Part 22 out of 31
"'What do you want of him, of Mr. Boivin?'
"I felt ill at ease on being questioned by this fury. I stammered:
'Why-he expects me.'
"'Ah, it is you who have come to luncheon?'
"'Yes,' I stammered, trembling.
"Then, turning toward the house, she cried in an angry tone:
"'Boivin, here is your man!'
"It was my friend's wife. Little Boivin appeared immediately on the
threshold of a sort of barrack of plaster covered with zinc, that looked
like a foot stove. He wore white duck trousers covered with stains and a
dirty Panama hat.
"After shaking my hands warmly, he took me into what he called his
garden. It was at the end of another alleyway enclosed by high walls and
was a little square the size of a pocket handkerchief, surrounded by
houses that were so high that the sun, could reach it only two or three
hours in the day. Pansies, pinks, wallflowers and a few rose bushes were
languishing in this well without air, and hot as an oven from the
refraction of heat from the roofs.
"'I have no trees,' said Boivin, 'but the neighbors' walls take their
place. I have as much shade as in a wood.'
"Then he took hold of a button of my coat and said in a low tone:
"'You can do me a service. You saw the wife. She is not agreeable, eh?
To-day, as I had invited you, she gave me clean clothes; but if I spot
them all is lost. I counted on you to water my plants.'
"I agreed. I took off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and began to work
the handle of a kind of pump that wheezed, puffed and rattled like a
consumptive as it emitted a thread of water like a Wallace drinking
fountain. It took me ten minutes to water it and I was in a bath of
perspiration. Boivin directed me:
"'Here--this plant--a little more; enough--now this one.'
"The watering pot leaked and my feet got more water than the flowers.
The bottoms of my trousers were soaking and covered with mud. And twenty
times running I kept it up, soaking my feet afresh each time, and
perspiring anew as I worked the handle of the pump. And when I was tired
out and wanted to stop, Boivin, in a tone of entreaty, said as he put his
hand on my arm:
"Just one more watering pot full--just one, and that will be all.'
"To thank me he gave me a rose, a big rose, but hardly had it touched my
button-hole than it fell to pieces, leaving only a hard little green knot
as a decoration. I was surprised, but said nothing.
"Mme. Boivin's voice was heard in the distance:
"'Are you ever coming? When you know that luncheon is ready!'
"We went toward the foot stove. If the garden was in the shade, the
house, on the other hand, was in the blazing sun, and the sweating room
in the Turkish bath is not as hot as was my friend's dining room.
"Three plates at the side of which were some half-washed forks, were
placed on a table of yellow wood in the middle of which stood an
earthenware dish containing boiled beef and potatoes. We began to eat.
"A large water bottle full of water lightly colored with wine attracted
my attention. Boivin, embarrassed, said to his wife:
"'See here, my dear, just on a special occasion, are you not going to
give us some plain wine?'
"She looked at him furiously.
"'So that you may both get tipsy, is that it, and stay here gabbing all
day? A fig for your special occasion!'
"He said no more. After the stew she brought in another dish of potatoes
cooked with bacon. When this dish was finished, still in silence, she
"'That is all! Now get out!'
"Boivin looked at her in astonishment.
"'But the pigeon--the pigeon you plucked this morning?'
"She put her hands on her hips:
"'Perhaps you have not had enough? Because you bring people here is no
reason why we should devour all that there is in the house. What is
there for me to eat this evening?'
"We rose. Solvin whispered
"'Wait for me a second, and we will skip.'
"He went into the kitchen where his wife had gone, and I overheard him
"'Give me twenty sous, my dear.'
"'What do you want with twenty sons?'
"'Why, one does not know what may happen. It is always better to have
"She yelled so that I should hear:
"'No, I will not give it to you! As the man has had luncheon here, the
least he can do is to pay your expenses for the day.'
"Boivin came back to fetch me. As I wished to be polite I bowed to the
mistress of the house, stammering:
"'Madame--many thanks--kind welcome.'
"'That's all right,' she replied. 'But do not bring him back drunk, for
you will have to answer to me, you know!'
"We set out. We had to cross a perfectly bare plain under the burning
sun. I attempted to gather a flower along the road and gave a cry of
pain. It had hurt my hand frightfully. They call these plants nettles.
And, everywhere, there was a smell of manure, enough to turn your
"Boivin said, 'Have a little patience and we will reach the river bank.'
"We reached the river. Here there was an odor of mud and dirty water,
and the sun blazed down on the water so that it burned my eyes. I begged
Boivin to go under cover somewhere. He took me into a kind of shanty
filled with men, a river boatmen's tavern.
"'This does not look very grand, but it is very comfortable.'
"I was hungry. I ordered an omelet. But to and behold, at the second
glass of wine, that beggar, Boivin, lost his head, and I understand why
his wife gave him water diluted.
"He got up, declaimed, wanted to show his strength, interfered in a
quarrel between two drunken men who were fighting, and, but for the
landlord, who came to the rescue, we should both have been killed.
"I dragged him away, holding him up until we reached the first bush where
I deposited him. I lay down beside him and, it seems, I fell asleep.
We must certainly have slept a long time, for it was dark when I awoke.
Boivin was snoring at my side. I shook him; he rose but he was still
drunk, though a little less so.
"We set out through the darkness across the plain. Boivin said he knew
the way. He made me turn to the left, then to the right, then to the
left. We could see neither sky nor earth, and found ourselves lost in
the midst of a kind of forest of wooden stakes, that came as high as our
noses. It was a vineyard and these were the supports. There was not a
single light on the horizon. We wandered about in this vineyard for
about an hour or two, hesitating, reaching out our arms without finding
any limit, for we kept retracing our steps.
"At length Boivin fell against a stake that tore his cheek and he
remained in a sitting posture on the ground, uttering with all his might
long and resounding hallos, while I screamed 'Help! Help!' as loud as I
could, lighting candle-matches to show the way to our rescuers, and also
to keep up my courage.
"At last a belated peasant heard us and put us on our right road. I took
Boivin to his home, but as I was leaving him on the threshold of his
garden, the door opened suddenly and his wife appeared, a candle in her
hand. She frightened me horribly.
"As soon as she saw her husband, whom she must have been waiting for
since dark, she screamed, as she darted toward me:
"'Ah, scoundrel, I knew you would bring him back drunk!'
"My, how I made my escape, running all the way to the station, and as I
thought the fury was pursuing me I shut myself in an inner room as the
train was not due for half an hour.
"That is why I never married, and why I never go out of Paris."
Madame Julie Roubere was expecting her elder sister, Madame Henriette
Letore, who had just returned from a trip to Switzerland.
The Letore household had left nearly five weeks before. Madame Henriette
had allowed her husband to return alone to their estate in Calvados,
where some business required his attention, and had come to spend a few
days in Paris with her sister. Night came on. In the quiet parlor
Madame Roubere was reading in the twilight in an absent-minded way,
raising her, eyes whenever she heard a sound.
At last, she heard a ring at the door, and her sister appeared, wrapped
in a travelling cloak. And without any formal greeting, they clasped
each other in an affectionate embrace, only desisting for a moment to
give each other another hug. Then they talked about their health, about
their respective families, and a thousand other things, gossiping,
jerking out hurried, broken sentences as they followed each other about,
while Madame Henriette was removing her hat and veil.
It was now quite dark. Madame Roubere rang for a lamp, and as soon as it
was brought in, she scanned her sister's face, and was on the point of
embracing her once more. But she held back, scared and astonished at the
On her temples Madame Letore had two large locks of white hair. All the
rest of her hair was of a glossy, raven-black hue; but there alone, at
each side of her head, ran, as it were, two silvery streams which were
immediately lost in the black mass surrounding them. She was,
nevertheless, only twenty-four years old, and this change had come on
suddenly since her departure for Switzerland.
Without moving, Madame Roubere gazed at her in amazement, tears rising to
her eyes, as she thought that some mysterious and terrible calamity must
have befallen her sister. She asked:
"What is the matter with you, Henriette?"
Smiling with a sad face, the smile of one who is heartsick, the other
"Why, nothing, I assure you. Were you noticing my white hair?"
But Madame Roubere impetuously seized her by the shoulders, and with a
searching glance at her, repeated:
"What is the matter with you? Tell me what is the matter with you. And
if you tell me a falsehood, I'll soon find it out."
They remained face to face, and Madame Henriette, who looked as if she
were about to faint, had two pearly tears in the corners of her drooping
Her sister continued:
"What has happened to you? What is the matter with you? Answer me!"
Then, in a subdued voice, the other murmured:
"I have--I have a lover."
And, hiding her forehead on the shoulder of her younger sister, she
Then, when she had grown a little calmer, when the heaving of her breast
had subsided, she commenced to unbosom herself, as if to cast forth this
secret from herself, to empty this sorrow of hers into a sympathetic
Thereupon, holding each other's hands tightly clasped, the two women went
over to a sofa in a dark corner of the room, into which they sank, and
the younger sister, passing her arm over the elder one's neck, and
drawing her close to her heart, listened.
"Oh! I know that there was no excuse for me; I do not understand myself,
and since that day I feel as if I were mad. Be careful, my child, about
yourself--be careful! If you only knew how weak we are, how quickly we
yield, and fall. It takes so little, so little, so little, a moment of
tenderness, one of those sudden fits of melancholy which come over you,
one of those longings to open, your arms, to love, to cherish something,
which we all have at certain moments.
"You know my husband, and you know how fond I am of him; but he is mature
and sensible, and cannot even comprehend the tender vibrations of a
woman's heart. He is always the same, always good, always smiling,
always kind, always perfect. Oh! how I sometimes have wished that he
would clasp me roughly in his arms, that he would embrace me with those
slow, sweet kisses which make two beings intermingle, which are like mute
confidences! How I have wished that he were foolish, even weak, so that
he should have need of me, of my caresses, of my tears!
