were impotent now?”

“I don’t say that, monsieur, but I do think that you would find it
difficult to keep five or six appointments in the same day; and that is
what often happened in the old days! Ah! what a lady-killer you were!
Well, I have an idea that your son will take after you, that he too
will send me with billets-doux. Ha! ha! I will carry them with great
pleasure; I know all about slipping notes into ladies’ hands.”

“In other words, my poor fellow, you were forever making mistakes and
blunders, and it wasn’t your fault that I wasn’t surprised and murdered
a hundred times by jealous husbands or rivals.”

“Do you think so, monsieur? Oh! you are mistaken; it was so long ago
that you have forgotten all about it.”

“After all,” rejoined Monsieur de Grandvilain, after a moment, “even if
I should weep for the poor marchioness all the time, that would not
bring her back to me. I must preserve myself for my son. Ah! only let me
see him when he is twenty years old! That is all I ask.”

“The deuce! I should say so! You are not modest!” said Jasmin; “twenty
added to the seventy you are now, would make you ninety!”

“Well, Jasmin, don’t men ever live to that age?”

“Oh! very seldom; but it may happen.”

“How old are you, you rascal, to venture to make such remarks?”

“Why, monsieur, I am fifty,” replied Jasmin, straightening himself up
and putting out his leg.

“Hum! I believe that you take off something; you look much older than
that. But no matter, I will bury ten like you!”

“Monsieur is at liberty to do so, certainly.”

“And as soon as my gout has left me, I will go and embrace my heir. Of
course I could send for the nurse to come here; but the doctor says that
children mustn’t have change of air; and I would rather deprive myself
of seeing mine than expose him to the danger of being sick again.”

“Besides, monsieur, whenever you want me to go to see our young man, you
know that I am always ready; and there’s no need of sending that fat
Turlurette with me; I know how to tell whether the child is well. I will
go to Gagny every day if you want; it doesn’t tire me a bit.”

Jasmin was very fond of going to see Chérubin; in the first place, the
faithful retainer was already devotedly attached to his master’s son;
and in the second place, he always emptied several jars of wine with the
foster-father, who also had become his friend. The marchioness had been
dead five months, when Monsieur de Grandvilain at last got relief from
his gout and was able to leave his great easy-chair. His first thought
was to order the horses to be harnessed to his carriage; then he climbed
in, Jasmin scrambling up behind, and they started for Gagny.

Little Chérubin continued in excellent health, because it was not he who
had the delicacies that Turlurette continued to send to Nicole. One of
the nurse’s little boys had already died of inflammation of the bowels;
the other two, who were larger and stronger, still held out against the
biscuits and sweetmeats; but their complexions were sallow, while
Chérubin’s glowed with health and freshness.

On the day when the marquis started for Gagny, Jacquinot Frimousset had
begun his visits to the wine-shop in the morning, and he was already
quite drunk when one of his friends informed him that the Marquis de
Grandvilain’s carriage was in front of his door.

“Good!” said Jacquinot, “it’s my friend Monsieur Jasmin come to see us.
He ain’t a bit proud, although he’s a valet de chambre in a noble
family; we’ll empty a few jugs together.”

And the nurse’s husband succeeded, although staggering and stumbling at
every step, in reaching his own house; he entered the room where
Monsieur de Grandvilain was at that moment occupied in dandling his son,
who was then a year old; and who seemed much amused by his dear father’s
chin, which did not remain at rest for an instant.

“Who’s that old codger?” cried Frimousset, trying to open his eyes and
leaning against the wall.

“It’s Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain himself,” cried Nicole, making
signs to her husband to assume a more respectful attitude; but he roared
with laughter, and said:

“That, Chérubin’s father? Nonsense! Impossible! It’s his grandfather,
his great grandfather at least! As if a shrivelled and shrunken old
fellow like that could have such young children!”

Monsieur de Grandvilain turned purple with rage; for a moment he was
tempted to take his son away and never again set foot inside the house
of that vulgar peasant who had said such unpleasant things to him; but
Nicole had already succeeded in pushing her husband out of the room, and
Jasmin, who was engaged in refreshing himself at a little distance, went
to his master and said:

“Don’t pay any attention to him, my dear master, the foster-father has
been drinking; he’s drunk, he can’t see straight; but for that, he would
never have said such things to you; he might have thought them, perhaps,
but he wouldn’t have said them.”

“My husband is a drunken sot and nothing else,” said Nicole. “I ask your
pardon for him, monsieur le marquis; the idea of thinking that you ain’t
your son’s father! Mon Dieu! it’s plain enough that his eyes are blinded
by drink. Why, the dear child is the very image of you! He has your
nose and your mouth and your eyes and everything!”

This language was absurdly exaggerated, and far from flattering to
little Chérubin; but the Marquis de Grandvilain, who did not choose to
grow old, took it all for gospel truth; he looked at his son again and
murmured:

“Yes, he looks like me, he will be a very handsome boy.”

He rose and put a purse in the nurse’s hand, saying to her:

“I am well pleased; my son is well; continue to take good care of him,
for since the air of this neighborhood agrees with him, I think that I
shall do well to leave him with you a long while, a very long while, in
fact. Children always have time enough to study; health before
everything! eh, Jasmin?”

“Oh yes! health indeed, monsieur! You are quite right; for what good
does it do to know a lot when one is dead?”

Monsieur de Grandvilain smiled at his valet’s reflection; then, after
embracing Chérubin, he returned to his carriage. Jacquinot was cowering
in a corner of the yard, and did not dare to stir; he contented himself
with bowing to the marquis, who, as he passed the peasant, drew himself
up and did his utmost to impart to his gait the ease and firmness of
youth.

Several months passed. Monsieur de Grandvilain often said: “I am going
to Gagny.” But he did not go; the dread of meeting the foster-father
again, and of being greeted with fresh compliments after the style of
the former ones, restrained the marquis, and he contented himself with
sending for his son, who had become large enough to take such a short
journey without danger.

At such times Nicole passed several hours at the mansion; but Chérubin
did not enjoy himself there; he always wept and asked to be taken back
to the village. Whereupon the marquis would embrace his son and say to
his nurse:

“Go at once, we must not thwart him; perhaps it would make him ill.”

Two more years passed in this way. Chérubin was in excellent health, but
he was not stout or robust, like the children of most peasants; he was a
merry little fellow, he loved to play and to run about; but as soon as
he was taken to Paris, as soon as he found himself with his father at
the hôtel de Grandvilain, the boy lost all his merriment; to be sure,
the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain was not a cheerful place; and
the old marquis, who was almost always suffering from the gout, was
rather a dismal object himself.

However, they did what they could to make his visits to his father’s
house pleasant to the youngster; they had filled a room with toys, and
they always covered a table with sweetmeats; Chérubin was at liberty to
eat everything, to break all that he saw; he was left free to do
whatever he chose; but after looking at a few of the toys and eating a
cake or two, the child would run to his nurse, take hold of her apron,
gaze at her affectionately and say in an imploring voice:

“Mamma Nicole, ain’t we going home soon?”

One day the marquis assumed a solemn expression, and beckoning his son
to his side, said to him:

“But, Chérubin, you are at home here. When you are at the village, you
are at your nurse’s home; here you are in your father’s house and
consequently at your own home.”

“Oh, no!” he replied, “this ain’t to home.”

“You are an obstinate little fellow, Chérubin; you don’t think that you
are at home here, because you are not used to being here; but if you
should stay here no more than a fortnight, you would forget the village;
for after all it is much finer here than at your nurse’s house; isn’t
it?”

“Oh no! it’s ever so much prettier to our house!”

“To our house! to our house! this is most annoying. However, as it is
so, as you are not happy at your father’s house, you are going to stay
here, Chérubin; you shan’t go back to your nurse’s again; I am going to
keep you with me; you shall not leave me after this; and at all events I
will teach you to speak French, and not to say ‘to our house’ any more!”

The child did not dare to reply; the stern tone which his father assumed
to him for the first time, terrified him so that he was speechless and
dared not move; but in a moment his features contracted, his tears
gushed forth and he began to sob.

Thereupon Jasmin, who, in an adjoining room, had heard all that had been
said, rushed at his master like a madman, crying:

“Well! what does this mean? So you make our child cry now, do you?
That’s very nice of you! do you propose to become a tyrant?”

“Hold your tongue, Jasmin!”

“No, monsieur, I won’t allow you to make our little one unhappy! I
should think not! I say that you shall not! Look, see how he is crying,
the dear boy! For heaven’s sake, what is the matter with you to-day,
monsieur? Has the gout gone to your heart?”

“Jasmin----”

“I don’t care, monsieur; beat me, discharge me, send me to the stable,
make me sleep with the horses; do whatever you choose, but don’t make
this child cry; for if you do, why--I----”

Jasmin paused; he could say no more, because he too was weeping.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, when he saw his faithful servant cover his eyes
with his handkerchief, held out his hand instead of scolding him, and
said:

“Come! come! don’t lose your head. I was wrong, yes, I was wrong, since
I have made this poor child unhappy. After all, my company is not very
lively; the gout often makes me cross. What would he do in this great
house, poor boy? He is too young to be made to study. And then he no
longer has any mother, so we must leave him with his nurse as long as
possible. Besides, the air in Paris is not so good as that which he
breathes in the village. So take back your foster-child, nurse; as he
loves you so dearly, it must be that you make him happy. Come and kiss
me, Chérubin, and don’t cry any more; you are going back to your good
friends; they do not love you any more than we do, but you love them
more. I will try to be patient, and perhaps my turn will come some day.”

“Bravo! bravo!” cried Jasmin, while his master embraced his son. “Ah!
that is what I call talking; I recognize you now, monsieur. Why,
certainly your Chérubin will love you, he will adore you,--but later;
you can’t expect that all at once; let him grow a little, and if he
doesn’t love you then, why I shall have a word to say to him.”

So the nurse took Chérubin back to the village. Nicole was well pleased
to keep a child who was a fortune to her; but she promised the old
marquis to bring his son to him the next week, for the old man seemed
more depressed than usual at parting.

They say that there are presentiments, secret warnings, which enable us
to divine that some disaster threatens us; that our heart beats more
violently when we part from a dear one whom we are destined never to see
again. Why should we not believe in presentiments? The ancients believed
in omens; men of sense are sometimes very superstitious; it is
infinitely better to believe in many things than to believe in nothing;
and strong minds are not always great minds.

Had the Marquis de Grandvilain a presentiment, that he was so loath to
allow his son to go? That is something that we cannot tell; but it is a
fact that he was destined never to see him again. Three days after the
scene which we have described, an attack of gout carried the old
nobleman off in a few hours; he had only time to whisper to Jasmin the
name of his notary, and to breathe that of his son.

The grief of the marquis’s valet was more intense, more touching, more
sincere, than that of a multitude of friends and relations would have
been. When our servants love us, they love us dearly, for they know our
faults as well as our good qualities, and they forgive us the former in
favor of the latter, which our friends and acquaintances never do.

Jasmin was especially distressed because he had reproved his master for
wanting to keep his son with him.

“I am responsible for his not being able to embrace his son again before
he died, my poor master!” he said to himself. “He had a presentiment of
his approaching death when he didn’t want to send the child back to the
country; and I presumed to scold him, villain that I am! and he did not
strike me as I deserved; on the contrary, he gave me his hand! Ah! I
would die of grief if I had not Chérubin to look out for.”

Thereupon Jasmin recalled the fact that his master, before he closed his
eyes, had stammered the name of his notary; and presuming that that
functionary was instructed concerning the wishes of the late marquis, he
made haste to go to him and tell him of his master’s death.

Monsieur de Grandvilain’s notary was a man still young, but of a serious
and even somewhat severe aspect; he had, in fact, the marquis’s will in
his keeping, and was instructed to carry out his last wishes. He lost no
time in opening the document which he had in charge, and read what
follows:

     “I possess thirty thousand francs a year. All my property descends
     to my son, my sole heir. I desire that he be put in possession of
     his property at the age of fifteen. Until then I beg that my notary
     will undertake to manage it. I desire that no change shall be made
     inside my house, and that none of my servants shall be discharged.
     I appoint Jasmin, my faithful valet de chambre, steward of my
     household. Every month my notary shall hand him such sum as he
     shall require for the household expenses and for the education of
     my son.