"This all seems very silly; but we women are made like that. How can we
"And yet the thought of deceiving him never entered my mind. Now it has
happened, without love, without reason, without anything, simply because
the moon shone one night on the Lake of Lucerne.
"During the month when we were travelling together, my husband, with his
calm indifference, paralyzed my enthusiasm, extinguished my poetic ardor.
When we were descending the mountain paths at sunrise, when as the four
horses galloped along with the diligence, we saw, in the transparent
morning haze, valleys, woods, streams, and villages, I clasped my hands
with delight, and said to him: 'How beautiful it is, dear! Give me a
kiss! Kiss me now!' He only answered, with a smile of chilling
kindliness: 'There is no reason why we should kiss each other because you
like the landscape.'
"And his words froze me to the heart. It seems to me that when people
love each other, they ought to feel more moved by love than ever, in the
presence of beautiful scenes.
"In fact, I was brimming over with poetry which he kept me from
expressing. I was almost like a boiler filled with steam and
"One evening (we had for four days been staying in a hotel at Fluelen)
Robert, having one of his sick headaches, went to bed immediately after
dinner, and I went to take a walk all alone along the edge of the lake.
"It was a night such as one reads of in fairy tales. The full moon
showed itself in the middle of the sky; the tall mountains, with their
snowy crests, seemed to wear silver crowns; the waters of the lake
glittered with tiny shining ripples. The air was mild, with that kind of
penetrating warmth which enervates us till we are ready to faint, to be
deeply affected without any apparent cause. But how sensitive, how
vibrating the heart is at such moments! how quickly it beats, and how
intense is its emotion!
"I sat down on the grass, and gazed at that vast, melancholy, and
fascinating lake, and a strange feeling arose in me; I was seized with an
insatiable need of love, a revolt against the gloomy dullness of my life.
What! would it never be my fate to wander, arm in arm, with a man I
loved, along a moon-kissed bank like this? Was I never to feel on my
lips those kisses so deep, delicious, and intoxicating which lovers
exchange on nights that seem to have been made by God for tenderness?
Was I never to know ardent, feverish love in the moonlit shadows of a
"And I burst out weeping like a crazy woman. I heard something stirring
behind me. A man stood there, gazing at me. When I turned my head
round, he recognized me, and, advancing, said:
"'You are weeping, madame?'
"It was a young barrister who was travelling with his mother, and whom we
had often met. His eyes had frequently followed me.
"I was so confused that I did not know what answer to give or what to
think of the situation. I told him I felt ill.
"He walked on by my side in a natural and respectful manner, and began
talking to me about what we had seen during our trip. All that I had
felt he translated into words; everything that made me thrill he
understood perfectly, better than I did myself. And all of a sudden he
repeated some verses of Alfred de Musset. I felt myself choking, seized
with indescribable emotion. It seemed to me that the mountains
themselves, the lake, the moonlight, were singing to me about things
"And it happened, I don't know how, I don't know why, in a sort of
"As for him, I did not see him again till the morning of his departure.
"He gave me his card!"
And, sinking into her sister's arms, Madame Letore broke into groans--
almost into shrieks.
Then, Madame Roubere, with a self-contained and serious air, said very
"You see, sister, very often it is not a man that we love, but love
itself. And your real lover that night was the moonlight."
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
The long promenade of La Croisette winds in a curve along the edge of the
blue water. Yonder, to the right, Esterel juts out into the sea in the
distance, obstructing the view and shutting out the horizon with its
pretty southern outline of pointed summits, numerous and fantastic.
To the left, the isles of Sainte Marguerite and Saint Honorat, almost
level with the water, display their surface, covered with pine trees.
And all along the great gulf, all along the tall mountains that encircle
Cannes, the white villa residences seem to be sleeping in the sunlight.
You can see them from a distance, the white houses, scattered from the
top to the bottom of the mountains, dotting the dark greenery with specks
Those near the water have gates opening on the wide promenade which is
washed by the quiet waves. The air is soft and balmy. It is one of
those warm winter days when there is scarcely a breath of cool air.
Above the walls of the gardens may be seen orange trees and lemon trees
full of golden fruit. Ladies are walking slowly across the sand of the
avenue, followed by children rolling hoops, or chatting with gentlemen.
A young woman has just passed out through the door of her coquettish
little house facing La Croisette. She stops for a moment to gaze at the
promenaders, smiles, and with an exhausted air makes her way toward an
empty bench facing the sea. Fatigued after having gone twenty paces, she
sits down out of breath. Her pale face seems that of a dead woman. She
coughs, and raises to her lips her transparent fingers as if to stop
those paroxysms that exhaust her.
She gazes at the sky full of sunshine and swallows, at the zigzag summits
of the Esterel over yonder, and at the sea, the blue, calm, beautiful
sea, close beside her.
She smiles again, and murmurs:
"Oh! how happy I am!"
She knows, however, that she is going to die, that she will never see the
springtime, that in a year, along the same promenade, these same people
who pass before her now will come again to breathe the warm air of this
charming spot, with their children a little bigger, with their hearts all
filled with hopes, with tenderness, with happiness, while at the bottom
of an oak coffin, the poor flesh which is still left to her to-day will
have decomposed, leaving only her bones lying in the silk robe which she
has selected for a shroud.
She will be no more. Everything in life will go on as before for others.
For her, life will be over, over forever. She will be no more. She
smiles, and inhales as well as she can, with her diseased lungs, the
perfumed air of the gardens.
And she sinks into a reverie.
She recalls the past. She had been married, four years ago, to a Norman
gentleman. He was a strong young man, bearded, healthy-looking, with
wide shoulders, narrow mind, and joyous disposition.
They had been united through financial motives which she knew nothing
about. She would willingly have said No. She said Yes, with a movement
of the head, in order not to thwart her father and mother. She was a
Parisian, gay, and full of the joy of living.
Her husband brought her home to his Norman chateau. It was a huge stone
building surrounded by tall trees of great age. A high clump of pine
trees shut out the view in front. On the right, an opening in the trees
presented a view of the plain, which stretched out in an unbroken level
as far as the distant, farmsteads. A cross-road passed before the gate
and led to the high road three kilometres away.
Oh! she recalls everything, her arrival, her first day in her new abode,
and her isolated life afterward.
When she stepped out of the carriage, she glanced at the old building,
and laughingly exclaimed:
"It does not look cheerful!"
Her husband began to laugh in his turn, and replied:
"Pooh! we get used to it! You'll see. I never feel bored in it, for my
That day they passed their time in embracing each other, and she did not
find it too long. This lasted fully a month. The days passed one after
the other in insignificant yet absorbing occupations. She learned the
value and the importance of the little things of life. She knew that
people can interest themselves in the price of eggs, which cost a few
centimes more or less according to the seasons.
It was summer. She went to the fields to see the men harvesting. The
brightness of the sunshine found an echo in her heart.
The autumn came. Her husband went out shooting. He started in the
morning with his two dogs Medor and Mirza. She remained alone, without
grieving, moreover, at Henry's absence. She was very fond of him, but
she did not miss him. When he returned home, her affection was
especially bestowed on the dogs. She took care of them every evening
with a mother's tenderness, caressed them incessantly, gave them a
thousand charming little names which she had no idea of applying to her
He invariably told her all about his sport. He described the places
where he found partridges, expressed his astonishment at not having
caught any hares in Joseph Ledentu's clever, or else appeared indignant
at the conduct of M. Lechapelier, of Havre, who always went along the
edge of his property to shoot the game that he, Henry de Parville, had
She replied: "Yes, indeed! it is not right," thinking of something else
all the while.
The winter came, the Norman winter, cold and rainy. The endless floods
of rain came down tin the slates of the great gabled roof, rising like a
knife blade toward the sky. The roads seemed like rivers of mud, the
country a plain of mud, and no sound could be heard save that of water
falling; no movement could be seen save the whirling flight of crows that
settled down like a cloud on a field and then hurried off again.
About four o'clock, the army of dark, flying creatures came and perched
in the tall beeches at the left of the chateau, emitting deafening cries.
During nearly an hour, they flew from tree top to tree top, seemed to be
fighting, croaked, and made a black disturbance in the gray branches.
She gazed at them each evening with a weight at her heart, so deeply was
she impressed by the lugubrious melancholy of the darkness falling on the
Then she rang for the lamp, and drew near the fire. She burned heaps of
wood without succeeding in warming the spacious apartments reeking with
humidity. She was cold all day long, everywhere, in the drawing-room, at
meals, in her own apartment. It seemed to her she was cold to the marrow
of her bones. Her husband only came in to dinner; he was always out
shooting, or else he was superintending sowing the seed, tilling the
soil, and all the work of the country.
He would come back jovial, and covered with mud, rubbing his hands as he
"What wretched weather!"
"A fire looks comfortable!"
"Well, how are you to-day? Are you in good spirits?"
He was happy, in good health, without desires, thinking of nothing save
this simple, healthy, and quiet life.
About December, when the snow had come, she suffered so much from the
icy-cold air of the chateau which seemed to have become chilled in
passing through the centuries just as human beings become chilled with
years, that she asked her husband one evening:
"Look here, Henry! You ought to have a furnace put into the house; it
would dry the walls. I assure you that I cannot keep warm from morning
At first he was stunned at this extravagant idea of introducing a furnace
into his manor-house. It would have seemed more natural to him to have
his dogs fed out of silver dishes. He gave a tremendous laugh from the
bottom of his chest as he exclaimed:
"A furnace here! A furnace here! Ha! ha! ha! what a good joke!"
"I assure you, dear, I feel frozen; you don't feel it because you are
always moving about; but all the same, I feel frozen."
He replied, still laughing:
"Pooh! you'll get used to it, and besides it is excellent for the
health. You will only be all the better for it. We are not Parisians,
damn it! to live in hot-houses. And, besides, the spring is quite near."
About the beginning of January, a great misfortune befell her. Her
father and mother died in a carriage accident. She came to Paris for the
funeral. And her sorrow took entire possession of her mind for about six
The mildness of the beautiful summer days finally roused her, and she
lived along in a state of sad languor until autumn.
When the cold weather returned, she was brought face to face, for the
first time, with the gloomy future. What was she to do? Nothing. What
was going to happen to her henceforth? Nothing. What expectation, what
hope, could revive her heart? None. A doctor who was consulted declared
that she would never have children.
Sharper, more penetrating still than the year before, the cold made her
She stretched out her shivering hands to the big flames. The glaring
fire burned her face; but icy whiffs seemed to glide down her back and to
penetrate between her skin and her underclothing. And she shivered from
head to foot. Innumerable draughts of air appeared to have taken up
their abode in the apartment, living, crafty currents of air as cruel as
enemies. She encountered them at every moment; they blew on her
incessantly their perfidious and frozen hatred, now on her face, now on
her hands, and now on her back.
Once more she spoke of a furnace; but her husband listened to her request
as if she were asking for the moon. The introduction of such an
apparatus at Parville appeared to him as impossible as the discovery of
the Philosopher's Stone.
Having been at Rouen on business one day, he brought back to his wife a
dainty foot warmer made of copper, which he laughingly called a "portable
furnace"; and he considered that this would prevent her henceforth from
ever being cold.
Toward the end of December she understood that she could not always live
like this, and she said timidly one evening at dinner:
"Listen, dear! Are we, not going to spend a week or two in Paris before
He was stupefied.
"In Paris? In Paris? But what are we to do there? Ah! no by Jove! We
are better off here. What odd ideas come into your head sometimes."
"It might distract us a little."
He did not understand.
"What is it you want to distract you? Theatres, evening parties, dinners
in town? You knew, however, when you came here, that you ought not to
expect any distractions of this kind!"
She saw a reproach in these words, and in the tone in which they were
uttered. She relapsed into silence. She was timid and gentle, without
resisting power and without strength of will.
In January the cold weather returned with violence. Then the snow
covered the earth.
One evening, as she watched the great black cloud of crows dispersing
among the trees, she began to weep, in spite of herself.
Her husband came in. He asked in great surprise:
"What is the matter with you?"
He was happy, quite happy, never having dreamed of another life or other
pleasures. He had been born and had grown up in this melancholy
district. He felt contented in his own house, at ease in body and mind.
He did not understand that one might desire incidents, have a longing for
changing pleasures; he did not understand that it does not seem natural
to certain beings to remain in the same place during the four seasons; he
seemed not to know that spring, summer, autumn, and winter have, for
multitudes of persons, fresh amusements in new places.
She could say nothing in reply, and she quickly dried her eyes. At last
she murmured in a despairing tone:
"I am--I--I am a little sad--I am a little bored."
But she was terrified at having even said so much, and added very
"And, besides--I am--I am a little cold."
This last plea made him angry.
"Ah! yes, still your idea of the furnace. But look here, deuce take it!
you have not had one cold since you came here."
Night came on. She went up to her room, for she had insisted on having a
separate apartment. She went to bed. Even in bed she felt cold. She
"It will be always like this, always, until I die."
And she thought of her husband. How could he have said:
"You--have not had one cold since you came here"?
She would have to be ill, to cough before he could understand what she
And she was filled with indignation, the angry indignation of a weak,
She must cough. Then, perhaps, he would take pity on her. Well, she
would cough; he should hear her coughing; the doctor should be called in;
he should see, her husband, he should see.
She got out of bed, her legs and her feet bare, and a childish idea made
"I want a furnace, and I must have it. I shall cough so much that he'll
have to put one in the house."
And she sat down in a chair in her nightdress. She waited an hour, two
hours. She shivered, but she did not catch cold. Then she resolved on a
She noiselessly left her room, descended the stairs, and opened the gate
into the garden.
The earth, covered with snows seemed dead. She abruptly thrust forward
her bare foot, and plunged it into the icy, fleecy snow. A sensation of
cold, painful as a wound, mounted to her heart. However, she stretched
out the other leg, and began to descend the steps slowly.
Then she advanced through the grass saying to herself:
"I'll go as far as the pine trees."
She walked with quick steps, out of breath, gasping every time she
plunged her foot into the snow.
She touched the first pine tree with her hand, as if to assure herself
that she had carried out her plan to the end; then she went back into the
house. She thought two or three times that she was going to fall, so
numbed and weak did she feel. Before going in, however, she sat down in
that icy fleece, and even took up several handfuls to rub on her chest.
Then she went in and got into bed. It seemed to her at the end of an
hour that she had a swarm of ants in her throat, and that other ants were
running all over her limbs. She slept, however.
Next day she was coughing and could not get up.
She had inflammation of the lungs. She became delirious, and in her
delirium she asked for a furnace. The doctor insisted on having one put
in. Henry yielded, but with visible annoyance.
She was incurable. Her lungs were seriously affected, and those about
her feared for her life.
"If she remains here, she will not last until the winter," said the
She was sent south. She came to Cannes, made the acquaintance of the
sun, loved the sea, and breathed the perfume of orange blossoms.
Then, in the spring, she returned north.
But she now lived with the fear of being cured, with the fear of the long
winters of Normandy; and as soon as she was better she opened her window
by night and recalled the sweet shores of the Mediterranean.
And now she is going to die. She knows it and she is happy.
She unfolds a newspaper which she has not already opened, and reads this
"The first snow in Paris."
She shivers and then smiles. She looks across at the Esterel, which is
becoming rosy in the rays of the setting sun. She looks at the vast blue
sky, so blue, so very blue, and the vast blue sea, so very blue also, and
she rises from her seat.
And then she returned to the house with slow steps, only stopping to
cough, for she had remained out too long and she was cold, a little cold.
She finds a letter from her husband. She opens it, still smiling, and
"MY DEAR LOVE: I hope you are well, and that you do not regret too
much our beautiful country. For some days last we have had a good
frost, which presages snow. For my part, I adore this weather, and
you my believe that I do not light your damned furnace."
She ceases reading, quite happy at the thought that she had her furnace
put in. Her right hand, which holds the letter, falls slowly on her lap,
while she raises her left hand to her mouth, as if to calm the obstinate
cough which is racking her chest.
SUNDAYS OF A BOURGEOIS
PREPARATIONS FOR THE EXCURSION
M. Patissot, born in Paris, after having failed in his examinations at
the College Henri IV., like many others, had entered the government
service through the influence of one of his aunts, who kept a tobacco
store where the head of one of the departments bought his provisions.
He advanced very slowly, and would, perhaps, have died a fourth-class
clerk without the aid of a kindly Providence, which sometimes watches
over our destiny. He is today fifty-two years old, and it is only at
this age that he is beginning to explore, as a tourist, all that part of
France which lies between the fortifications and the provinces.
The story of his advance might be useful to many employees, just as the
tale of his excursions may be of value to many Parisians who will take
them as a model for their own outings, and will thus, through his
example, avoid certain mishaps which occurred to him.
In 1854 he only enjoyed a salary of 1,800 francs. Through a peculiar
trait of his character he was unpopular with all his superiors, who let
him languish in the eternal and hopeless expectation of the clerk's
ideal, an increase of salary. Nevertheless he worked; but he did not
know how to make himself appreciated. He had too much self-respect, he
claimed. His self-respect consisted in never bowing to his superiors in
a low and servile manner, as did, according to him, certain of his
colleagues, whom he would not mention. He added that his frankness
embarrassed many people, for, like all the rest, he protested against
injustice and the favoritism shown to persons entirely foreign to the
bureaucracy. But his indignant voice never passed beyond the little cage
where he worked.
First as a government clerk, then as a Frenchman and finally as a man who
believed in order he would adhere to whatever government was established,
having an unbounded reverence for authority, except for that of his
Each time that he got the chance he would place himself where he could
see the emperor pass, in order to have the honor of taking his hat off to
him; and he would go away puffed up with pride at having bowed to the
head of the state.
From his habit of observing the sovereign he did as many others do; he
imitated the way he trimmed his beard or arranged his hair, the cut of
his clothes, his walk, his mannerisms. Indeed, how many men in each
country seemed to be the living images of the head of the government!
Perhaps he vaguely resembled Napoleon III., but his hair was black;
therefore he dyed it, and then the likeness was complete; and when he met
another gentleman in the street also imitating the imperial countenance
he was jealous and looked at him disdainfully. This need of imitation
soon became his hobby, and, having heard an usher at the Tuilleries
imitate the voice of the emperor, he also acquired the same intonations
and studied slowness.
He thus became so much like his model that they might easily have been
mistaken for each other, and certain high dignitaries were heard to
remark that they found it unseemly and even vulgar; the matter was
mentioned to the prime minister, who ordered that the employee should
appear before him. But at the sight of him he began to laugh and
repeated two or three times: "That's funny, really funny!" This was
repeated, and the following day Patissot's immediate superior recommended
that his subordinate receive an increase of salary of three hundred
francs. He received it immediately.
From that time on his promotions came regularly, thanks to his ape-like
faculty of imitation. The presentiment that some high honor might come
to him some day caused his chiefs to speak to him with deference.
When the Republic was proclaimed it was a disaster for him. He felt
lost, done for, and, losing his head, he stopped dyeing his hair, shaved
his face clean and had his hair cut short, thus acquiring a paternal and
benevolent expression which could not compromise him in any way.