      “SIGISMOND VENCESLAS, MARQUIS DE GRANDVILAIN.”

The notary could not help smiling after reading this extraordinary
testament, and Jasmin, who had listened with all his ears, gazed at him
with an air of amazement, and faltered:

“In all this, monsieur le notaire, I didn’t understand who is to be the
child’s guardian.”

“There isn’t any, Jasmin, his father hasn’t appointed any; he relied
upon you and me; upon me to administer his fortune, and upon you to
superintend his conduct. It seems that Monsieur de Grandvilain had
great confidence in you; I have no doubt that you deserve it, but I urge
you to redouble your zeal with respect to the young marquis. Remember
that it is your duty now to watch over him. As for his fortune, his
father wished him to be placed in possession of it at the age of
fifteen. That is making him rich at a very early age; but since it is
his father’s will, see to it, Jasmin, that at all events, when fifteen,
the young marquis is already a man in knowledge and strength of
character.”

Jasmin listened to this speech with the greatest attention; he attempted
to reply, but got confused, lost his way in a sentence which he could
not finish, and finally left the notary, after receiving a sum of money
with which to begin to manage his master’s household.

On returning to the house, Jasmin had grown three inches and was puffed
up like a balloon; vanity perches everywhere, among the small as well as
among the great, and it is likely to be even more powerful among the
former who are not accustomed to grandeur.

All the servants gathered about the valet, curious to learn the contents
of the will. Jasmin assumed a peculiarly idiotic expression, and
replied, speaking through his nose:

“Never fear, my friends, there is to be no change here; I keep you all
in my service.”

“You, Monsieur Jasmin! are you our master’s heir?”

“No, no, I am not the heir, but I represent the heir; in fact, I am the
steward of the household. I will keep everybody: cook, coachman,
housekeeper, because Monsieur de Grandvilain wished it; otherwise I
should have discharged you all, for servants without a master are
useless things. But I forget, our master now is the young marquis, and
whenever he chooses to occupy his house, he will find his household all
arranged; that was his late father’s wish, no doubt, and we must conform
to it.”

All the servants bowed before Jasmin, who had become a man of weight,
and he, after receiving the congratulations of those who were now his
inferiors, withdrew to his chamber, and, reflecting upon what the notary
had said, cudgelled his brains to decide what it was his duty to do with
Chérubin, in order properly to carry out his master’s designs.

After passing several hours at this occupation, without result, Jasmin
exclaimed:

“Faith, I believe the best thing to do is to leave little Chérubin out
at nurse.”




VII

LITTLE LOUISE


Chérubin was still at the village, still living with his nurse Nicole
Frimousset, and yet Chérubin was ten years old. Although of small
stature, his health was excellent, and the attentions of a nurse had
long since ceased to be necessary to him. But the marquis’s heir had
retained undiminished his affection for the place where he had passed
his childhood, and he lost his temper when it was suggested that he
should leave it.

Meanwhile Jacquinot, the foster-father, had become more of a sot than
ever; and as she grew older, Nicole, being obliged to scold her husband
incessantly, was rarely in good humor. And then her two boys had left
the village: one was a mason at Orléans, the other was apprenticed to a
carpenter at Livry.

In spite of that, Chérubin still enjoyed life at his nurse’s house,
where he had for his companion a little girl who was only two years
younger than he. It was a few days before the Marquis de Grandvilain’s
death, that one morning, a very young lady from the city, fashionably
dressed, alighted from a cab in front of Nicole’s cottage. This young
lady, who was beautiful and bore a look of distinction, was very pale
and seemed much excited; she had in her arms a little girl of about a
year old, and she said to Jacquinot’s wife, in a voice broken by sobs:

“This is my daughter; she is only a year old, but she has been weaned
for some months; I wish to leave her with some kindhearted people who
will take great care of her and treat her as their own child. Will you
take charge of her, madame? I cannot keep her with me any longer;
indeed, it is possible that I may not be able to take her for a long
while. There are three hundred francs in this roll; that is all that I
can raise at present; but within a year I will send you the same amount,
if I do not come before that to see my child.”

Nicole, who had profited much by bringing up one child, thought that a
second fortune had fallen into her lap, and eagerly accepted the
proposition which was made to her. The young lady handed her the little
girl, the money, and a large bundle containing the child’s clothes;
then, after embracing her daughter once more, she hurriedly entered her
carriage, which instantly drove away.

Not until then did Nicole reflect that she had not asked the young lady
her name, or her child’s name, or her address; but it was too late, for
the cab was already a long way off. Nicole soon consoled herself for
her forgetfulness, thinking:

“After all, she will come again, she certainly can’t mean to abandon her
child. She has given me three hundred francs; that is enough for me to
be patient; and then the child is a sweet little thing, and I believe I
would have kept her for nothing. What shall I call her? _Pardieu!_
Louise; for this is the feast of Saint-Louis. When her mother comes
back, if she don’t like that name, she can tell me the child’s own name.
What a fool I was not to ask her! But she seemed in such a hurry, and so
excited.--Well, Louise,--that is decided; she will be a playmate for my
Chérubin, and in that way the dear child won’t get tired of living with
us. Bless my soul! the longer we keep him, the better off we are.”

And the little girl had, in fact, become Chérubin’s inseparable
companion; she had grown up with him, she shared all his games, all his
pleasures. Chérubin was not happy when Louise was not with him; the
little girl’s activity was a foil to the little marquis’s natural
mildness of character; and when he began to show signs of becoming a
charming young man, Louise gave promise of being a very pretty young
girl. But the young lady who had brought to Nicole that child whose
mother she claimed to be, had not returned to Gagny; once only, a year
after her visit, a messenger from Paris had appeared at Frimousset’s
house and had handed them a paper which contained only one hundred and
fifty francs, saying:

“This is from the mother of the little girl who was brought here a year
ago; she requests you to continue to take care of her child.”

Nicole had questioned the man, had asked him for the name and address of
the lady who sent him; but the messenger had replied that he did not
know, that she had come to his stand in Paris and had given him the
errand to do, paying him in advance, after making sure that he had a
badge.

Nicole had not been able to learn anything more, and since then she had
received neither money nor information. But Louise was so attractive
that the idea of sending her away had not once occurred to her. Besides,
Chérubin was devoted to her, the little girl was a new bond which kept
him in his nurse’s family; and when by chance Jacquinot made any
reflection upon the child whom they were bringing up for nothing, his
wife would reply:

“Hold your tongue, you drunkard; it isn’t any of your business; if the
girl’s mother doesn’t come to see her, it must be because she is dead,
or else because she is a bad mother; if she is dead, then I must take
her place with the child; if she is a bad mother, Louise would be
unhappy with her, and I prefer to keep her with me.”

While Chérubin grew up beside his little friend, Jasmin continued to
govern the Marquis de Grandvilain’s household; he was careful in his
expenditure; the servants were not permitted to indulge in any excesses,
and he himself got tipsy only once a week, which was very modest in one
who had the keys to the cellar. But Jasmin thought constantly of his
young master; he went to see him often, and sometimes passed whole days
at Gagny; and he always asked Chérubin if he wished to go back to Paris
with him, to his own house. The little fellow always refused, and Jasmin
always returned to Paris alone, consoling himself with the thought that
the young marquis was in excellent health, and that that was the main
point.

When Jasmin went to the notary to ask for money, which he never did
without presenting an exact statement of what he had to pay out, the
notary, after praising the faithful valet for the honesty and economy
with which he regulated the household expenditure, never failed to ask
him:

“And our young marquis, how does he come on?”

“He is in superb health,” Jasmin would reply.

“He ought to be a big fellow now, he is nearly eleven years old.”

“He has a very pretty figure and a charming face; he will be a little
jewel, whom all the women will dote on, I am sure, as they doted on his
late father; but I presume that they won’t be the same women.”

“That is all very well; but how is he getting on with his studies; have
you placed the little marquis at a good institution?”

“Excellent, monsieur; oh, yes! he is in a very good house indeed; he
eats as much as he wants.”

“I have no doubt that he is well fed, but that is not enough; at his
age, what he wants above all is food for the mind. Does he give
satisfaction?”

“They are enchanted with him; they would like never to part with him, he
is so attractive.”

“Has he had any prizes?”

“Prizes! he has whatever he wants; he has only to ask, they refuse him
nothing.”

“You don’t understand me; has he obtained any prizes for his work, I
mean; is he strong in Latin, Greek, and history?”

Jasmin was slightly embarrassed by those questions; he coughed, and
faltered a few words which could not be understood. But the notary, who
attributed his embarrassment to other causes, continued:

“I am talking about things you don’t understand, eh, my old Jasmin?
Latin and Greek and such matters are not within your scope. However,
when I have a few moments to myself, I will come to you, and you must
take me to see your young marquis.”

Jasmin went away, muttering:

“The deuce! the deuce! if he goes to see my little Chérubin some day, he
won’t be very well content with his studies; but it isn’t my fault if
monsieur le marquis refuses to leave his nurse. That notary keeps
talking to me about food for the mind; it seems to me that when a child
eats four meals a day with a good appetite, his mind ought not to be any
more hungry than his stomach, unless it doesn’t want to be fed.”

One day, however, after a visit to the notary, when he had again urged
the old valet to commend the young marquis to his teachers, Jasmin
started at once for Gagny, saying to himself on the way:

“I am an old brute! I leave my master’s son in ignorance; for after all,
I know how to read myself, and I believe that Chérubin doesn’t even know
that. Certainly this state of things can’t be allowed to go on. Later,
people will say: ‘Jasmin took no care of the child who was placed in his
charge. Jasmin is unworthy of the late marquis’s confidence.’--I don’t
propose that people shall say that of me. I am sixty years old now, but
that’s no reason for being an idiot. I propose to show my strength of
character.”

When Jasmin arrived at Nicole’s, he found her at work in the house,
while Jacquinot sat half asleep in an old easy-chair.

“My friends,” said Jasmin, entering the room with a very busy air, and
rolling his eyes about, “things can’t remain like this; we must make a
complete change.”

Nicole gazed at the old servant and said:

“You want to change our house over; you think this room is too dark?
Dear me! we’re used to it, you see.”

“Ain’t we going to drink a glass?” said Jacquinot, rising, and rubbing
his eyes.

“In a minute, Jacquinot, in a minute.--My friends, you don’t understand
me. I am talking about your foster-child, my young master, to whom you
only give such food as you yourselves eat; do you not?”

“Ain’t he satisfied, the dear child?” cried Nicole. “Bless my soul! I
will give him whatever he wants; all he has got to do is to speak. I
will make him tarts, cakes----”

“It isn’t that, Nicole, it isn’t that sort of food that I’m talking
about. It’s Chérubin’s mind that needs a lot of things.”

“Mind? Something light, I suppose? I will make him some cream cheese.”

“Once more, Dame Frimousset, allow me to speak. My young master must
become a scholar, or something like it; it isn’t a question of eating,
but of studying. What does he learn here with you? Does he even know how
to read, to write or to figure?”

“Faith, no,” said Nicole; “you never mentioned those things, and we
didn’t think they were necessary, especially as Chérubin is going to be
very rich; we didn’t think there was any need of his learning a trade.”

“It isn’t a question of learning a trade, but of becoming a scholar.”

“Ah yes! I understand, like the schoolmaster, who always stuffs his
conversation full of words that nobody knows what they mean.”

“That’s the very thing. Oh! if Chérubin could say some of those fine
sentences that no one can understand, that would be splendid.--So you
have a learned schoolmaster in this village, have you?”

“To be sure,--Monsieur Gérondif.”

“Gérondif! the name alone indicates a very learned man. Do you think he
would consent to come to your house and give my young master lessons?
For it is impossible for monsieur le marquis to go to school with all
the young brats in the village.”

“Why shouldn’t Monsieur Gérondif come here? He has educated two or three
children for people who come to Gagny to pass the summer. Besides, he
ain’t very well fixed, the dear man, and to earn a little money----”

“There is no difficulty about that; I will pay him whatever he asks. Do
you suppose that I could talk--that I could see this Monsieur Gérondif?”

“That’s easy enough; Jacquinot will go and fetch him. It’s after five
o’clock, so his school is over. Jacquinot, you will find the
schoolmaster at Manon the baker’s, because he goes there every day to
bake potatoes in her oven while it’s still hot.”