Then his chiefs took revenge for the long time during which he had
imposed upon them, and, having all turned Republican through an instinct
of self preservation, they cut down his salary and delayed his promotion.
He, too, changed his opinions. But the Republic not being a palpable and
living person whom one can resemble, and the presidents succeeding each
other with rapidity, he found himself plunged in the greatest
embarrassment, in terrible distress, and, after an unsuccessful imitation
of his last ideal, M. Thiers, he felt a check put on all his attempts at
imitation. He needed a new manifestation of his personality. He
searched for a long time; then, one morning, he arrived at the office
wearing a new hat which had on the side a small red, white and blue
rosette. His colleagues were astounded; they laughed all that day, the
next day, all the week, all the month. But the seriousness of his
demeanor at last disconcerted them, and once more his superiors became
anxious. What mystery could be hidden under this sign? Was it a simple
manifestation of patriotism, or an affirmation of his allegiance to the
Republic, or perhaps the badge of some powerful association? But to wear
it so persistently he must surely have some powerful and hidden
protection. It would be well to be on one's guard, especially as he
received all pleasantries with unruffled calmness. After that he was
treated with respect, and his sham courage saved him; he was appointed
head clerk on the first of January, 1880. His whole life had been spent
indoors. He hated noise and bustle, and because of this love of rest and
quiet he had remained a bachelor. He spent his Sundays reading tales of
adventure and ruling guide lines which he afterward offered to his
colleagues. In his whole existence he had only taken three vacations of
a week each, when he was changing his quarters. But sometimes, on a
holiday, he would leave by an excursion train for Dieppe or Havre in
order to elevate his mind by the inspiring sight of the sea.
He was full of that common sense which borders on stupidity. For a long
time he had been living quietly, with economy, temperate through
prudence, chaste by temperament, when suddenly he was assailed by a
terrible apprehension. One evening in the street he suddenly felt an
attack of dizziness which made him fear a stroke of apoplexy. He
hastened to a physician and for five francs obtained the following
M. X-, fifty-five years old, bachelor, clerk. Full-blooded,
danger of apoplexy. Cold-water applications, moderate nourishment,
plenty of exercise. MONTELLIER, M.D.
Patissot was greatly distressed, and for a whole month, in his office, he
kept a wet towel wrapped around his head like a turban while the water
continually dripped on his work, which he would have to do over again.
Every once in a while he would read the prescription over, probably in
the hope of finding some hidden meaning, of penetrating into the secret
thought of the physician, and also of discovering some forms of exercise
which, might perhaps make him immune from apoplexy.
Then he consulted his friends, showing them the fateful paper. One
advised boxing. He immediately hunted up an instructor, and, on the
first day, he received a punch in the nose which immediately took away
all his ambition in this direction. Single-stick made him gasp for
breath, and he grew so stiff from fencing that for two days and two
nights he could not get sleep. Then a bright idea struck him. It was to
walk, every Sunday, to some suburb of Paris and even to certain places in
the capital which he did not know.
For a whole week his mind was occupied with thoughts of the equipment
which you need for these excursions; and on Sunday, the 30th of May, he
began his preparations. After reading all the extraordinary
advertisements which poor, blind and halt beggars distribute on the
street corners, he began to visit the stores with the intention of
looking about him only and of buying later on. First of all, he visited
a so-called American shoe store, where heavy travelling shoes were shown
him. The clerk brought out a kind of ironclad contrivance, studded with
spikes like a harrow, which he claimed to be made from Rocky Mountain
bison skin. He was so carried away with them that he would willingly
have bought two pair, but one was sufficient. He carried them away under
his arm, which soon be came numb from the weight. He next invested in a
pair of corduroy trousers, such as carpenters wear, and a pair of oiled
canvas leggings. Then he needed a knapsack for his provisions, a
telescope so as to recognize villages perched on the slope of distant
hills, and finally, a government survey map to enable him to find his way
about without asking the peasants toiling in the fields. Lastly, in
order more comfortably to stand the heat, he decided to purchase a light
alpaca jacket offered by the famous firm of Raminau, according to their
advertisement, for the modest sum of six francs and fifty centimes. He
went to this store and was welcomed by a distinguished-looking young man
with a marvellous head of hair, nails as pink as those of a lady and a
pleasant smile. He showed him the garment. It did not correspond with
the glowing style of the advertisement. Then Patissot hesitatingly
asked, "Well, monsieur, will it wear well?" The young man turned his eyes
away in well-feigned embarrassment, like an honest man who does not wish
to deceive a customer, and, lowering his eyes, he said in a hesitating
manner: "Dear me, monsieur, you understand that for six francs fifty we
cannot turn out an article like this for instance." And he showed him a
much finer jacket than the first one. Patissot examined it and asked the
price. "Twelve francs fifty." It was very tempting, but before
deciding, he once more questioned the big young man, who was observing
him attentively. "And--is that good? Do you guarantee it?" "Oh!
certainly, monsieur, it is quite goad! But, of course, you must not get
it wet! Yes, it's really quite good, but you understand that there are
goods and goods. It's excellent for the price. Twelve francs fifty,
just think. Why, that's nothing at all. Naturally a twenty-five-franc
coat is much better. For twenty-five francs you get a superior quality,
as strong as linen, and which wears even better. If it gets wet a little
ironing will fix it right up. The color never fades, and it does not
turn red in the sunlight. It is the warmest and lightest material out."
He unfolded his wares, holding them up, shaking them, crumpling and
stretching them in order to show the excellent quality of the cloth. He
talked on convincingly, dispelling all hesitation by words and gesture.
Patissot was convinced; he bought the coat. The pleasant salesman, still
talking, tied up the bundle and continued praising the value of the
purchase. When it was paid for he was suddenly silent. He bowed with a
superior air, and, holding the door open, he watched his customer
disappear, both arms filled with bundles and vainly trying to reach his
hat to bow.
M. Patissot returned home and carefully studied the map. He wished to
try on his shoes, which were more like skates than shoes, owing to the
spikes. He slipped and fell, promising himself to be more careful in the
future. Then he spread out all his purchases on a chair and looked at
them for a long time. He went to sleep with this thought: "Isn't it
strange that I didn't think before of taking an excursion to the
During the whole week Patissot worked without ambition. He was dreaming
of the outing which he had planned for the following Sunday, and he was
seized by a sudden longing for the country, a desire of growing tender
over nature, this thirst for rustic scenes which overwhelms the Parisians
in spring time.
Only one person gave him any attention; it was a silent old copying clerk
named Boivin, nicknamed Boileau. He himself lived in the country and had
a little garden which he cultivated carefully; his needs were small, and
he was perfectly happy, so they said. Patissot was now able to
understand his tastes and the similarity of their ideals made them
immediately fast friends. Old man Boivin said to him:
"Do I like fishing, monsieur? Why, it's the delight of my life!"
Then Patissot questioned him with deep interest. Boivin named all the
fish who frolicked under this dirty water--and Patissot thought he could
see them. Boivin told about the different hooks, baits, spots and times
suitable for each kind. And Patissot felt himself more like a fisherman
than Boivin himself. They decided that the following Sunday they would
meet for the opening of the season for the edification of Patissot, who
was delighted to have found such an experienced instructor.
The day before the one when he was, for the first time in his life, to
throw a hook into a river, Monsieur Patissot bought, for eighty centimes,
"How to Become a Perfect Fisherman." In this work he learned many useful
things, but he was especially impressed by the style, and he retained the
"In a word, if you wish, without books, without rules, to fish
successfully, to the left or to the right, up or down stream, in the
masterly manner that halts at no difficulty, then fish before, during and
after a storm, when the clouds break and the sky is streaked with
lightning, when the earth shakes with the grumbling thunder; it is then
that, either through hunger or terror, all the fish forget their habits
in a turbulent flight.
"In this confusion follow or neglect all favorable signs, and just go on
fishing; you will march to victory!"
In order to catch fish of all sizes, he bought three well-perfected
poles, made to be used as a cane in the city, which, on the river, could
be transformed into a fishing rod by a simple jerk. He bought some
number fifteen hooks for gudgeon, number twelve for bream, and with his
number seven he expected to fill his basket with carp. He bought no
earth worms because he was sure of finding them everywhere; but he laid
in a provision of sand worms. He had a jar full of them, and in the
evening he watched them with interest. The hideous creatures swarmed in
their bath of bran as they do in putrid meat. Patissot wished to
practice baiting his hook. He took up one with disgust, but he had
hardly placed the curved steel point against it when it split open.
Twenty times he repeated this without success, and he might have
continued all night had he not feared to exhaust his supply of vermin.
He left by the first train. The station was full of people equipped with
fishing lines. Some, like Patissot's, looked like simple bamboo canes;
others, in one piece, pointed their slender ends to the skies. They
looked like a forest of slender sticks, which mingled and clashed like
swords or swayed like masts over an ocean of broad-brimmed straw hats.
When the train started fishing rods could be seen sticking out of all the
windows and doors, giving to the train the appearance of a huge, bristly
caterpillar winding through the fields.
Everybody got off at Courbevoie and rushed for the stage for Bezons. A
crowd of fishermen crowded on top of the coach, holding their rods in
their hands, giving the vehicle the appearance of a porcupine.
All along the road men were travelling in the same direction as though on
a pilgrimage to an unknown Jerusalem. They were carrying those long,
slender sticks resembling those carried by the faithful returning from
Palestine. A tin box on a strap was fastened to their backs. They were
in a hurry.
At Bezons the river appeared. People were lined along bath banks, men in
frock coats, others in duck suits, others in blouses, women, children and
even young girls of marriageable age; all were fishing.