“Go, my dear Jacquinot; bring me this scholar, and then we will empty a
few bottles; I will treat Monsieur Gérondif too.”

That promise roused Jacquinot, who went out, promising to make haste,
and Jasmin asked Nicole:

“Where is my young master?”

“My _fieu_?”

“My master, the young Marquis de Grandvilain. He is eleven years old
now, my dear Nicole, and it seems to me that he is rather large for you
to keep on calling him your _fieu_.”

“Oh! bless my soul! habit--what do you expect?--He’s in the garden,
under the plum trees.”

“Alone?”

“Oh no! Louise is with him, always with him. As if he could get along
without her!”

“Ah! is that the little girl who was left here, and whose parents you
don’t know?”

“Mon Dieu! yes.”

“And you are still taking care of her?”

“_Pardi!_ one child more. When there’s enough for three, there’s enough
for four.”

“That is what my father used to say, when he cribbed my share of
breakfast; and in our house, on the contrary, when there was four of us,
there was never enough for two.--Never mind, Dame Frimousset, you are an
excellent woman, and when Chérubin leaves you, we will make you a
handsome present.”

“Oh! don’t speak of that; I should rather not have any present, if my
_fieu_ would never leave me.”

“Oh yes! I can understand that; but still, we can’t leave him out at
nurse until he is thirty; that isn’t the custom. I am going to present
my respects to him, while I am waiting for Monsieur Gérondif; and I will
inform him that he must become a scholar.”

Chérubin was at the farther end of the garden, which ended in an
orchard. There, trees which were never trimmed extended at pleasure
their branches laden with fruit, as if to prove to man that nature does
not need his help to grow and bear.

The Marquis de Grandvilain’s son had attractive, regular features; his
great blue eyes were exceedingly beautiful, and their soft and
languorous expression made them resemble a woman’s eyes rather than a
man’s; long dark lashes shaded those lovely eyes, which, according to
appearances, were destined to realize Jasmin’s prophecy, and to make
many conquests some day. The rest of the face was agreeable, although
not especially remarkable, except his complexion, which was as white as
that of a girl who has a white skin; life in the country had not tanned
the young marquis, because Nicole, who had always taken the greatest
care of her foster-child, never left him exposed to the sun; and because
the little fellow, who was not employed in the arduous labor of the
fields, always had leisure to seek the cool shade.

Little Louise, who was then nine years old, had one of those pretty
faces, gay and sad by turns, which painters delight to copy when they
wish to represent a young maiden of Switzerland or of the neighborhood
of Lake Geneva. It was a lovely face, after the style of Raphael’s
virgins, in which however there was a melancholy and charm distinctly
French. Louise’s eyes and hair were jet black, but very long lashes
tempered their brilliancy, and gave to them a sort of velvety aspect
which had an indescribable charm; a high, proud forehead, a very small
mouth, and white teeth set like pearls, combined with her other features
to make her one of the sweetest little girls whom one could hope to
meet; and when she laughed, two little dimples which appeared in her
cheeks added a new charm to her whole person; and she laughed often, for
she was only nine years old. Nicole treated her as her own child,
Chérubin as his sister, and she had as yet no suspicion that her mother
had abandoned her.

When Jasmin walked toward the orchard, Chérubin and Louise were eating
plums. The little girl was plucking them and throwing them to her
companion, who sat at the foot of a tree so heavily laden that its
branches seemed on the point of breaking beneath their burden.

Jasmin removed his hat, and humbly saluted his young master, uncovering
his head which was almost bald, though the few hairs which still
remained above the ears were brought together and combed with much care
over the forehead, and made the old servant look, at a distance, as if
he had tied a bandage around his head.

“I present my respects to Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain,” said
Jasmin.

At that moment the girl shook a branch which extended over the old
valet’s head, and a shower of plums rained down upon Jasmin’s skull.

Thereupon there was a roar of laughter from behind the tree, and
Chérubin mingled his laughter with it; while the old servant, who would
not have kept his hat on his head in his master’s presence for anything
in the world, received with resignation the rain of plums that fell on
him.

“My young master still seems to be in flourishing health,” continued
Jasmin, after throwing to the ground a few plums which had lodged
between his coat collar and his stock.

“Yes, Jasmin, yes. But just see how handsome they are, and good too; eat
some, Jasmin; you have only to stoop and pick some up.”

“Monsieur is very kind, but plums--sometimes they occasion
inconvenience.--I have come, first of all, to ask if monsieur wishes to
return to Paris with me at last; his house is, as always, ready to
receive him and----”

Jasmin was unable to finish his sentence, because a fresh shower of
plums fell upon his head. This time he glanced angrily about, but the
mischievous girl had hidden behind a tree; meanwhile Chérubin exclaimed:

“No, Jasmin, no, I don’t want to go to Paris, I am so happy here; I have
told you already that I should be bored in Paris, and I have such a
pleasant time at my dear Nicole’s.”

“Very good, monsieur le marquis, I don’t wish to thwart you on that
point; but if you stay here, you must not pass all your time in playing
any longer; you must study, my dear master, you must become a learned
man; it is absolutely necessary and----”

A shower of plums, heavier than the other two, once more cut Jasmin
short; and he, finding that he had two breaches in his band of hair,
turned round and exclaimed angrily:

“Oh! this is too much; do you want to make marmalade of my head?--Ah! it
is that little girl who is playing these tricks on me. It is very
pretty, mademoiselle; I advise you to laugh; there is good reason for
it.”

Louise had run to hide behind Chérubin, laughing heartily; and he,
laughing also at the grimace made by his old servant, said to him:

“It is all your own fault, Jasmin; leave us in peace. Louise and I were
eating plums, and having a good time; why did you come to disturb us, to
tell me a lot of foolish things? that I must study, that I must be a
learned man. I don’t want to study! Go and drink with Jacquinot; go, go!
I don’t need you.”

Jasmin seemed sorely embarrassed; at last he replied:

“I am sorry to annoy monsieur le marquis, but you are too big now not to
know how to read or write; in fact, there are a lot of things which you
ought to know, because you are a marquis and--in short, your venerable
father’s notary says that you ought to have prizes in Latin and Greek,
and it seems that it is customary to study in order to get prizes. I
have just sent after the schoolmaster of this village, Monsieur
Gérondif; he is coming here, and he is to teach you, for Nicole assures
me that he is a good scholar, although he is obliged to have his
potatoes baked in the baker’s oven.”

Chérubin’s brow darkened, and the little fellow replied with a very
pronounced pout:

“I don’t want the schoolmaster to come here; I don’t need to be a
scholar. You tire me, Jasmin, with your Monsieur Gérondif!”

It pained Jasmin greatly to have to vex his young master. He did not
know what to say or to do; he twisted his hat and twirled it in his
hands, for he felt that after all it was necessary to compel the young
marquis not to be a dolt, but he did not know what course to pursue to
that end; and if at that moment he had received another shower of plums
it would not have roused him from his stupor.

But Nicole had followed the old servant at a distance; the nurse
realized that if Chérubin refused to learn anything at her house, they
would be obliged to make him go to Paris to learn. Dreading lest she
might lose a child whom she loved, and who had brought ease to her
household for eleven years, Nicole felt that some way must be found to
induce the boy to consent to take lessons of the schoolmaster.

Women, even those in the country, speedily divine where our vulnerable
point is. Nicole, who had gradually drawn near, and was then standing
behind Jasmin, who had ceased to speak or move, advanced a few steps
nearer the children, and, taking Louise by the hand, said:

“Look you, Monsieur Jasmin, I see the reason plain enough why Chérubin
don’t want to work; it’s because he plays all day with this girl. Well!
as I too want my fieu to be a scholar, I am going to take Louise to one
of our relations two leagues away; she’ll be taken good care of there,
and then she won’t prevent Chérubin from studying.”

Nicole had not finished when the little boy ran to her and taking hold
of her dress, cried in a touching voice, and with tears in his eyes:

“No, no, don’t take Louise away; I will study, I will learn whatever you
want me to with Monsieur Gérondif; but don’t take Louise away, oh!
please don’t take her away!”

Nicole’s ruse had succeeded. She embraced her foster-child, Louise
leaped for joy when she found that she was not to be sent away, and
Jasmin would have done as much if his age had not made it impossible; he
threw his hat in the air, however, exclaiming:

“Long live Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain! ah! I knew perfectly well
that he would consent to become a learned man!”

At that moment Jacquinot appeared at the garden gate and shouted:

“Here’s Monsieur Gérondif; I’ve brought him with me.”




VIII

MONSIEUR GÉRONDIF


The new personage who had arrived at Nicole’s was a man of about forty
years of age, of medium height, rather stout than thin, with an ordinary
face, in which could be detected the desire to give himself an air of
importance, and the habit of bending the knee in servile fashion to all
those who were above him in social rank or in fortune.

Monsieur Gérondif had long, thick, greasy brown hair, which was cut
straight in front, just above the eyebrows, and which hid his coat
collar behind; on the sides it was held in respect by the ears. The
teacher had gray eyes, the size of which it was difficult to discover,
because he kept them lowered all the time, even when speaking to you. He
had a very large mouth, which was abundantly furnished with very fine
teeth, and whether for the purpose of displaying that attractive
feature, or to afford a favorable idea of the affability of his
disposition, he smiled almost continually when he talked, and never
failed to open his mouth so far that one could see his whole supply.

A nose much too large for the rest of the face, and almost always
adorned by a number of small pimples, impaired infinitely the general
aspect of the professor’s countenance; and the habit which he had
adopted of scratching it, and of stuffing it with snuff, gave to that
protuberance a very conspicuous red and black appearance, which would
have been in some degree repellent, if Monsieur Gérondif’s soft and
honeyed voice had not lessened the unfortunate impression produced at
first by his nose.

The schoolmaster’s costume was rather severe, for it was supposed to be
all black; the coat, trousers and waistcoat were in fact originally made
of cloth of that color; but time had wrought such ravages upon them all,
that it had often been necessary to apply patches upon each of those
garments; and whether from carelessness on the part of the person who
had made the repairs, or because black cloth was scarcer than any other
color in the neighborhood, blue, green, gray, and even nut-colored
pieces had been used to patch Monsieur Gérondif’s coat, trousers, and
waistcoat; so that he bore some resemblance to a harlequin; add to all
this, socks and wooden shoes, and a generally dirty aspect, and you will
have an idea of the individual who had been sent for to act as tutor to
the young Marquis de Grandvilain.

As for what he wore on his head, we have not mentioned that, for the
reason that Monsieur Gérondif never wore hat or cap, and that no one
could even remember having seen him with any sort of head covering in
his hand. He had an old umbrella, which boasted of but three ribs,
beneath which our schoolmaster bravely sheltered his head when it
rained, without fear that the old thing would collapse, because it was
divided into several pieces.

The schoolmaster suffered terribly from chilblains and corns on his
feet, so that he had been obliged to lean heavily upon Jacquinot’s arm,
which was doubtless the reason that Nicole’s husband had announced that
he had _brought_ Monsieur Gérondif. When he learned that he had been
sent for on the part of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, the
professor had not taken the time to remove his potatoes from the baker’s
oven, nor had he deemed it necessary to wash his hands, a task which he
performed in fact only on Sundays and holidays.

Jasmin pushed his young master in front of him. Chérubin did not release
Louise’s hand, as if he still feared that they proposed to separate him
from his dear companion. The old valet followed him, still holding his
hat in his hand; Nicole walked behind; and they all went to receive the
professor, who had halted on the threshold of the street door, sorely
embarrassed to know whether he should remove or retain his wooden shoes
before presenting himself to the distinguished persons who had sent for
him; at last he decided to appear in socks.

When he perceived the bald head of Jasmin, whose respectable costume had
nothing about it to indicate the servant, Monsieur Gérondif rushed to
meet him, smiling in the fashion best adapted to show his molars and his
incisors, and saluted him with:

“Honor to whom honor is due! _Salutem vos._ Monsieur le marquis, I
consider myself very happy to be before you at this moment.”

While Monsieur Gérondif made his complimentary address, bowing to the
ground, Jasmin, who saw that the professor had made a mistake and had
taken him for the marquis, hastily changed places with his young master;
Chérubin did not release Louise’s hand, so that when he raised his head,
Monsieur Gérondif found himself with the two children in front of him;
he thought that he had made a mistake, and pushed the little boy and his
friend aside with little ceremony, to place himself once more in front
of Jasmin, who was at the other end of the room, saying:

“Pardon the blunder; _errare humanum est._ I place myself at your
commands, monsieur le marquis. I did not even take the time to finish my
slight collation, in order that I might be instantly ready for your
orders.”

While the schoolmaster was speaking, Jasmin once more left his place and
stepped behind his master; Monsieur Gérondif seemed inclined to follow
him into every corner of the room, when Nicole said laughingly:

“But you are making a mistake, Monsieur Gérondif; the marquis is my
_fieu_, my foster-child, this pretty boy here.”

“And I am only his very humble servant, former valet to monsieur le
marquis, his father, who deigned when he died to entrust the care of his
heir to me,” said Jasmin, saluting Chérubin.

Monsieur Gérondif took the thing very well; he smiled anew and hastened
to place himself in front of Chérubin, saying:

“I make my excuses _ut iterum_, and that does not prevent me from saying
once more that I am the very humble servant of monsieur le marquis
_junior_.”

“Not Junior! de Grandvilain,” said Jasmin solemnly.

“One does not prevent the other,” replied Monsieur Gérondif, with a sly
smile, “permit me to inform you, brave Eumæus; for you remind me much of
that virtuous and royal retainer of Ulysses, King of Ithaca. I do not
know whether he was bald too--Homer does not say, but it is very
probable. I am at the orders of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, who
can now tell me what he wants of me instantly.”

The schoolmaster’s long sentences, and the quotations with which he
seasoned his discourse, produced the best effect upon Jasmin, who, like
most fools, placed a high estimate on whatever he did not understand; so
he nodded his head to the nurse, muttering:

“He is a learned man! a very learned man, in fact; he will do very well
for us.”

As for Chérubin, who was not of his old servant’s opinion, and who found
Monsieur Gérondif very tiresome, he answered without hesitation:

“I don’t want you at all; it was Jasmin who insisted on sending for you,
to make me study--I don’t know what! I am perfectly willing to learn,
but Louise must stay with me during my lessons.”

Having said this, Chérubin abruptly turned his back on the schoolmaster;
Louise did the same, laughing heartily at Monsieur Gérondif’s nose; and
the two children ran from the room, to return to the garden and eat more
plums.

The others deemed it best to let them go, and Jasmin asked Monsieur
Gérondif, with a respectful air, if he were willing to give lessons to
his young master, who had learned nothing as yet, and to whom it was
high time that some attention should be paid if they wished him to have
any education.

Monsieur Gérondif received the proposal with delight; he shook Jasmin’s
hand warmly and said:

“Trust me, we will make up for lost time. I will make the young marquis
work like a horse.”

“Oh, no!” cried the old servant, “my young master is very delicate; he
isn’t used to studying and you will make him ill; you must go gently
with him.”

“Of course, of course!” replied Gérondif, scratching his nose. “When I
say like a horse, I use a figure of speech--a metaphor, if you prefer;
we will go _piano et sano--ecce rem!_ In addition to writing and
mathematics, I will teach monsieur le marquis his own language, root and
branch, so that he may speak it as I do; that is to say, with elegance;
also Latin, Greek, Italian, philosophy, history, ancient and modern,
mythology, rhetoric, the art of versification, geography, astronomy, a
little physics, and chemistry, and mineralogy, and----”

“Oh! that is enough, monsieur le professeur!” cried Jasmin, bewildered
by all that he heard, and aghast with admiration at Monsieur Gérondif’s
learning. “When my young master knows all those things, he will be quite
learned enough.”

“If you wish for anything more, you have only to speak; I venture to say
that so far as learning is concerned, I am a well, a genuine well. At
the age of five, I took a prize for memory, and at seven I had three
wreaths on my head, wreaths of oak, like the Druids, ancient priests of
Gaul, who worshipped Teutates, or Mercury, and the mistletoe, a parasite
which, according to them, cured all diseases. I don’t agree with them,
for I have corns which pain me terribly; I put mistletoe on them, and
they hurt me worse than ever.”

Jasmin dared not breathe while Monsieur Gérondif was speaking; the nurse
and her husband shared his admiration, and the schoolmaster, well
pleased with the effect that he had produced, was listening to himself
with much complaisance when the old servant interrupted him to say:

“A thousand pardons, monsieur, if I venture to slip in a word, but it
seems to me necessary to agree upon terms; how much will you take a
month to teach my young master all these things, it being understood
that you will come every day except Sunday?”

Monsieur Gérondif reflected a few moments, and replied at last in a
hesitating manner:

“For imparting to Monsieur de Grandvilain as much knowledge as it is
possible for me to impart, it seems to me that if I charge you fifteen
francs a month I----”

“Fifteen francs!” cried Jasmin in a tone of disgust; “fifteen francs for
all that; why, you must be joking, monsieur.”

Monsieur Gérondif ceased to smile; he lowered his eyes and muttered:

“Well, then, if you think that is too much, we will reduce the amount
and----”

“Think that it’s too much!” replied Jasmin; “on the contrary, monsieur,
I think that it isn’t enough! Thank heaven, my young master is rich, he
is able to pay those who give him lessons. What! I, a valet de chambre,
earn six hundred francs a year, with board and lodging, while a man as
learned as you, who is going to teach my master so many fine things,
receives less than that! Oh, no! I offer you a hundred and fifty francs
a month, monsieur, and I consider it none too much for all that you
know.”

“A hundred and fifty francs--a month!” cried Monsieur Gérondif, whose
features expressed indescribable bliss. “A hundred and fifty francs! I
accept, Monsieur Jasmin, I accept with gratitude, and I will prove
myself worthy. I will pass almost the whole day with my pupil--my school
will not prevent, for I have a sub-master, to whom I pay three francs a
month; I will increase his salary if necessary, and at need I will give
up my school entirely, to devote my whole time to the interesting child
whom you entrust to me.”

The schoolmaster seized Jasmin’s hands and shook them effusively; then
he shook hands with Jacquinot, then with Nicole, and finally, finding no
more hands to shake, he began to clap his own, crying:

“Hosanna! Hosanna! _applaudite cives!_”

Jasmin whispered to Jacquinot:

“I think that Monsieur Gérondif said: ‘Apportez du civet.’ Bring some
jugged hare.”

“We haven’t got any jugged hare,” replied Jacquinot, “but we’ve got some
of our wine to drink, and the schoolmaster will drink with us, I know.”

Nicole brought wine and glasses. Monsieur Gérondif gladly accepted the
invitation to drink, but he asked the nurse for a crust of bread,
because, as he had not had time to have his potatoes baked, he was
conscious of a void in his stomach. Nicole fetched what provisions she
had and placed them on the table, whereupon Monsieur Gérondif began by
cutting an enormous slice of bread, then attacked a dish of beef and
beans with a vehemence in which there was something appalling.

But while eating, the schoolmaster found time to talk; he said to
Jasmin:

“We have talked about knowledge, but there is another subject upon which
we have not touched,--I mean morals. In that matter too you may rely
upon me. I am extremely rigid upon that point; for you see, Monsieur
Jasmin, morals are the curb of society. I venture to say that mine are
beyond reproach, and I propose that it shall be the same with my pupil.”

“Oh! as for that,” said the old servant with a smile, “it seems to me
that we have no reason to fear as yet, considering my young master’s
age. Later perhaps! for look you, a young man is not a girl!”

“He’s much worse, Monsieur Jasmin, much more dangerous! Because the
young man, being more free, can do more wrong things. But I will
inculcate in him principles which will keep him in the right path; I
will be the Mentor of this Telemachus!--But I beg pardon, it just occurs
to me that in order to begin monsieur le marquis’s studies, I shall have
to buy some elementary books, grammars and dictionaries; those that I
use in my school are worn out, and I believe that I have not enough
money at this moment to make these purchases. If Monsieur Jasmin could
pay me a month’s salary in advance, why then----”

“With pleasure, Monsieur Gérondif; I always bring money when I come
here, in case my master should ask me for some. See, here are a hundred
and twenty francs in gold, and thirty in five-franc pieces.”

The schoolmaster gazed with a covetous eye at the money which was
counted out to him. He took it, and counted and recounted it several
times; he put it in his pocket, then took it out to count it once more.
He did not tire of handling that gold and silver, for never before had
he been in possession of so large a sum. They spoke to him, he did not
hear, he did not answer, but he jingled his gold pieces and his silver
pieces, and after he had finally placed them in a pocket of his
trousers, he put his hand over them and kept it there all the time.

Meanwhile, as it was late, Jasmin, having taken leave of his master and
received from him renewed promises that he would study, returned to the
carriage which had brought him thither and drove back to Paris,
delighted that he had found a way to make a scholar of Chérubin.

As for Monsieur Gérondif, having saluted his future pupil and informed
him that he would come on the morrow, he left the nurse’s house, and
went home, still keeping his hand in his pocket and jingling the money
which was there.




PART II




IX

A COALITION


We will pass rapidly over the years following that during which Monsieur
Gérondif became the young marquis’s tutor. Chérubin had kept his word;
he had consented to study, but he had insisted on Louise’s presence
during his lessons; at first, Monsieur Gérondif had tried to keep the
little girl from the room, but Chérubin had shrieked and wept and
refused to listen to his tutor; so that it was found necessary to yield
to him. By slow degrees Louise’s presence had evidently come to seem
less inconvenient to Monsieur Gérondif, for if she were not there when
he arrived, he was the first to send for her.

The fact is that Louise had grown too, and that she had improved even
more rapidly. At thirteen, she seemed at least fifteen; she was slender,
well-built, and possessed of many graces; not studied and affected ones
such as so many young ladies in Paris assume, thinking that they will be
deemed natural; but those naïve, simple graces which one recognizes
instantly but vainly tries to imitate.

Monsieur Gérondif was not a genuine scholar, but he might have passed
for such in the eyes of many people. He had tried everything, having in
his youth essayed a number of professions, but having fixed upon none;
after making a pretence of becoming a doctor, a druggist, a chemist, an
astronomer, a geometrician, a tradesman, and even a poet; after
stuffing his head with the first rudiments of many forms of knowledge
and succeeding in none, he had ended by turning schoolmaster. The man
who knows one branch thoroughly has much more merit than he who talks
glibly about all branches, and yet, in the world, the preference is
often given to the latter.

At fifteen, Chérubin knew a little of a great many things; in the eyes
of the village, in the eyes of the Frimoussets, the young man was a
phenomenon who had learned with extraordinary ease. As for Jasmin, he
opened his eyes in amazement when he heard his young master use a Latin
word, or mention some historical or mythological fact, and he bowed
before Monsieur Gérondif, exclaiming:

“He knows as much as you, and that is a great deal to say.”

Monsieur Gérondif puffed himself out, for he had purchased an entirely
new costume; he no longer resembled a harlequin, and he was seen now
with a hat and a real umbrella.

But with well-being ambition had come; that is usually the case. When a
man has nothing, he becomes accustomed to forming no wishes, to not
looking above himself; he remains in his shell and tries to be happy
there forever; he even succeeds sometimes. But when he becomes
well-to-do, then he indulges in a multitude of little luxuries hitherto
unknown; but they are no longer enough; every day he desires others,
forms a thousand new aspirations, becomes ambitious, in short; and it
often happens that he is less contented than when he possessed nothing.

Such was substantially Monsieur Gérondif’s story; when he had nothing to
live upon but the paltry profits of his school, he wore clogs, went
without hat or cap, very often dined upon nothing but potatoes baked in
the oven, and yet seemed perfectly contented with his position.

Since he had become young Grandvilain’s tutor and was earning eighteen
hundred francs a year, a sum which it is rather difficult to spend in
the village of Gagny, the schoolmaster had formed new desires; and first
of all he hoped not to remain forever in a village where he could not
even find means to spend his money, a state of affairs which is very
annoying to one who has not been accustomed to having money to spend.

Monsieur Gérondif had been shrewd enough to obtain his pupil’s
confidence, and even to inspire affection in him; for Chérubin’s heart
was easily won; he flew to meet all those who showed the slightest
attachment to him. While enjoining virtue and good morals upon the young
man every day, Monsieur Gérondif, whose eyesight was very good although
he constantly kept his eyes lowered, had perceived that Louise was
growing, developing, and becoming a charming girl; and more than once,
as he looked at the sweet child, he had thought:

“What lovely eyes! What an exquisite oval face! What a correct chin!”