Patissot started for the dam where his friend Boivin was waiting for him.
The latter greeted him rather coolly. He had just made the acquaintance
of a big, fat man of about fifty, who seemed very strong and whose skin
was tanned. All three hired a big boat and lay off almost under the fall
of the dam, where the fish are most plentiful.
Boivin was immediately ready. He baited his line and threw it out, and
then sat motionless, watching the little float with extraordinary
concentration. From time to time he would jerk his line out of the water
and cast it farther out. The fat gentleman threw out his well-baited
hooks, put his line down beside him, filled his pipe, lit it, crossed his
arms, and, without another glance at the cork, he watched the water flow
by. Patissot once more began trying to stick sand worms on his hooks.
After about five minutes of this occupation he called to Boivin;
"Monsieur Boivin, would you be so kind as to help me put these creatures
on my hook? Try as I will, I can't seem to succeed." Boivin raised his
head: "Please don't disturb me, Monsieur Patissot; we are not here for
pleasure!" However, he baited the line, which Patissot then threw out,
carefully imitating all the motions of his friend.
The boat was tossing wildly, shaken by the waves, and spun round like a
top by the current, although anchored at both ends. Patissot, absorbed
in the sport, felt a vague kind of uneasiness; he was uncomfortably heavy
and somewhat dizzy.
They caught nothing. Little Boivin, very nervous, was gesticulating and
shaking his head in despair. Patissot was as sad as though some disaster
had overtaken him. The fat gentleman alone, still motionless, was
quietly smoking without paying any attention to his line. At last
Patissot, disgusted, turned toward him and said in a mournful voice:
"They are not biting, are they?"
He quietly replied:
"Of course not!"
Patissot surprised, looked at him.
"Do you ever catch many?"
The fat man, still smoking like a factory chimney, let out the following
words, which completely upset his neighbor:
"It would bother me a lot if they did bite. I don't come here to fish; I
come because I'm very comfortable here; I get shaken up as though I were
at sea. If I take a line along, it's only to do as others do."
Monsieur Patissot, on the other hand, did not feel at all well. His
discomfort, at first vague, kept increasing, and finally took on a
definite form. He felt, indeed, as though he were being tossed by the
sea, and he was suffering from seasickness. After the first attack had
calmed down, he proposed leaving, but Boivin grew so furious that they
almost came to blows. The fat man, moved by pity, rowed the boat back,
and, as soon as Patissot had recovered from his seasickness, they
bethought themselves of luncheon.
Two restaurants presented themselves. One of them, very small, looked
like a beer garden, and was patronized by the poorer fishermen. The
other one, which bore the imposing name of "Linden Cottage," looked like
a middle-class residence and was frequented by the aristocracy of the
rod. The two owners, born enemies, watched each other with hatred across
a large field, which separated them, and where the white house of the dam
keeper and of the inspector of the life-saving department stood out
against the green grass. Moreover, these two officials disagreed, one of
them upholding the beer garden and the other one defending the Elms, and
the internal feuds which arose in these three houses reproduced the whole
history of mankind.
Boivin, who knew the beer garden, wished to go there, exclaiming: "The
food is very good, and it isn't expensive; you'll see. Anyhow, Monsieur
Patissot, you needn't expect to get me tipsy the way you did last Sunday.
My wife was furious, you know; and she has sworn never to forgive you!"
The fat gentleman declared that he would only eat at the Elms, because it
was an excellent place and the cooking was as good as in the best
restaurants in Paris.
"Do as you wish," declared Boivin; "I am going where I am accustomed to
go." He left. Patissot, displeased at his friend's actions, followed
the fat gentleman.
They ate together, exchanged ideas, discussed opinions and found that
they were made for each other.
After the meal everyone started to fish again, but the two new friends
left together. Following along the banks, they stopped near the railroad
bridge and, still talking, they threw their lines in the water. The fish
still refused to bite, but Patissot was now making the best of it.
A family was approaching. The father, whose whiskers stamped him as a
judge, was holding an extraordinarily long rod; three boys of different
sizes were carrying poles of different lengths, according to age; and the
mother, who was very stout, gracefully manoeuvred a charming rod with a
ribbon tied to the handle. The father bowed and asked:
"Is this spot good, gentlemen?" Patissot was going to speak, when his
friend answered: "Fine!" The whole family smiled and settled down beside
the fishermen. The Patissot was seized with a wild desire to catch a
fish, just one, any kind, any size, in order to win the consideration of
these people; so he began to handle his rod as he had seen Boivin do in
the morning. He would let the cork follow the current to the end of the
line, jerk the hooks out of the water, make them describe a large circle
in the air and throw them out again a little higher up. He had even, as
he thought, caught the knack of doing this movement gracefully. He had
just jerked his line out rapidly when he felt it caught in something
behind him. He tugged, and a scream burst from behind him. He
perceived, caught on one of his hooks, and describing in the air a curve
like a meteor, a magnificent hat which he placed right in the middle of
He turned around, bewildered, dropping his pole, which followed the hat
down the stream, while the fat gentleman, his new friend, lay on his back
and roared with laughter. The lady, hatless and astounded, choked with
anger; her husband was outraged and demanded the price of the hat, and
Patissot paid about three times its value.
Then the family departed in a very dignified manner.
Patissot took another rod, and, until nightfall, he gave baths to sand
worms. His neighbor was sleeping peacefully on the grass. Toward seven
in the evening he awoke.
"Let's go away from here!" he said.
Then Patissot withdrew his line, gave a cry and sat down hard from
astonishment. At the end of the string was a tiny little fish. When
they looked at him more closely they found that he had been hooked
through the stomach; the hook had caught him as it was being drawn out of
Patissot was filled with a boundless, triumphant joy; he wished to have
the fish fried for himself alone.
During the dinner the friends grew still more intimate. He learned that
the fat gentleman lived at Argenteuil and had been sailing boats for
thirty years without losing interest in the sport. He accepted to take
luncheon with him the following Sunday and to take a sail in his friend's
clipper, Plongeon. He became so interested in the conversation that he
forgot all about his catch. He did not remember it until after the
coffee, and he demanded that it be brought him. It was alone in the
middle of a platter, and looked like a yellow, twisted match, But he ate
it with pride and relish, and at night, on the omnibus, he told his
neighbors that he had caught fourteen pounds of fish during the day.
Monsieur Patissot had promised his friend, the boating man, that he would
spend the following Sunday with him. An unforeseen occurrence changed
his plan. One evening, on the boulevard, he met one of his cousins whom
he saw but very seldom. He was a pleasant journalist, well received in
all classes of society, who offered to show Patissot many interesting
"What are you going to do next Sunday?"
"I'm going boating at Argenteuil."
"Come on! Boating is an awful bore; there is no variety to it. Listen-
I'll take you along with me. I'll introduce you to two celebrities. We
will visit the homes of two artists."
"But I have been ordered to go to the country!"
"That's just where we'll go. On the way we'll call on Meissonier, at his
place in Poissy; then we'll walk over to Medan, where Zola lives. I have
been commissioned to obtain his next novel for our newspaper."
Patissot, wild with joy, accepted the invitation. He even bought a new
frock coat, as his own was too much worn to make a good appearance. He
was terribly afraid of saying something foolish either to the artist or
to the man of letters, as do people who speak of an art which they have
He mentioned his fears to his cousin, who laughed and answered: "Pshaw!
Just pay them compliments, nothing but compliments, always compliments;
in that way, if you say anything foolish it will be overlooked. Do you
know Meissonier's paintings?"
"I should say I do."
"Have you read the Rougon-Macquart series?"
"From first to last."
"That's enough. Mention a painting from time to time, speak of a novel
here and there and add:
"'Superb! Extraordinary! Delightful technique! Wonderfully powerful!'
In that way you can always get along. I know that those two are very
blase about everything, but admiration always pleases an artist."
Sunday morning they left for Poissy.
Just a few steps from the station, at the end of the church square, they
found Meissonier's property. After passing through a low door, painted
red, which led into a beautiful alley of vines, the journalist stopped
and, turning toward his companion, asked:
"What is your idea of Meissonier?"
Patissot hesitated. At last he decided: "A little man, well groomed,
clean shaven, a soldierly appearance." The other smiled: "All right,
come along." A quaint building in the form of a chalet appeared to the
left; and to the right side, almost opposite, was the main house. It was
a strange-looking building, where there was a mixture of everything, a
mingling of Gothic fortress, manor, villa, hut, residence, cathedral,
mosque, pyramid, a, weird combination of Eastern and Western
architecture. The style was complicated enough to set a classical
architect crazy, and yet there was something whimsical and pretty about
it. It had been invented and built under the direction of the artist.
They went in; a collection of trunks encumbered a little parlor. A
little man appeared, dressed in a jumper. The striking thing about him
was his beard. He bowed to the journalist, and said: "My dear sir, I
hope that you will excuse me; I only returned yesterday, and everything
is all upset here. Please be seated." The other refused, excusing
himself: "My dear master, I only dropped in to pay my respects while
passing by." Patissot, very much embarrassed, was bowing at every word
of his friend's, as though moving automatically, and he murmured,
stammering: "What a su--su--superb property!" The artist, flattered,
smiled, and suggested visiting it.
He led them first to a little pavilion of feudal aspect, where his former
studio was. Then they crossed a parlor, a dining-room, a vestibule full
of beautiful works of art, of beautiful Beauvais, Gobelin and Flanders
tapestries. But the strange external luxury of ornamentation became,
inside, a revel of immense stairways. A magnificent grand stairway, a
secret stairway in one tower, a servants' stairway in another, stairways
everywhere! Patissot, by chance, opened a door and stepped back
astonished. It was a veritable temple, this place of which respectable
people only mention the name in English, an original and charming
sanctuary in exquisite taste, fitted up like a pagoda, and the decoration
of which must certainly have caused a great effort.