And then, whether to make sure that Louise’s chin was in fact correct,
or for some other reason, the tutor would pass his hand over the young
girl’s face, and sometimes go so far as gently to pinch her cheek, which
did not amuse Louise at all; whereas Chérubin, on the contrary, was very
glad to hear a complimentary remark addressed to his faithful companion.

“Isn’t Louise lovely, my dear master?” he would say at such times.

And Monsieur Gérondif would hasten to assume a sanctimonious air, and
would reply, lowering his eyes:

“Yes, this girl has the type of Jael in all its beauty; she seems to me
to have the very appearance of a Madonna.”

Thereupon Chérubin would smile again, as he glanced at Louise, and
Monsieur Gérondif, thinking of something very different from madonnas,
would say to himself:

“This girl will be perfectly bewitching! but if my pupil remains much
longer with her--hum! The flesh is weak, the devil is very powerful,
especially when he takes the face of a pretty girl. I am not always
here; Jacquinot is almost always drunk, and Mère Nicole allows these
children to run about together in the fields, looking for flowers among
the grain, playing together in the grass,--all very hazardous
amusements. I absolutely must look to all this. The best way would be to
induce my pupil to return to Paris. I should go with him, there is not
the slightest doubt, for his education is not yet complete enough for
him to do without a tutor. I shall take care that he needs one for a
long time yet, forever, if possible. I shall live in my pupil’s mansion
at Paris. That will be infinitely pleasanter than to live in this
village; and then I can continue to keep an eye on little Louise at a
distance; I will protect her, I will push her on in the world. As for
Chérubin, after a few months in Paris, he will have forgotten his little
friend of the fields.--All this is reasoned out with the wisdom of Cato,
and it only remains to put it into execution.”

And to attain his object, Monsieur Gérondif for some time past had not
failed to talk constantly of Paris while giving Chérubin his lessons; he
drew a fascinating, enchanting picture of that city; he praised its
theatres, its promenades, its monuments, and the innumerable pleasures
which one finds there at every step.

Young Chérubin was beginning to listen to these observations. The idea
of going to Paris terrified him less; and his tutor would say:

“At least, come and spend a little time in the capital, to see your
mansion, the house of your fathers, it is all so close at hand, and we
will come back at once.”

But Louise always wept when she saw that Chérubin was on the point of
consenting to go to Paris; she would take her playmate’s hand and
exclaim:

“If you go to Paris, I am very sure that you won’t come back here again;
you’ll forget Gagny and those who live here.”

Nicole said the same, as she lovingly embraced her foster-child,
whereupon Chérubin would instantly cry out:

“No, no, I won’t go, since it makes you feel sad; I am happy here, and I
shall always stay here.”

At that, Monsieur Gérondif would bite his lips, trying to smile; but in
the depths of his heart, he consigned nurses and childhood friends to
the devil.

As for Jasmin, when the professor reproached him for not seconding him
and urging his young master to go to Paris, he would reply, with that
air of good humor which was natural to him:

“What do you expect me to do about it? My dear monsieur le marquis has
passed his fifteenth birthday; he is his own master; he can do whatever
he chooses; he can even dispose of his whole fortune, thirty thousand
francs a year. But if it’s his choice to remain with his nurse, I have
no right to oppose him.”

“When a man has such a handsome fortune as that, it’s perfectly
ridiculous for him to pass his best years out at nurse!” cried the
tutor; “and then what good does it do my pupil to become learned, to
learn so many useful things, if he continues to live with peasants?
Monsieur Jasmin, history offers no example of remarkable men who have
remained at nurse until they were fifteen. It is all very well to love
the woman who reared us, but _est medius in rebus_.”

“Monsieur le professeur, I am not good at guessing rebuses; but I am my
master’s very humble servant, and I have no right to give him orders.”

At Paris, too, Jasmin had frequent discussions with Mademoiselle
Turlurette on the subject of his young master. The former lady’s maid
had become housekeeper; she had grown so stout, although she was not yet
forty, that it was very difficult for her to walk from one room to
another; that state of corpulence nailed her to her chair, and prevented
her from going to see her young master at Gagny. And Jasmin was not at
all anxious to take her with him, because he always feared that
Mademoiselle Turlurette would usurp a part of his authority, which he
did not propose to stand. The bulky housekeeper asked the old servant
every day why their young master did not leave his nurse; and sometimes
sharp quarrels arose between them on that subject; but Jasmin always put
an end to them by saying in a morose tone:

“Mademoiselle, after all, I am the one that the late Monsieur le Marquis
de Grandvilain intrusted with the care of his son; in fact, I have the
right to turn you out of the house if I choose; so be kind enough to
allow me to guide young Chérubin as I please.”

Thereupon Turlurette held her peace, although she knew perfectly well
that Jasmin was not capable of discharging her.

“A foster-child of sixteen years!” she would mutter between her teeth;
“that’s a funny thing!”

Things were at this point when a servant appeared at the hôtel de
Grandvilain one morning, asked for Jasmin, and told him that the late
monsieur le marquis’s notary desired him to call at his office during
the day, because it was very important that he should speak with him.

The old valet wondered what the notary could have to say to him; then he
remembered that his young master had long since passed his fifteenth
birthday, and that that was the time that his father had desired that he
should be put in possession of his fortune. All this worried Jasmin, who
said to himself:

“Thirty thousand francs a year, to say nothing of the additions due to
the savings that I have made in fourteen years! It is a fact that it
would be a pity to waste that at his foster-father’s. But still, if
Monsieur Chérubin insists on staying with Nicole, I can’t use violence
to compel him to return to Paris, for after all, he is his own master.”

Jasmin decided to comply with the notary’s wish. He put on his best
coat, pulled a bit of his ruff out beneath his waistcoat, donned his
silver buckled shoes, although they had long since ceased to be in
style, and in that garb, worthy of the confidential valet of a great
family, he betook himself to the office of Monsieur d’Hurbain, the
notary.

When Jasmin appeared at the office, the notary was not alone; two
persons were with him.

One of them, by name Edouard de Monfréville, was a man apparently
thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, who still had the bearing, the
manners and all the dandified aspect of a young man. He was tall,
well-built, as slender as if he were but twenty, and wore with much
grace the costume of a young exquisite. His face was handsome and
attractive at the same time; his features were regular, and his brown
hair of a fineness and gloss which a lady might have envied; but in his
great eyes, which were black and piercing, one could read sometimes a
mocking expression which harmonized perfectly with the faint smile that
played about his mouth; and upon his brow, which like his face bore
signs of weariness, there were lines which indicated that ennui and
grief had passed that way.

The other person was a man of twenty-eight, a faded blond, with a very
fair complexion, light-blue eyes, a nose with dilated nostrils, and a
large mouth with thick lips. That assemblage of features did not make
what could be called a handsome man; but his face exhibited a constant
succession of expressions which enlivened it wonderfully; it was a
combination of gayety, raillery, cunning, libertinage, indifference, and
shrewdness, all accompanied by most distinguished manners; and although
his costume was a long way from the elegance of Monsieur de
Monfréville’s, and although, in fact, certain parts of his dress were
too much neglected, he wore his soiled and shabby coat with so much ease
of manner, he held his head so straight in his faded cravat, that it was
impossible not to recognize in him a man of birth. His name was Comte
Virgile Daréna.

When a clerk entered the private office and announced that old Jasmin
had obeyed the summons that he had received, Daréna burst out laughing.

“Jasmin!” he said; “who in the devil can have such a name as Jasmin? Can
it be, my dear notary, that you have clients named Jasmin? Why, that
name is only fit for a stage servant!”

“No, Monsieur Daréna,” replied the notary, with a smile, “this man is a
servant in a most excellent family; he is one of that race of old
retainers such as we used to see; unfortunately the race is almost
extinct in our day.”

“Ah! he must be an amusing character; an old groom, eh, Monfréville?”

The person to whom this question was addressed barely smiled as he
replied:

“I don’t see what there is so amusing in all this!”

“Oh! nothing amuses you when you are in one of your _days of humor_, as
the English say.--Well, tell me, will you buy my little house in
Faubourg Saint-Antoine? I will sell it to you for thirty thousand
francs.”

“No, I should blush to accept such an offer. Your house is worth nearly
twice that, and I do not care to take advantage of your need of money to
buy it at a low price.”

“Oh! mon Dieu! that isn’t the question at all! If the bargain is
satisfactory to me, why shouldn’t you take advantage of it? I make you
the offer before a notary, and it seems to me that your conscience
should be tranquil. I don’t like the house; it is occupied by water
carriers, Savoyards, the commonest of the common people! What the devil
do you suppose I can do with it? They move without paying, or else they
stay and don’t pay; they insult whoever goes to ask them for money, or
they threaten to beat you! Such tenants are delightful!”

“But you have a principal tenant who looks after all those details.”

“No, no, I tell you that I want to sell, that is the quickest way out of
it; it’s too much of a nuisance to me! And then, there’s another
inconvenience: if I have among my tenants a pretty grisette or two, or a
pretty face, why, you understand--I give them a receipt after
obtaining, not their money, but something else. Upon my honor, I am not
fitted for a landlord, my heart is too susceptible!”

“You are arranging your affairs in such a way that you won’t be a
landlord much longer,” said the notary, shaking his head, “you are not
reasonable, Monsieur Daréna. Only six years ago your father left you a
very pretty fortune!”

“Of which I have nothing left but the little house that I want to sell,”
said Daréna, laughingly. “Well, that is the fate of all fortunes; they
vanish, but one constructs another! I am never disturbed, for my
part!--Well, Monfréville won’t take my house, and so Monsieur d’Hurbain
must sell it for me. But pray admit your old Jasmin! I am curious to see
this fossil!”

“In whose service is this model retainer?” asked Monfréville.

“He was in the service of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, who died
ten or eleven years ago.”

“The Marquis de Grandvilain!” cried Daréna, throwing himself into a
chair and laughing until the tears came. “What delicious names they
have!”

“Grandvilain!” muttered Monfréville, “why, I knew the old marquis; my
father was a friend of his. He used often to speak of a party at his
house, of a display of fireworks to celebrate the birth of a son; of a
frying-pan that was thrown into the air, and of saucepan covers that
wounded several people.”

“Nonsense! nonsense! it is impossible! Monfréville is making fun of us!”
said Daréna, stretching himself out in his chair.

“It is all true,” replied the notary; “what Monsieur de Monfréville says
really happened. But the Marquis de Grandvilain is dead, and so is his
wife; nobody is left now of the old family except a son, who is sixteen
years and a half old, and who already has more than thirty thousand
francs a year; I manage his property. But his father, obeying a whim, a
most incredible piece of folly, provided that at fifteen years his son
was to have control of his whole fortune, and he left him no guardian
except old Jasmin, his valet de chambre.”

Daréna straightened up in his chair and assumed a singular expression,
as he exclaimed:

“Thirty thousand francs a year at fifteen! That deserves consideration.”

“Was the poor old marquis mad?” asked Monfréville.

“No, but he was very old when the child was born, and he wished him to
be his own master early in life.”

“Pardi! that doesn’t strike me as so foolish, after all!” said Daréna.
“In fact, why shouldn’t one be reasonable at fifteen, when one is so far
from it at sixty? But how does the heir manage his fortune? He is
consuming it doubtless in cakes and _marrons glacés?_”

“Thank heaven, so far as I know, he has given his time thus far only to
his rhetoric and the humanities. But it was with a view to learning
something about him that I sent for the faithful Jasmin. With your
permission I will have him come in.”

“We beg that you will do so. For my part, I am very curious to know how
this little Grandvilain behaves himself. Oh! what a devil of a name! But
no matter, I would gladly change with him now, if he would throw in his
father’s coin with the name.--What do you say, Monfréville? Oh! you are
a philosopher; and besides, you are rich, which makes philosophy come
very easy.”

Jasmin’s arrival put an end to this conversation. The old servant bowed
low to all the company, then said to the notary:

“Has monsieur any questions to ask me?”

“Yes, my dear Jasmin. I want first of all to hear about our young
marquis.”

“He’s very well, monsieur; he is in excellent health, and he’s a very
fine-looking boy.”

“That is well; and his studies?”

“Well! so far as I can learn, monsieur, he seems to be a great scholar.”

“Do you know, Jasmin, that your young master was sixteen more than six
months ago?”

“Oh yes, monsieur, I know it very well.”

“Does he know the terms of his father’s will?”

“Why, yes, monsieur.”

“I fancy that he is too sensible to think of entering into possession of
his property yet; but for all that, it is my duty to go to him and
render an account of my administration of it, and to ask him if it is
his intention that I should continue to handle it. Moreover, I have long
desired to see the young marquis, and I do not propose to postpone that
pleasure any longer. At what college is he?”

Jasmin opened his eyes in dismay and looked toward the door.

“Don’t you hear me?” continued the notary. “I ask you to what college I
must go to find Monsieur Chérubin de Grandvilain?”

“The model valet seems to me as if he were deaf,” said Daréna, laughing
at Jasmin’s expression; while Monsieur de Monfréville, who had been
scrutinizing the old servant closely, walked toward him and fastening
his eyes upon him, said in a half-serious, half-mocking tone:

“Do you mean that you don’t know what you have done with your young
master?”

“Yes, yes!” replied Jasmin; “monsieur le marquis is at Gagny.”

“At Gagny! Is there a college there?” demanded the notary.

“Gagny, near Villemonble. Oh! I know that place,” said Daréna; “it’s a
small village; there are some fine estates in the neighborhood, but not
a restaurant in the whole region. I went there with two dancers from the
Opéra, and we could not even obtain a rabbit stew, the inevitable dish
in the country. But there never was a college at Gagny; I don’t even
know of a boarding-school there.”

“Tell us, Monsieur Jasmin,” said the notary in a stern tone, “where is
young Grandvilain staying at Gagny?”

The old servant made up his mind and replied with an almost proud air:

“At his nurse’s, monsieur.”

At those words the notary was speechless, Monfréville began to laugh,
and Daréna rolled about in his chair.

“At his nurse’s!” repeated the notary at last. “Is it possible, Jasmin,
that the young marquis is still at his nurse’s, at sixteen years and a
half?”

“Yes, monsieur; but never fear, he is none the less well educated; I
found a teacher for him, the village schoolmaster, Monsieur Gérondif,
who teaches him all that it is possible to teach.”

Daréna roared with laughter anew, when he heard the name of the tutor.

“Educated at his nurse’s!” he cried; “that is delicious; it’s a new
method, and perhaps it will become fashionable. I am tempted to return
to my nurse myself.”

“Monsieur Jasmin,” said the notary, “I cannot understand how you can
have left your master’s son with peasants up to this time. I consider
you very reprehensible; you should at least have consulted me.”

The old servant, who was sorely vexed, began to shout at the top of his
lungs:

“Monsieur, I am my master’s servant! I am not the man to thwart him and
to use force upon him, and it is not my fault if Monsieur Chérubin does
not want to leave Nicole, his nurse, and his little foster-sister.”

“Aha! so there’s a little foster-sister, is there? I begin to understand
the young man’s obstinacy,” said Daréna; “and how old might the
foster-sister be?”

“Two years younger than my young master,--about fourteen and a half.”

“And is she pretty?”

“Why, yes, monsieur, she’s a fine slip of a girl.”

“Monsieur Jasmin,” continued the notary, “things cannot go on like this;
it is my duty to straighten out this affair; my friendship for the late
Monsieur de Grandvilain imposes that duty upon me, and you too must
understand that a child of a good family, the son of your former master,
ought not to pass his best years in a village.”

“I assure you, monsieur le notaire, that I tell my master so very often.
I say to him: ‘You have a house at Paris, a beautiful apartment with
crimson hangings, solid mahogany furniture, a night table with carved
corners, and the inside of gilded porcelain.’ But all that doesn’t tempt
him. He turns his back on me and won’t listen.”

“I should think not!” cried Daréna; “the idea of the old fool expecting
to tempt his master with a night table and all its accessories! If you
wish, Monsieur d’Hurbain, I will undertake to persuade the young marquis
to return to Paris.”

“You, Monsieur Daréna; by what means, pray?”

“That’s my business. Will you trust me?”

“I shall be very much obliged to you if you will assist me, but I
propose to act for myself also. Monsieur de Monfréville, will not you
lend us your assistance too? Won’t you go to Gagny with me, as your
father was a friend of the old marquis?”

“I am very much inclined to join you. Indeed, I am already trying to
think how we can induce the young man to come back with us; for after
all, this is not a case for resorting to violence. The young man is his
own master, by his father’s express desire; and if he should persist in
remaining at his nurse’s, we should be obliged to leave him there.”

“But it is impossible that the marquis should not give way to our
arguments, to our entreaties.”

“Arguments! ah! my dear Monsieur d’Hurbain, I fancy that we shall need
something stronger than arguments to captivate a boy.”

“Messieurs,” cried Daréna, “I suggest a wager. A magnificent dinner at
the Rocher de Cancale, to be given by two of us to the one who triumphs
and who brings young Chérubin to Paris. Is it a bargain?”

“With all our hearts.”

“When do we start for Gagny?”

“I will arrange to leave my office at noon to-morrow, messieurs. Will
you call for me? Shall I expect you?”

“No,” said Monfréville, “let us go each on his own account; we shall be
able to find this nurse’s house.”

“Nicole Frimousset,” said Jasmin; “a narrow street leading into the
square. Anyone will point out her house.”

“Very well,” said Daréna; “Nicole Frimousset; the names are engraved on
my memory. Monfréville is right, it is better for us to go each on his
own hook.”

“But take care, messieurs,” said the notary; “if you delay, you may make
the journey for nothing, and I shall already have started for Paris with
Chérubin.”

“Oh! I don’t think so,” said Monfréville.

“As for me, messieurs, I am a bold player,” said Daréna, “and I will
give you the start. I will not leave Paris until a full hour after you,
and even so I am sure that I shall arrive in time.”

Jasmin, who was bewildered and somewhat alarmed by all that he heard,
exclaimed with an air of dismay:

“I say, messieurs, I hope that you won’t do my young master any injury
in all this; I mean, I hope that you won’t make him unhappy?”

“Ha! ha! ha! this old fellow is enchanting with his innocence!” said
Daréna.--”Never fear, venerable retainer! We shall employ only pleasant
methods! As for you, all there is for you to do is to find a way to get
Monsieur Chérubin’s little foster-sister out of the way to-morrow
morning. That is indispensable for the success of our excursion.”

“You hear, Jasmin?” said the notary. “Remember that the happiness, the
future of your young master is at stake, and that you will be very
blameworthy if you do not try to help us.”

The old servant bowed and went out, saying that he would obey.

Monfréville and Daréna also left the notary’s, saying to each other:

“Until to-morrow, at Gagny.”




X

THE ARMS OF ACHILLES


Jasmin returned to the house utterly upset; the old servant did not know
whether he ought to rejoice or to grieve; he would be very glad to see
his master at Paris, so that he might be always with him, and serve him
as he had served the old marquis; but he was afraid that that would
grieve the youth whom he called his dear child; and he was also afraid
that life in Paris would not be so good for Chérubin’s health as life in
the village.

While making these reflections, he summoned all the servants in the
house. It will be remembered that Jasmin had kept all those who had been
in the employ of his former master, and that is why Chérubin’s household
consisted entirely of mature persons. The cook had passed his sixtieth
year; the coachman was approaching his sixty-fifth; there was a little
jockey of fifty; and Mademoiselle Turlurette, who was a child compared
with all the rest, was in her thirty-seventh year, none the less.

“My children,” said Jasmin to the servants, “I think it my duty to
inform you that our young master will come among us to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” cried Turlurette, with a joyful exclamation; “is that
certain?”

“It is very certain--perhaps. However, arrange everything so that
Monsieur Chérubin will be pleased; see that everything is rubbed and
polished with more care than ever. Cook, prepare a dainty dinner.
Coachman, let the carriage and horses be ready, in case he should want
to use them. Have flowers placed in the hall, as on the days when my
late master gave a ball.”

“Are we going to have a display of fireworks?” asked Turlurette in a
quizzical tone.

“No, mademoiselle, no, I have had enough of fireworks!” replied Jasmin,
passing his hand over his face; “and unless Monsieur Chérubin orders,
not even a rocket will ever be fired in this courtyard again. But still,
we must see that it is very lively here. By the way, we will have some
music--three organ grinders, and as many violin players, who will be
stationed in the courtyard; they must play their best pieces when our
young master enters the house; that cannot fail to be agreeable to him.”

“Do you want singers too?” asked the old jockey.

“Well! if you can find any singers, men or women, it seems to me that
they will not do any harm. You understand, all this for the afternoon.”

The next morning, Jasmin started early for Gagny, where he arrived about
ten o’clock. First of all, he asked for Chérubin, and Nicole informed
him that he had gone to walk with Louise toward Maison Rouge. The old
servant was about to go in search of the young people when he met
Monsieur Gérondif in the square, and hastened to inform him as to what
was to happen during the day.

The professor clapped his hands, tossed his new hat in the air, and
seemed inclined to cut a caper.

_“Tandem! Denique! Ultima cumæi venit jam carminis ætas! Jam nova
progenies cœlo demittitur alto!_”

“Why no, that isn’t it,” replied Jasmin; “I tell you that the notary and
two of his friends are coming.”

“Very good! perfect! more than perfect! We must now find my pupil at
once.”

“I was going to look for him; he is walking with little Louise in the
direction of Maison Rouge.”

“With little Louise, who is already large. How imprudent it is! It is
high time to separate the man from the serpent!”

“Did you see a serpent?”

“The serpent, my dear Jasmin, is woman, the apple, sin! You don’t seem
to understand; I will explain it to you some other day, but now we must
find the child at once.”

“Especially as those gentlemen requested me to send the little girl away
this morning, while they were talking to my master.”

“You see, those gentlemen think as I do; they understand that this
little girl is now a dangerous companion, most certainly. We will get
her out of the way, virtuous Jasmin, we will find a pretext, a
subterfuge. Come, take my arm and let us run.”

“Run! the devil! that’s very easy to say! However, I’ll try.”

“Men run at all ages, worthy Jasmin, and you were built for a runner.”

As he spoke, the professor took the old servant’s arm and hurried him
away in the direction where they hoped to find Chérubin. As they walked
rapidly along, Jasmin asked Monsieur Gérondif:

“Have you thought of any excuse for sending the girl away?”

“No; have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“Let us go on, that will come in due time.”

That rapid march lasted for three-quarters of an hour. Jasmin could hold
out no longer, he was entirely out of breath. But the professor still
pulled him along, saying:

“_Macte puer! macte animo!_ Our dear Chérubin’s happiness is at stake.
Look out, excellent Jasmin, you are stumbling; you are putting your feet
in the ruts, in pools of water!”

The excellent Jasmin’s breath was exhausted, and he decided to fall in
the middle of the road.

“I can’t go any farther,” he stammered; “I must get my breath.”

But at that moment Monsieur Gérondif glanced at a clump of trees a short
distance from the road and exclaimed:

“There they are! the little girl is eating apricots; she offers one to
my pupil, who stands lost in admiration before his apricot! It is time
that we arrived.”

Chérubin had gone out early with Louise that morning; they had taken a
basket containing bread and fruit, and looked forward to eating their
luncheon in the woods; that frugal collation seemed most delicious to
them. And, in sooth, what more could they desire? they were together,
and they loved each other; that is the most enjoyable repast to which
one brings a contented heart.

The relations between Louise and Chérubin at this time were so pleasant,
so pure, that they were happy to be together and aspired to no other
happiness. It may be, however, that young Louise’s affection was more
eager, more expansive, because there was already a tinge of sadness in
it. She was afraid that Chérubin would decide to go to Paris; she was
afraid that she was going to lose her friend; and that fear made her
love him even more, for our affections are strengthened by the sorrows
that they cause us.

The two young people were greatly surprised when the professor and
Jasmin suddenly appeared in the midst of their open-air repast.

“We were looking for you, attractive youths,” said Monsieur Gérondif;
“we were perturbed in spirit. The adventure of Pyramus and Thisbe has
been running in my head; I have mistaken every dog I met for a lioness.
I am well aware that my pupil has no inclination to fly, like the young
Assyrian, with any Thisbe; but anyone may make a false step.”