They next visited the park, which was complex, varied, with winding paths
and full of old trees. But the journalist insisted on leaving; and, with
many thanks, he took leave of the master: As they left they met a
gardener; Patissot asked him: "Has Monsieur Meissonier owned this place
for a long time?" The man answered: "Oh, monsieur! that needs
explaining. I guess he bought the grounds in 1846. But, as for the
house! he has already torn down and rebuilt that five or six times. It
must have cost him at least two millions!" As Patissot left he was
seized with an immense respect for this man, not on account of his
success, glory or talent, but for putting so much money into a whim,
because the bourgeois deprive themselves of all pleasure in order to
After crossing Poissy, they struck out on foot along the road to Medan.
The road first followed the Seine, which is dotted with charming islands
at this place. Then they went up a hill and crossed the pretty village
of Villaines, went down a little; and finally reached the neighborhood
inhabited by the author of the Rougon-Macquart series.
A pretty old church with two towers appeared on the left. They walked
along a short distance, and a passing farmer directed them to the
Before entering, they examined the house. A large building, square and
new, very high, seemed, as in the fable of the mountain and the mouse, to
have given birth to a tiny little white house, which nestled near it.
This little house was the original dwelling, and had been built by the
former owner. The tower had been erected by Zola.
They rang the bell. An enormous dog, a cross between a Saint Bernard and
a Newfoundland, began to howl so terribly that Patissot felt a vague
desire to retrace his steps. But a servant ran forward, calmed
"Bertrand," opened the door, and took the journalist's card in order to
carry it to his master.
"I hope that he will receive us!" murmured Patissot. "It would be too
bad if we had come all this distance not to see him."
His companion smiled and answered: "Never fear, I have a plan for getting
But the servant, who had returned, simply asked them to follow him.
They entered the new building, and Patissot, who was quite enthusiastic,
was panting as he climbed a stairway of ancient style which led to the
At the same time he was trying to picture to himself this man whose
glorious name echoes at present in all corners of the earth, amid the
exasperated hatred of some, the real or feigned indignation of society,
the envious scorn of several of his colleagues, the respect of a mass of
readers, and the frenzied admiration of a great number. He expected to
see a kind of bearded giant, of awe-inspiring aspect, with a thundering
voice and an appearance little prepossessing at first.
The door opened on a room of uncommonly large dimensions, broad and high,
lighted by an enormous window looking out over the valley. Old
tapestries covered the walls; on the left, a monumental fireplace,
flanked by two stone men, could have burned a century-old oak in one day.
An immense table littered with books, papers and magazines stood in the
middle of this apartment so vast and grand that it first engrossed the
eye, and the attention was only afterward drawn to the man, stretched out
when they entered on an Oriental divan where twenty persons could have
slept. He took a few steps toward them, bowed, motioned to two seats,
and turned back to his divan, where he sat with one leg drawn under him.
A book lay open beside him, and in his right hand he held an ivory paper-
cutter, the end of which he observed from time to time with one eye,
closing the other with the persistency of a near-sighted person.
While the journalist explained the purpose of the visit, and the writer
listened to him without yet answering, at times staring at him fixedly,
Patissot, more and more embarrassed, was observing this celebrity.
Hardly forty, he was of medium height, fairly stout, and with a good-
natured look. His head (very similar to those found in many Italian
paintings of the sixteenth century), without being beautiful in the
plastic sense of the word, gave an impression of great strength of
character, power and intelligence. Short hair stood up straight on the
high, well-developed forehead. A straight nose stopped short, as if cut
off suddenly above the upper lip which was covered with a black mustache;
over the whole chin was a closely-cropped beard. The dark, often
ironical look was piercing, one felt that behind it there was a mind
always actively at work observing people, interpreting words, analyzing
gestures, uncovering the heart. This strong, round head was appropriate
to his name, quick and short, with the bounding resonance of the two
When the journalist had fully explained his proposition, the writer
answered him that he did not wish to make any definite arrangement, that
he would, however, think the matter over, that his plans were not yet
sufficiently defined. Then he stopped. It was a dismissal, and the two
men, a little confused, arose. A desire seized Patissot; he wished this
well-known person to say something to him, anything, some word which he
could repeat to his colleagues; and, growing bold, he stammered: "Oh,
monsieur! If you knew how I appreciate your works!" The other bowed,
but answered nothing. Patissot became very bold and continued: "It is a
great honor for me to speak to you to-day." The writer once more bowed,
but with a stiff and impatient look. Patissot noticed it, and,
completely losing his head, he added as he retreated: "What a su--su
Then, in the heart of the man of letters, the landowner awoke, and,
smiling, he opened the window to show them the immense stretch of view.
An endless horizon broadened out on all sides, giving a view of Triel,
Pisse-Fontaine, Chanteloup, all the heights of Hautrie, and the Seine as
far as the eye could see. The two visitors, delighted, congratulated
him, and the house was opened to them. They saw everything, down to the
dainty kitchen, whose walls and even ceilings were covered with porcelain
tiles ornamented with blue designs, which excited the wonder of the
"How did you happen to buy this place?" asked the journalist.
The novelist explained that, while looking for a cottage to hire for the
summer, he had found the little house, which was for sale for several
thousand francs, a song, almost nothing. He immediately bought it.
"But everything that you have added must have cost you a good deal!"
The writer smiled, and answered: "Yes, quite a little."
The two men left. The journalist, taking Patissot by the arm, was
philosophizing in a low voice:
"Every general has his Waterloo," he said; "every Balzac has his Jardies,
and every artist living in the country feels like a landed proprietor."
They took the train at the station of Villaines, and, on the way home,
Patissot loudly mentioned the names of the famous painter and of the
great novelist as though they were his friends. He even allowed people
to think that he had taken luncheon with one and dinner with the other.
BEFORE THE CELEBRATION
The celebration is approaching and preliminary quivers are already
running through the streets, just as the ripples disturb the water
preparatory to a storm. The shops, draped with flags, display a variety
of gay-colored bunting materials, and the dry-goods people deceive one
about the three colors as grocers do about the weight of candles. Little
by little, hearts warm up to the matter; people speak about it in the
street after dinner; ideas are exchanged:
"What a celebration it will be, my friend; what a celebration!"
"Have you heard the news? All the rulers are coming incognito, as
bourgeois, in order to see it."
"I hear that the Emperor of Russia has arrived; he expects to go about
everywhere with the Prince of Wales."
"It certainly will be a fine celebration!"
It is going to a celebration; what Monsieur Patissot, Parisian bourgeois,
calls a celebration; one of these nameless tumults which, for fifteen
hours, roll from one end of the city to the other, every ugly specimen
togged out in its finest, a mob of perspiring bodies, where side by side
are tossed about the stout gossip bedecked in red, white and blue
ribbons, grown fat behind her counter and panting from lack of breath,
the rickety clerk with his wife and brat in tow, the laborer carrying his
youngster astride his neck, the bewildered provincial with his foolish,
dazed expression, the groom, barely shaved and still spreading the
perfume of the stable. And the foreigners dressed like monkeys, English
women like giraffes, the water-carrier, cleaned up for the occasion, and
the innumerable phalanx of little bourgeois, inoffensive little people,
amused at everything. All this crowding and pressing, the sweat and
dust, and the turmoil, all these eddies of human flesh, trampling of
corns beneath the feet of your neighbors, this city all topsy-turvy,
these vile odors, these frantic efforts toward nothing, the breath of
millions of people, all redolent of garlic, give to Monsieur Patissot all
the joy which it is possible for his heart to hold.
After reading the proclamation of the mayor on the walls of his district
he had made his preparations.
This bit of prose said:
I wish to call your attention particularly to the part of
individuals in this celebration. Decorate your homes, illuminate
your windows. Get together, open up a subscription in order to give
to your houses and to your street a more brilliant and more artistic
appearance than the neighboring houses and streets.
Then Monsieur Patissot tried to imagine how he could give to his home an
One serious obstacle stood in the way. His only window looked out on a
courtyard, a narrow, dark shaft, where only the rats could have seen his
three Japanese lanterns.
He needed a public opening. He found it. On the first floor of his
house lived a rich man, a nobleman and a royalist, whose coachman, also a
reactionary, occupied a garret-room on the sixth floor, facing the
street. Monsieur Patissot supposed that by paying (every conscience can
be bought) he could obtain the use of the room for the day. He proposed
five francs to this citizen of the whip for the use of his room from noon
till midnight. The offer was immediately accepted.
Then he began to busy himself with the decorations. Three flags, four
lanterns, was that enough to give to this box an artistic appearance--to
express all the noble feelings of his soul? No; assuredly not! But,
notwithstanding diligent search and nightly meditation, Monsieur Patissot
could think of nothing else. He consulted his neighbors, who were
surprised at the question; he questioned his colleagues--every one had
bought lanterns and flags, some adding, for the occasion, red, white and
Then he began to rack his brains for some original idea. He frequented
the cafes, questioning the patrons; they lacked imagination. Then one
morning he went out on top of an omnibus. A respectable-looking
gentleman was smoking a cigar beside him, a little farther away a laborer
was smoking his pipe upside down, near the driver two rough fellows were
joking, and clerks of every description were going to business for three
Before the stores stacks of flags were resplendent under the rising sun.
Patissot turned to his neighbor.
"It is going to be a fine celebration," he said. The gentleman looked at
him sideways and answered in a haughty manner:
"That makes no difference to me!"
"You are not going to take part in it?" asked the surprised clerk. The
other shook his head disdainfully and declared:
"They make me tired with their celebrations! Whose celebration is it?