“Tell me, why did you come to look for us?” said Chérubin; “I have time
enough to study, I should think. I know enough already. Is anyone sick?
Has anything happened, that Jasmin comes with you?”

Monsieur Gérondif seemed struck by a sudden thought; he glanced at
Jasmin and said:

“In truth, my noble pupil, there has been an accident--not at all
serious, I trust. Your nurse’s oldest son has hurt himself; he is at
Montfermeil--he has written; and Nicole would like to have Louise go to
him at once; she will come too very soon.”

“We’ll go with Louise,” said Chérubin.

“No, we had better go back to poor Nicole, who is in grief--she doesn’t
know where to go for a doctor. Louise can go to Montfermeil alone; you
can see the first houses from here.”

“Oh, yes! yes! I will be there in a few minutes,” said Louise; “but
where is dear mother Nicole’s son?”

“At Madame Patineau’s, on the main street. Here, here is her address,
and a line for her.”

Monsieur Gérondif scrawled a few words in pencil, wherein he requested
the lady to whom he was sending the girl to keep her at her house, and
not to let her go until she was sent for. The girl took the note, bade
Chérubin adieu and ran off toward Montfermeil. The professor rubbed his
hands and glanced at Jasmin, who said to himself:

“I should never have thought of that.”

They returned to Gagny; as they approached the square, they saw a
carriage stop and a gentleman alight: it was Monsieur d’Hurbain, the
notary.

“Here’s a visitor for you,” said Jasmin to his master. “This gentleman
is your notary, in whose care your venerable father placed his
testament.”

“And it was to prevent your attention being distracted so that you might
receive some gentlemen who are coming from Paris to see you, that we
sent little Louise to Montfermeil,” said Gérondif with a smile.

“What? the accident to Nicole’s son----”

“Was all a joke.”

Before Chérubin had time to reply, Monsieur d’Hurbain came up and bowed
low to him. The notary’s solemn manner made an impression on the young
man, who faltered a few words in reply to the flattering remarks that
were addressed to him. They walked toward the nurse’s house, and for the
first time Chérubin had a feeling of something like shame when the
notary said:

“What, monsieur le marquis, is this where you are studying? You are
sixteen and a half years old, you belong to a noble family, you have a
handsome fortune, and you pass your life beneath the roof of these
village folk! I honor the laboring man, I esteem all honest persons, but
everyone should keep to his own rank, monsieur le marquis, otherwise
society would fall into confusion and anarchy; and there would no longer
be that desire to rise, to succeed, which, by implanting in men’s hearts
a praiseworthy ambition, makes them capable of noble efforts to attain
the end at which they are eager to arrive.”

“Bravo! _recte dicis!_” cried Monsieur Gérondif, smiling at the notary;
“monsieur talks now as I used to talk.”

Chérubin blushed and did not know what to reply. Monsieur d’Hurbain
continued his efforts to make the young man listen to reason, displaying
the utmost amiability and suavity in his arguments. He was careful,
however, to dwell on the marquis’s rank and wealth, and he always ended
with these words:

“You agree with me now, do you not, and you are coming back to Paris
with me?”

But Chérubin, although he seemed to listen with great deference to the
notary’s speeches, replied in a very mild tone:

“No, monsieur, I prefer to stay here.”

“It certainly isn’t my fault!” cried Monsieur Gérondif, raising his eyes
heavenward. “Every day I say to my pupil the same things that you have
said, monsieur; but I reinforce them by example from history, ancient
and modern; it’s as if I were teaching a blind man to draw!”

Monsieur d’Hurbain was beginning to doubt the success of his visit, when
they heard a horse’s footsteps. They ran to the door to see what it was,
and discovered a very stylishly dressed gentleman in a dainty tilbury,
accompanied by his groom only.

It was Edouard de Monfréville, who was driving himself. He stopped,
jumped lightly to the ground and approached the party, bowing
courteously to Chérubin, to whom the notary said:

“Allow me to introduce the son of one of your father’s old friends,
Monsieur de Monfréville, who has come to add his entreaties to mine, to
induce you to go to Paris.”

Monfréville took Chérubin’s hand and pressed it; and after scrutinizing
the young man for some time, he said:

“When, in addition to a name and a fortune, a man also possesses such a
charming face, it is really inexcusable for him to hide in a village.”

“Most assuredly!” murmured Gérondif, smiling at Monfréville; “if Helen
had hidden, we should not have had the siege of Troy; if Dunois had
remained with his nurse, he probably would not have been called ‘le beau
Dunois.’”

Monfréville bestowed an ironical glance on the professor, and continued
to address Chérubin:

“My dear monsieur, my father was a friend of yours, and that made me
desire your acquaintance; it rests entirely with you whether we shall be
friends as our fathers were. Oh! I realize that the difference between
my age and yours may make my suggestion seem absurd to you, but when you
know the world, you will find that such differences vanish before
congenial tastes and temperaments; I am certain even now that we shall
get on very well together. But deuce take it! what sort of costume is
this? A good-looking young fellow, with a fine figure, rigged out in
such style! It is pitiful!”

“My young master employs his late father’s tailor,” murmured Jasmin; “I
thought that I ought not to take him anywhere else.”

“You were wrong, my faithful servant; a tailor is not a relic to be
preserved with respect; evidently this particular one is out of touch
with the styles of the day.--Franck! bring what I told you to put under
the seat of the tilbury.”

Monfréville’s servant soon appeared laden with clothes; he laid out on a
table a beautiful coat made in the latest style, a waistcoat of
bewitching material, black satin stocks, dainty cravats, and a little
blue velvet cap, with gold lace and tassel.

Chérubin could not restrain a cry of admiration at sight of all those
things. Without asking his permission, Monfréville removed his jacket
and waistcoat and made him put on what he had brought; then he put a
richly embroidered cravat about his neck and tied it rakishly; and
lastly he placed the charming little velvet cap on his head and arranged
the curls which it did not hide. Then he led the young man in front of a
mirror and said:

“Look at yourself! Aren’t you a hundred times better-looking?”

Chérubin blushed with pleasure when he saw how comely he was; and in
truth his new costume did impart a wholly different expression to his
pretty face. He was so handsome that Nicole, although distressed to find
that her _fieu_ was to be taken away from her, could not help crying
out:

“Jarni! how fine he is! Why, he’s superb in that rig! He’s a hundred
times better-looking than he was!”

“He doesn’t look at all like his late father,” murmured Jasmin.

“He resembles the son of Jupiter and Latona, Diana’s brother, otherwise
called Apollo,--Phœbus, if you prefer,” cried Monsieur Gérondif,
still smiling.

Monsieur d’Hurbain glanced at Monfréville with an air of satisfaction,
as if to congratulate him on having discovered the means of seducing
Chérubin, who, in truth, seemed delighted with his costume. He
constantly gazed at and admired himself; and Monsieur de Monfréville, to
encourage his favorable disposition, made haste to say to him:

“I was told that you lived in a village, but I was loath to believe it!
The son of the Marquis de Grandvilain, who ought to be noted for his
style, his dress, his manners, who, in short, was made to be a shining
light in Parisian society, cannot remain buried in a peasant’s house! It
is an anomaly--a crime! These trifling specimens of clothes will give
you an idea of what you would have in Paris. I have come in my tilbury
to fetch you, and I propose that within a week you shall be the best
dressed, the most stylish young man in the capital. You will set the
fashion; you are rich enough and handsome enough for that.”

Chérubin seemed to be captivated by Monfréville’s words, and the latter,
assured of his triumph, said in a moment:

“Let us start, my young friend, let us not delay any longer. The tilbury
is waiting for us, and Paris is beckoning to you.”

But at that Chérubin’s face became clouded, and instead of following
Monsieur de Monfréville and the notary, who had risen, he resumed his
seat, saying:

“No, I don’t want to go away, for I want Louise to see me in these
clothes.”

The two gentlemen from the city were in despair; they believed that they
had fully persuaded the young marquis to accompany them, and again he
refused.

The notary argued, Monfréville put forth all his eloquence and drew
fascinating pictures of the pleasures of Paris, but Chérubin refused to
go with them.

Monsieur Gérondif was in dismay, Nicole was triumphant, and Jasmin
muttered under his breath:

“I had an idea that these men wouldn’t be any smarter than me.”

No one spoke, for no one knew what course to adopt. Suddenly they heard
another carriage approaching. Thereupon a gleam of hope shone in
Monfréville’s eyes, and Monsieur d’Hurbain exclaimed:

“Faith! it’s high time that Monsieur Daréna arrived, but I doubt very
much his having any better success than we have had.”

“Perhaps he will,” murmured Monfréville; “Daréna is one of those people
who dare to do anything.”

The carriage stopped in front of the nurse’s house, and Nicole’s guests
ran to the door to see who alighted.

The cab, for it was a vulgar cab that had arrived, seemed to contain a
number of people, to judge by the noise inside. Several voices could be
heard speaking at once, and continual bursts of laughter. At last the
door opened. Monsieur Daréna alighted first, dressed even more shabbily
than on the previous day; which fact did not deter him from exhibiting
the most distinguished manners, as he assisted his companions to alight.

First came a young woman dressed as a Spaniard, then one dressed as an
Odalisk, a third in a Swiss costume, and a fourth in the piquant garb of
a Neapolitan. And they were all young, pretty, graceful and shapely;
their eyes were bright, mischievous, and most alluring; and there was in
their manner of jumping from the carriage, a surprising lightness and
grace, and in their general bearing an uncommon absence of restraint.

The villagers gazed at them in wide-eyed amazement. Monsieur Gérondif
affected to lower his eyes, but he hazarded a glance nearly every
minute. The notary glanced at Monfréville with an air of surprise,
muttering:

“What does all this mean?”

Monfréville laughed heartily, as he replied:

“Faith! I believe that he is cleverer than we are.”

Meanwhile, Daréna took two of the ladies by the hand.

“Come, Rosina and Malvina; follow us, Cœlina and Fœdora. We have
come to pay our respects to the young Marquis de Grandvilain. Where is
he? Ah, yes, I see him; this charming young man with the melting eyes
is he. _Peste!_ be on your guard, mesdames; those eyes will make
terrible havoc in your ranks.”

As he spoke, Daréna entered the house with his companions. After
ushering in his four ladies, who seemed not in the least embarrassed,
and who scrutinized laughingly the interior of the rustic dwelling,
Daréna saluted Chérubin as if he were an old acquaintance, and said:

“My dear marquis, your notary, Monsieur d’Hurbain, is mine as well; your
friend Monsieur de Monfréville is also a very intimate friend of mine;
so you see that I too should be your friend--that is a title which I
should deem myself fortunate to deserve. Shake hands, marquis--men like
us understand each other instantly. You are young, but we will form
you.”

Chérubin was bewildered by all that he saw and heard; moreover, the
Spaniard and the Neapolitan were already flashing glances at him of a
sort to which he was not accustomed; while the Odalisk smiled at him in
a most enticing fashion, and the Swiss constantly passed the tip of her
tongue over her lips and winked at him. All this caused him a
perturbation which he could not define.

“Marquis Chérubin,” continued Daréna, “I have ventured to bring with me
four fascinating ladies; they are artists, dancers of the greatest
talent, connected with the Grand Opéra in Paris; they had a most eager
desire to see you and to drink milk in the country.--Is it possible to
obtain milk here, virtuous villager?”

While Daréna put this question to Nicole, who ran off at once to the
dairy, the little woman dressed as a Swiss jumped up and down on her
chair, crying:

“Yes! milk’s splendid! I’m going to drink it hard.”

Daréna walked to where she sat and nudged her with his elbow, saying in
her ear:

“Be kind enough to keep quiet, Malvina, for you can’t say anything but
nonsense.”

And Monfréville, biting his lips to avoid laughing, whispered to Daréna:

“You have the face to say that these women are from the Opéra!”

“Three of them are, my dear fellow; I swear that those three are
_figurantes_. The Swiss is at one of the boulevard theatres, it is true,
but she has a bewitching leg.--I have brought these ladies in their
stage costumes,” Daréna continued, addressing Chérubin, “because they
promised to give you a slight specimen of their talent. Come, my
goddesses, give us a pretty _pas de quatre_ for the young marquis, who
has no idea of what is to be seen at the Opéra. I realize that this
isn’t as convenient a place for dancing as the stage; the floor isn’t
parqueted; but you will have all the more credit.”