The government's? I do not recognize this government, monsieur!"
But Patissot, as government employee, took on his superior manner, and
answered in a stern voice:
"Monsieur, the Republic is the government."
His neighbor was not in the least disturbed, and, pushing his hands down
in his pockets, he exclaimed:
"Well, and what then? It makes no difference to me. Whether it's for
the Republic or something else, I don't care! What I want, monsieur, is
to know my government. I saw Charles X. and adhered to him, monsieur; I
saw Louis-Philippe and adhered to him, monsieur; I saw Napoleon and
adhered to him; but I have never seen the Republic."
Patissot, still serious, answered:
"The Republic, monsieur, is represented by its president!"
The other grumbled:
"Well, them, show him to me!"
Patissot shrugged his shoulders.
"Every one can see him; he's not shut up in a closet!"
Suddenly the fat man grew angry.
"Excuse me, monsieur, he cannot be seen. I have personally tried more
than a hundred times, monsieur. I have posted myself near the Elysee; he
did not come out. A passer-by informed me that he was playing billiards
in the cafe opposite; I went to the cafe opposite; he was not there.
I had been promised that he would go to Melun for the convention; I went
to Melun, I did not see him. At last I became weary. I did not even see
Monsieur Gambetta, and I do not know a single deputy."
He was, growing excited:
"A government, monsieur, is made to be seen; that's what it's there for,
and for nothing else. One must be able to know that on such and such a
day at such an hour the government will pass through such and such a
street. Then one goes there and is satisfied."
Patissot, now calm, was enjoying his arguments.
"It is true," he said, "that it is agreeable to know the people by whom
one is governed."
The gentleman continued more gently:
"Do you know how I would manage the celebration? Well, monsieur, I would
have a procession of gilded cars, like the chariots used at the crowning
of kings; in them I would parade all the members of the government, from
the president to the deputies, throughout Paris all day long. In that
manner, at least, every one would know by sight the personnel of the
But one of the toughs near the coachman turned around, exclaiming:
"And the fatted ox, where would you put him?"
A laugh ran round the two benches. Patissot understood the objection,
"It might not perhaps be very dignified."
The gentleman thought the matter over and admitted it.
"Then," he said, "I would place them in view some place, so that every
one could see them without going out of his way; on the Triumphal Arch at
the Place de l'Etoile, for instance; and I would have the whole
population pass before them. That would be very imposing."
Once more the tough turned round and said:
"You'd have to take telescopes to see their faces."
The gentleman did not answer; he continued:
"It's just like the presentation of the flags! There ought, to be some
pretext, a mimic war ought to be organized, and the banners would be
awarded to the troops as a reward. I had an idea about which I wrote to
the minister; but he has not deigned to answer me. As the taking of the
Bastille has been chosen for the date of the national celebration, a
reproduction of this event might be made; there would be a pasteboard
Bastille, fixed up by a scene-painter and concealing within its walls the
whole Column of July. Then, monsieur, the troop would attack. That
would be a magnificent spectacle as well as a lesson, to see the army
itself overthrow the ramparts of tyranny. Then this Bastille would be
set fire to and from the midst of the flames would appear the Column with
the genius of Liberty, symbol of a new order and of the freedom of the
This time every one was listening to him and finding his idea excellent.
An old gentleman exclaimed:
"That is a great idea, monsieur, which does you honor. It is to be
regretted that the government did not adopt it."
A young man declared that actors ought to recite the "Iambes" of Barbier
through the streets in order to teach the people art and liberty
These propositions excited general enthusiasm. Each one wished to have
his word; all were wrought up. From a passing hand-organ a few strains
of the Marseillaise were heard; the laborer started the song, and
everybody joined in, roaring the chorus. The exalted nature of the song
and its wild rhythm fired the driver, who lashed his horses to a gallop.
Monsieur Patissot was bawling at the top of his lungs, and the passengers
inside, frightened, were wondering what hurricane had struck them.
At last they stopped, and Monsieur Patissot, judging his neighbor to be a
man of initiative, consulted him about the preparations which he expected
"Lanterns and flags are all right,"' said Patissot; "but I prefer
The other thought for a long time, but found nothing. Then, in despair,
the clerk bought three flags and four lanterns.
AN EXPERIMENT IN LOVE
Many poets think that nature is incomplete without women, and hence,
doubtless, come all the flowery comparisons which, in their songs, make
our natural companion in turn a rose, a violet, a tulip, or something of
that order. The need of tenderness which seizes us at dusk, when the
evening mist begins to roll in from the hills, and when all the perfumes
of the earth intoxicate us, is but imperfectly satisfied by lyric
invocations. Monsieur Patissot, like all others, was seized with a wild
desire for tenderness, for sweet kisses exchanged along a path where
sunshine steals in at times, for the pressure of a pair of small hands,
for a supple waist bending under his embrace.
He began to look at love as an unbounded pleasure, and, in his hours of
reverie, he thanked the Great Unknown for having put so much charm into
the caresses of human beings. But he needed a companion, and he did not
know where to find one. On the advice of a friend, he went to the
Folies-Bergere. There he saw a complete assortment. He was greatly
perplexed to choose between them, for the desires of his heart were
chiefly composed of poetic impulses, and poetry did not seem to be the
strong point of these young ladies with penciled eyebrows who smiled at
him in such a disturbing manner, showing the enamel of their false teeth.
At last his choice fell on a young beginner who seemed poor and timid and
whose sad look seemed to announce a nature easily influenced-by poetry.
He made an appointment with her for the following day at nine o'clock at
the Saint-Lazare station. She did not come, but she was kind enough to
send a friend in her stead.
She was a tall, red-haired girl, patriotically dressed in three colors,
and covered by an immense tunnel hat, of which her head occupied the
centre. Monsieur Patissot, a little disappointed, nevertheless accepted
this substitute. They left for Maisons-Laffite, where regattas and a
grand Venetian festival had been announced.
As soon as they were in the car, which was already occupied by two
gentlemen who wore the red ribbon and three ladies who must at least have
been duchesses, they were so dignified, the big red-haired girl, who
answered the name of Octavie, announced to Patissot, in a screeching
voice, that she was a fine girl fond of a good time and loving the
country because there she could pick flowers and eat fried fish. She
laughed with a shrillness which almost shattered the windows, familiarly
calling her companion "My big darling."
Shame overwhelmed Patissot, who as a government employee, had to observe
a certain amount of decorum. But Octavie stopped talking, glancing at
her neighbors, seized with the overpowering desire which haunts all women
of a certain class to make the acquaintance of respectable women. After
about five minutes she thought she had found an opening, and, drawing
from her pocket a Gil-Blas, she politely offered it to one of the amazed
ladies, who declined, shaking her head. Then the big, red-haired girl
began saying things with a double meaning, speaking of women who are
stuck up without being any better than the others; sometimes she would
let out a vulgar word which acted like a bomb exploding amid the icy
dignity of the passengers.
At last they arrived. Patissot immediately wished to gain the shady
nooks of the park, hoping that the melancholy of the forest would quiet
the ruffled temper of his companion. But an entirely different effect
resulted. As soon as she was amid the leaves and grass she began to sing
at the top of her lungs snatches from operas which had stuck in her
frivolous mind, warbling and trilling, passing from "Robert le Diable" to
the "Muette," lingering especially on a sentimental love-song, whose last
verses she sang in a voice as piercing as a gimlet.
Then suddenly she grew hungry. Patissot, who was still awaiting the
hoped-for tenderness, tried in vain to retain her. Then she grew angry,
"I am not here for a dull time, am I?"
He had to take her to the Petit-Havre restaurant, which was near the
place where the regatta was to be held.
She ordered an endless luncheon, a succession of dishes substantial
enough to feed a regiment. Then, unable to wait, she called for
relishes. A box of sardines was brought; she started in on it as though
she intended to swallow the box itself. But when she had eaten two or
three of the little oily fish she declared that she was no longer hungry
and that she wished to see the preparations for the race.
Patissot, in despair and in his turn seized with hunger, absolutely
refused to move. She started off alone, promising to return in time for
the dessert. He began to eat in lonely silence, not knowing how to lead
this rebellious nature to the realization of his dreams.
As she did not return he set out in search of her. She had found some
friends, a troop of boatmen, in scanty garb, sunburned to the tips of
their ears, and gesticulating, who were loudly arranging the details of
the race in front of the house of Fourmaise, the builder.
Two respectable-looking gentlemen, probably the judges, were listening
attentively. As soon as she saw Patissot, Octavie, who was leaning on
the tanned arm of a strapping fellow who probably had more muscle than
brains, whispered a few words in his ears. He answered:
"That's an agreement."
She returned to the clerk full of joy, her eyes sparkling, almost
"Let's go for a row," said she.
Pleased to see her so charming, he gave in to this new whim and procured
a boat. But she obstinately refused to go to the races, notwithstanding
"I had rather be alone with you, darling."
His heart thrilled. At last!
He took off his coat and began to row madly.
An old dilapidated mill, whose worm-eaten wheels hung over the water,
stood with its two arches across a little arm of the river. Slowly they
passed beneath it, and, when they were on the other side, they noticed
before them a delightful little stretch of river, shaded by great trees
which formed an arch over their heads. The little stream flowed along,
winding first to the right and then to the left, continually revealing
new scenes, broad fields on one side and on the other side a hill covered
with cottages. They passed before a bathing establishment almost
entirely hidden by the foliage, a charming country spot where gentlemen
in clean gloves and beribboned ladies displayed all the ridiculous
awkwardness of elegant people in the country. She cried joyously:
"Later on we will take a dip there."
Farther on, in a kind of bay, she wished to stop, coaxing:
"Come here, honey, right close to me."