“It isn’t even tiled!” cried the Swiss, looking at her feet; “how do you
expect us to slide on such a floor? No, thanks! it’s too much work! We
shall come down on our backsides!”

“Ha! ha! very pretty! very pretty!” cried Daréna, affecting to laugh
heartily in order to lessen the effect produced by the Swiss girl’s
expression; “you must excuse madame; she isn’t a Parisian and she
doesn’t know our language very well; she doesn’t understand the
comparative value of words.”

“Tibullus, Petronius and Ovid sometimes employed the equivalent,” said
Monsieur Gérondif, perpetrating an immense smile, so that the four
dancers might see all his teeth.

“I ain’t a Parisian!” cried Mademoiselle Malvina; “well, upon my word! I
was born on Rue Mouffetard--just where my mother sells Brie cheese.”

Daréna trod on her foot and whispered to her:

“If you don’t hold your tongue, Malvina, I’ll put you in the cab, you
shan’t have any milk, and you shan’t come to the dinner.”

The Swiss held her tongue, and the count, taking a kit from his pocket,
prepared to play.

“I’ll be the orchestra,” he said; “I have thought of everything, you
see. Come, mesdames, ready.”

Meanwhile, Monsieur d’Hurbain went to Monfréville and said to him in an
undertone:

“Really, Monsieur le Comte de Daréna has employed an expedient which--I
don’t know whether I ought to assent to this. His scheme seems to me
rather shady.”

“Why so?” rejoined Monfréville. “Daréna is cleverer than we are. I think
that his method of seduction is all right. After all, the young fellow
would go to the Opéra, if he went to Paris; so what is the harm of
letting him see here what he would see on the stage? In fact, it seems
to me that the illusion is much less.”

“Very well,” said the notary, resuming his seat; “after all, the end
justifies the means.”

The four dancers were on the point of beginning their performance, when
Nicole appeared with milk and cups. They pounced upon the latter and
declared that they proposed to have something to drink first.

While they were drinking, Chérubin kept his eyes constantly on those
four women, who were so utterly unlike all the women he had ever before
seen. Monsieur Gérondif poured the milk for the dancers with his own
hands.

“Assuredly I bear a resemblance to Ganymede at this moment,” he said to
them. “He served Jupiter, I serve Terpsichore and her sisters.”

“I say,” said Malvina, snatching the pail from the professor’s hand,
“you make us sick, pouring it out so, drop by drop! I’d rather drink as
much as I like--it’s a quicker way.”

“It’s amazing how thirsty they are, for fashionable ladies,” said old
Jasmin, rolling his eyes in wonderment.

When the milk was exhausted, the four dancers took their places. The
others were seated, Daréna with his kit. He played the air of the _Jota
Arragonaise_, and the ladies began to dance with much grace and
lightness of foot.

The peasants were lost in admiration. Jasmin applauded; Monsieur
Gérondif no longer lowered his eyes, and his whole face was as red and
inflamed as his nose.

Monfréville and the notary watched Chérubin; he seemed fascinated,
enchanted by the novel spectacle presented to him, and his eyes did not
grow weary of gazing at those young and pretty women, whose steps, whose
attitudes, whose slightest movements were instinct with pleasure and
licentiousness. Daréna, observing the effect produced by the dance,
played a livelier air, then another in even quicker time. The dancers
followed the change of tempo, and their dance became more rapid, more
seductive. They seemed to vie with one another in grace and litheness;
their eyes, enlivened by the violent exercise, shone brighter and with
more fire. Jasmin applauded wildly, Monsieur Gérondif scratched his nose
as if he would demolish it, and Chérubin became much moved. At that
moment, excited by the zest with which she danced, Mademoiselle Malvina
began to hurl her legs into space with such vigor that it was impossible
for the spectators to avoid seeing that she wore no drawers.

“They are bayadères!” cried Monsieur Gérondif, whose eyes were almost
out of his head; “it’s the Mozambique dance! it’s very interesting!”

Monsieur d’Hurbain, considering that the Mozambique dance went
altogether too far, rose and said:

“Very good, mesdames, but that will do; you must be tired.”

“Bah!” cried Mademoiselle Malvina, “I’d like to dance the cancan myself!
I’m rather good at the cancan.”

Daréna, who was desirous that the effect produced by the dance should
not be wasted, ran to Chérubin and took his arm, saying:

“Now we are going back to Paris; we are to dine at the Rocher de Cancale
with these ladies, and they hope that you will join us, for the party
would not be complete without you.”

Chérubin was excited, and he hesitated. Daréna made a sign to the
dancers, who at once surrounded the youth, saying:

“Oh, yes, monsieur, come to Paris with us!”

“You must go to the Opéra to-night; you will see us dance there, and it
will be rather different from what it was in this room.”

“It would be very mean of you to refuse us.”

“And then,” cried Malvina, “at the Rocher de Cancale! That’s the place
to get a good dinner! I’m going to stuff myself, I am!”

“Come, come, you must be one of us!” exclaimed Daréna.

The Spaniard and the Neapolitan each seized one of Chérubin’s arms; he
let them drag him away and they carried him, almost dancing, to the cab,
which he entered with Daréna and the four dancers.

“But I have a carriage,” cried the notary; “you will be too crowded with
six in there! Let some of the ladies come in my carriage.”

“No, no!” said Daréna; “we’ll sit in one another’s laps--it’s all the
more fun!--Off you go, driver; founder your nags--we’ll pay you for
them. To the Rocher de Cancale!”

The cab drove away with Chérubin, who had not even had time to bid his
nurse good-bye.

“Daréna has succeeded!” said Monfréville; “the bird has left his nest.”

“Yes,” replied Monsieur d’Hurbain, “but this sort of thing must not go
too far. And this dinner--with those women; really, I can’t be there. I,
a notary, dine with ballet dancers!”

“Oh! bless my soul! just once; you can go _incog_. Besides, it’s for a
good motive, and your presence will prevent the dinner from being too
indecent. Let us take my tilbury, we can follow them better.”

Monsieur d’Hurbain entered the tilbury with Monfréville, and Monsieur
Gérondif and Jasmin jumped into the carriage.

“They are taking my young master to the Rocher de Cancale,” said the old
servant, “and I have ordered a sumptuous banquet at the house, and a
reception, with music and flowers and----”

“Never mind, worthy Jasmin,” rejoined the tutor, “all those things will
serve as well later; my pupil will have to go home eventually. As for
myself, I am Mentor, and I must not abandon Telemachus, even when he
goes to dinner at the Rocher de Cancale.”




XI

MONFRÉVILLE.--DARÉNA.--POTERNE


A handsome salon had been engaged and a sumptuous banquet ordered at the
Rocher de Cancale, by Comte Daréna, who had said to himself before he
started for Gagny:

“Whatever happens, we shall surely come back to dinner; to be sure, if I
happen to be one of those who are to pay, it will be rather hard for me
just at this time; but that doesn’t worry me much; I’ll order the dinner
none the less.”

To give no thought to anything but pleasure, to pay no heed to the
future, to be, in truth, often indifferent concerning affairs of the
present, such was Daréna’s nature. Born of a noble family, he had
received an excellent education and had studied diligently. His father,
a man of a proud and stern character, having observed in his son early
in life a decided taste for independence and dissipation, had thought
that he could correct him by depriving him of those amusements and that
liberty which are the ordinary means of relaxation after toil and study.
Thus, when Daréna was nineteen years of age, he had never had a franc
that he could call his own, or a half hour of freedom. At that time his
father died; his mother had died long before, and he suddenly found
himself his own master and possessed of a very pretty little fortune. He
plunged recklessly into pleasure and dissipation, trying to make up all
the time that his father’s severity had caused him to lose, and bade
adieu forever to study and to serious things.

Cards, women, horses, the table, became his idols. At first he
frequented the best society, to which his name and his wealth gave him
access; from the very beginning he had a multitude of love intrigues;
but Daréna was not sentimental, he looked for nothing but pleasure in
such affairs, and broke them off as soon as he foreshadowed the
slightest exaction or annoyance.

As ladies in good society are not always disposed to form a liaison of a
few days only, and as Comte Daréna’s behavior was no secret, since he
plumed himself on not becoming attached to any woman, his amatory
triumphs gradually became less numerous in the fashionable world, and he
was compelled to pay his addresses to _petites bourgeoises_, then to
ladies of the theatre, then to grisettes, then to courtesans; and
finally he had grown to be so unexacting on that point that he had been
known to take his mistresses from the most humble ranks of society.

Daréna’s fortune, like his love-affairs, had sunk constantly lower and
lower. At last, at the age of twenty-eight, the count had squandered his
whole patrimony and had nothing left save the house in Faubourg
Saint-Antoine, which he desired to sell, and upon which he had already
borrowed more than it was worth.

But, far from worrying concerning his present plight and his future, so
long as he was able to dine well, to drink champagne with a ballet
dancer, a figurante, a lace-maker, or even a lady’s maid, Daréna snapped
his fingers at all the rest. To obtain those enjoyments, he was often
obliged to resort to doubtful expedients; but the man who is not
particular in choosing his acquaintances is not always particular as to
his means of existence.

A person named Poterne had seconded Daréna’s dissipation and ruin to the
utmost of his power. This Poterne was a man whose age it was impossible
to guess, he was so ugly and unshapely. A gaunt, bony, angular body,
supported by thin, knock-kneed legs, was surmounted by an oblong head of
excessive length, a nose broken in the centre and hooked at the end, a
mouth without lips, a protruding chin, and small eyes of a dull green
hue, shaded by bushy eyebrows, and turning incessantly in every
direction. Add to these an enormous quantity of thick, dirty brown hair,
always cut like the quills of a hedgehog, and you have a faithful image
of Monsieur Poterne.

This man had become attached to Comte Daréna when he was still wealthy;
he had offered his services in any capacity; he knew all the places in
Paris where a young man of family can ruin himself with the least
difficulty. If Daréna spied, at the play or on the street, a woman who
attracted him, Poterne undertook to follow her, and to hand her a letter
containing information concerning him. Later, Poterne made it his
business to find usurers, money-lenders, accommodating tradesmen; so
that he had become indispensable to the count, who treated him sometimes
as his friend, sometimes as his servant, cajoled him occasionally,
despised him always, and could never do without him.

The reader will assume perhaps that it had been this gentleman’s aim to
enrich himself at the expense of the person whom he was assisting to
ruin himself. That was Poterne’s idea at first; but his own vices
prevented him from taking advantage of another’s failings. As inveterate
a gambler and libertine as Daréna, while the latter was losing
thousand-franc notes in a fashionable salon, Poterne was gambling away,
in some wine-shop or low resort, the money he had extracted from his
intimate friend. While Daréna entertained some charmer at Véfour’s or
Véry’s, Poterne betook himself to a gin-shop to squander what money he
had with a street peddler, and he was too ugly not to be compelled to be
open-handed. And when Daréna was without a sou he sometimes abused his
friend, and accused him of being the author of his ruin. At such times
he unceremoniously appropriated all that Poterne possessed; and that
worthy, who was also a coward, allowed himself to be despoiled without a
murmur, promising himself that he would have his revenge ere long.

It may seem strange that the refined Monfréville should be on intimate
terms with a man whose tastes, whose conduct, whose very dress, proved
his disorderly mode of life. But there are people who, after knowing a
person when he was rich and fortunate, dare not turn their backs on him
when they meet him with a soiled coat and dingy hat. Moreover, Daréna
still had intervals of prosperity; when the cards had been favorable to
him, or when his friend Poterne had discovered some new resource, he
instantly reappeared, elegantly and stylishly dressed; he frequented the
theatres, the ballrooms and the best restaurants in Paris; and a few
days later, a perceptible falling off in his toilet, a certain lack of
neatness in some part of his costume, indicated that the situation had
changed. But even with a wretched hat and dirty linen, Daréna succeeded
so well in retaining the manners of good society, that it was hard to
believe that he consorted with the very lowest.

Indeed, does anyone know aught of the private life of the great majority
of the persons with whom he has only a passing connection? Meeting
Daréna arrayed as in the days of

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