She put her arm around his neck and, leaning her head on his shoulder,
"How nice it is! How delightful it is on the water!"
Patissot was reveling in happiness. He was thinking of those foolish
boatmen who, without ever feeling the penetrating charm of the river
banks and the delicate grace of the reeds, row along out of breath,
perspiring and tired out, from the tavern where they take luncheon to the
tavern where they take dinner.
He was so comfortable that he fell asleep. When he awoke, he was alone.
He called, but no one answered. Anxious, he climbed up on the side of
the river, fearing that some accident might have happened.
Then, in the distance, coming in his direction, he saw a long, slender
gig which four oarsmen as black as negroes were driving through the water
like an arrow. It came nearer, skimming over the water; a woman was
holding the tiller. Heavens! It looked--it was she! In order to
regulate the rhythm of the stroke, she was singing in her shrill voice a
boating song, which she interrupted for a minute as she got in front of
Patissot. Then, throwing him a kiss, she cried:
"You big goose!"
A DINNER AND SOME OPINIONS
On the occasion of the national celebration Monsieur Antoine Perdrix,
chief of Monsieur Patissot's department, was made a knight of the Legion
of Honor. He had been in service for thirty years under preceding
governments, and for ten years under the present one. His employees,
although grumbling a little at being thus rewarded in the person of their
chief, thought it wise, nevertheless, to offer him a cross studded with
paste diamonds. The new knight, in turn, not wishing to be outdone,
invited them all to dinner for the following Sunday, at his place at
The house, decorated with Moorish ornaments, looked like a cafe concert,
but its location gave it value, as the railroad cut through the whole
garden, passing within a hundred and fifty feet of the porch. On the
regulation plot of grass stood a basin of Roman cement, containing
goldfish and a stream of water the size of that which comes from a
syringe, which occasionally made microscopic rainbows at which the guests
The feeding of this irrigator was the constant preoccupation of Monsieur
Perdrix, who would sometimes get up at five o'clock in the morning in
order to fill the tank. Then, in his shirt sleeves, his big stomach
almost bursting from his trousers, he would pump wildly, so that on
returning from the office he could have the satisfaction of letting the
fountain play and of imagining that it was cooling off the garden.
On the night of the official dinner all the guests, one after the other,
went into ecstasies over the surroundings, and each time they heard a
train in the distance, Monsieur Perdrix would announce to them its
destination: Saint-Germain, Le Havre, Cherbourg, or Dieppe, and they
would playfully wave to the passengers leaning from the windows.
The whole office force was there. First came Monsieur Capitaine, the
assistant chief; Monsieur Patissot, chief clerk; then Messieurs de
Sombreterre and Vallin, elegant young employees who only came to the
office when they had to; lastly Monsieur Rade, known throughout the
ministry for the absurd doctrines which he upheld, and the copying clerk,
Monsieur Rade passed for a character. Some called him a dreamer or an
idealist, others a revolutionary; every one agreed that he was very
clumsy. Old, thin and small, with bright eyes and long, white hair, he
had all his life professed a profound contempt for administrative work.
A book rummager and a great reader, with a nature continually in revolt
against everything, a seeker of truth and a despiser of popular
prejudices, he had a clear and paradoxical manner of expressing his
opinions which closed the mouths of self-satisfied fools and of those
that were discontented without knowing why. People said: "That old fool
of a Rade," or else: "That harebrained Rade"; and the slowness, of his
promotion seemed to indicate the reason, according to commonplace minds.
His freedom of speech often made--his colleagues tremble; they asked
themselves with terror how he had been able to keep his place as long as
he had. As soon as they had seated themselves, Monsieur Perdrix thanked
his "collaborators" in a neat little speech, promising them his
protection, the more valuable as his power grew, and he ended with a
stirring peroration in which he thanked and glorified a government so
liberal and just that it knows how to seek out the worthy from among the
Monsieur Capitaine, the assistant chief, answered in the name of the
office, congratulated, greeted, exalted, sang the praises of all; frantic
applause greeted these two bits of eloquence. After that they settled
down seriously to the business of eating.
Everything went well up to the dessert; lack of conversation went
unnoticed. But after the coffee a discussion arose, and Monsieur Rade
let himself loose and soon began to overstep the bounds of discretion.
They naturally discussed love, and a breath of chivalry intoxicated this
room full of bureaucrats; they praised and exalted the superior beauty of
woman, the delicacy of hex soul, her aptitude for exquisite things, the
correctness of her judgment, and the refinement of her sentiments.
Monsieur Rade began to protest, energetically refusing to credit the so-
called "fair" sex with all the qualities they ascribed to it; then,
amidst the general indignation, he quoted some authors:
"Schopenhauer, gentlemen, Schopenhauer, the great philosopher, revered by
all Germany, says: 'Man's intelligence must have been terribly deadened
by love in order to call this sex with the small waist, narrow shoulders,
large hips and crooked legs, the fair sex. All its beauty lies in the
instinct of love. Instead of calling it the fair, it would have been
better to call it the unaesthetic sex. Women have neither the
appreciation nor the knowledge of music, any more than they have of
poetry or of the plastic arts; with them it is merely an apelike
imitation, pure pretence, affectation cultivated from their desire to
"The man who said that is an idiot," exclaimed Monsieur de Sombreterre.
Monsieur Rade smilingly continued:
"And how about Rousseau, gentlemen? Here is his opinion: 'Women, as a
rule, love no art, are skilled in none, and have no talent.'"
Monsieur de Sombreterre disdainfully shrugged his shoulders:
"Then Rousseau is as much of a fool as the other, that's all."
Monsieur Rade, still smiling, went on:
"And this is what Lord Byron said, who, nevertheless, loved women: 'They
should be well fed and well dressed, but not allowed to mingle with
society. They should also be taught religion, but they should ignore
poetry and politics, only being allowed to read religious works or cook-
Monsieur Rade continued:
"You see, gentlemen, all of them study painting and music. But not a
single one of them has ever painted a remarkable picture or composed a
great opera! Why, gentlemen? Because they are the 'sexes sequior', the
secondary sex in every sense of the word, made to be kept apart, in the
Monsieur Patissot was growing angry, and exclaimed:
"And how about Madame Sand, monsieur?"
"She is the one exception, monsieur, the one exception. I will quote to
you another passage from another great philosopher, this one an
Englishman, Herbert Spencer. Here is what he says: 'Each sex is capable,
under the influence of abnormal stimulation, of manifesting faculties
ordinarily reserved for the other one. Thus, for instance, in extreme
cases a special excitement may cause the breasts of men to give milk;
children deprived of their mothers have often thus been saved in time of
famine. Nevertheless, we do not place this faculty of giving milk among
the male attributes. It is the same with female intelligence, which, in
certain cases, will give superior products, but which is not to be
considered in an estimate of the feminine nature as a social factor.'"
All Monsieur Patissot's chivalric instincts were wounded and he declared:
"You are not a Frenchman, monsieur. French gallantry is a form of
Monsieur Rade retorted:
"I have very little patriotism, monsieur, as little as I can get along
A coolness settled over the company, but he continued quietly:
"Do you admit with me that war is a barbarous thing; that this custom of
killing off people constitutes a condition of savagery; that it is
odious, when life is the only real good, to see governments, whose duty
is to protect the lives of their subjects, persistently looking for means
of destruction? Am I not right? Well, if war is a terrible thing, what
about patriotism, which is the idea at the base of it? When a murderer
kills he has a fixed idea; it is to steal. When a good man sticks his
bayonet through another good man, father of a family, or, perhaps, a
great artist, what idea is he following out?"
Everybody was shocked.
"When one has such thoughts, one should not express them in public."
M. Patissot continued:
"There are, however, monsieur, principles which all good people
M. Rade asked: "Which ones?"
Then very solemnly, M. Patissot pronounced: "Morality, monsieur."
M. Rade was beaming; he exclaimed:
"Just let me give you one example, gentlemen, one little example. What
is your opinion of the gentlemen with the silk caps who thrive along the
boulevard's on the delightful traffic which you know, and who make a
living out of it?"
A look of disgust ran round the table:
"Well, gentlemen! only a century ago, when an elegant gentleman, very
ticklish about his honor, had for--friend--a beautiful and rich lady, it
was considered perfectly proper to live at her expense and even to
squander her whole fortune. This game was considered delightful. This
only goes to show that the principles of morality are by no means
M. Perdrix, visibly embarrassed, stopped him:
"M. Rade, you are sapping the very foundations of society. One must
always have principles. Thus, in politics, here is M. de Sombreterre,
who is a Legitimist; M. Vallin, an Orleanist; M. Patissot and myself,
Republicans; we all have very different principles, and yet we agree very
well because we have them."
But M. Rade exclaimed:
"I also have principles, gentlemen, very distinct ones."
M. Patissot raised his head and coldly asked:
"It would please me greatly to know them, monsieur."
M. Rade did not need to be coaxed.
"Here they are, monsieur:
"First principle--Government by one person is a monstrosity.
"Second principle--Restricted suffrage is an injustice.
"Third principle--Universal suffrage is idiotic.
"To deliver up millions of men, superior minds, scientists, even
geniuses, to the caprice and will of a being who, in an instant of
gaiety, madness, intoxication or love, would not hesitate to sacrifice
everything for his exalted fancy, would spend the wealth of the country
amassed by others with difficulty, would have thousands of men
slaughtered on the battle-fields, all this appears to me--a simple
logician--a monstrous aberration.
"But, admitting that a country must govern itself, to exclude, on some
always debatable pretext, a part of the citizens from the administration
of affairs is such an injustice that it seems to me unworthy of a further
"There remains universal suffrage. I suppose that you will agree with me