Books: Monsieur, Madame and Bebe, v2
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Gustave Droz >> Monsieur, Madame and Bebe, v2
He stopped short. I fancied I understood that he was afraid of appearing
comical in my eyes, with his face smothered in lather; but he was wrong.
I felt myself all in a quiver at being beside a man--the word man is
rather distasteful to me, but I can not find another, for husband would
not express my thoughts--at being beside a man in the making of his
toilette. I should have liked him to go on without troubling himself;
I should have liked to see how he managed to shave himself without
encroaching on his moustache, how he made his parting and brushed his
hair with the two round brushes I saw on the table, what use he made of
all the little instruments set out in order on the marble-tweezers,
scissors, tiny combs, little pots and bottles with silver tops, and a
whole arsenal of bright things, that aroused quite a desire to beautify
one's self.
I should have liked him while talking to attend to the nails of his
hands, which I was already very fond of; or, better still, to have handed
them over to me. How I should have rummaged in the little corners, cut,
filed, arranged all that.
"Well, dear, what are you looking at me like that for?" said he,
smiling.
I lowered my eyes at once, and felt that I was blushing. I was uneasy,
although charmed, amid these new surroundings. I did not know what to
answer, and mechanically I dipped the tip of my finger into the little
china pot in which the soap was being lathered.
"What is the matter, darling?" said he, approaching his face to mine;
"have I offended you?"
I don't know what strange idea darted through my mind, but I suddenly
took my hand from the pot and stuck the big ball of lather at the end of
my finger on the tip of his nose. He broke out into a hearty laugh, and
so did I; though I trembled for a moment, lest he should be angry.
"So that's the way in which you behave to a captain in the lancers? You
shall pay for this, you wicked little darling;" and, taking the shaving
brush in his hand, he chased me round the room. I dodged round the
table, I took refuge behind the armchair, upsetting his boots with my
skirt, getting the tongs at the same time entangled in it. Passing the
sofa, I noticed his uniform laid out--he had to wait on the General that
morning--and, seizing his schapska, I made use of it as a buckler. But
laughter paralyzed me, and besides, what could a poor little woman do
against a soldier, even with a buckler?
He ended by catching me--the struggle was a lovely one. It was all very
well for me to scream, as I threw my head backward over the arm by which
he clasped me; I none the less saw the frightful brush, like a big
snowball, at the end of a little stick, come nearer and yet nearer.
But he was merciful; he was satisfied with daubing a little white spot on
my chin and exclaiming, "The cavalry have avenged themselves."
Seizing the brush in turn, I said to him roguishly, "Captain, let me
lather your face," for I did so want to do that.
In answer, he held his face toward me, and, observing that I was obliged
to stand on the tips of my toes and to support myself a little on his
shoulder, he knelt down before me and yielded his head to me.
With the tip of my finger I made him bend his face to the right and the
left, backward and forward, and I lathered and lathered, giggling like a
schoolgirl. It amused me so to see my Captain obey me like a child;
I would have given I don't know what if he had only had his sword and
spurs on at that moment. Unfortunately, he was in his slippers. I
spread the lather over his nose and forehead; he closed his eyes and put
his two arms round me, saying:
"Go on, my dear, go on; but see that you don't put any into my mouth."
At that moment I experienced a very strange feeling. My laughter died
away all at once; I felt ashamed at seeing my husband at my feet and at
thus amusing myself with him as if he were a doll.
I dropped the shaving-brush; I felt my eyes grow moist; and, suddenly,
becoming more tender, I bent toward him and kissed him on the neck, which
was the only spot left clear.
Yet his ear was so near that, in passing it, my lips moved almost in
spite of myself, and I whispered:
"Don't be angry, dear," then, overcome by emotion and repentance,
I added: "I love you, I do love you."
"My own pet!" he said, rising suddenly. His voice shook.
What delightful moments these were! Unfortunately, oh! yes, indeed,
unfortunately, he could not press his lathered face to mine!
"Wait a little," he exclaimed, darting toward the washbasin, full of
water, "wait an instant!"
But it seemed as if it took him a week to wash it off.
CHAPTER XV
MY WIFE GOES TO A DANCE
Madame--Ah! it is so nice of you to come home early! (Looking at the
clock.) A quarter to six. But how cold you are! your hands are frozen;
come and sit by the fire. (She puts a log on the fire.) I have been
thinking of you all day. It is cruel to have to go out in such weather.
Have you finished your doubts? are you satisfied?
Monsieur--Quite well satisfied, dear. (Aside.) But I have never known my
wife to be so amiable. (Aloud, taking up the bellows.) Quite well
satisfied, and I am very hungry. Has my darling been good?
Madame--You are hungry. Good! (Calling out.) Marie, call into the
kitchen that your master wants to dine early. Let them look after
everything--and send up a lemon.
Monsieur--A mystery?
Madame--Yes, Monsieur, I have a little surprise for you, and I fancy that
it will delight you.
Monsieur--Well, what is the surprise?
Madame--Oh! it is a real surprise. How curious you look! your eyes are
glittering already. Suppose I were not to tell you anything?
Monsieur--Then you would vex me very much.
Madame--There, I don't want to vex you. You are going to have some
little green oysters and a partridge. Am I good?
Monsieur--Oysters and a partridge! You are an angel. (He kisses her.)
An angel. (Aside.) What on earth is the matter with her? (Aloud.) Have
you had visitors to-day?
Madame--I saw Ernestine this morning, but she only stayed a moment. She
has just discharged her maid. Would you believe it, that girl was seen
the night before last dressed up as a man, and in her master's clothes,
too! That was going too far.
Monsieur--That comes of having confidential servants. And you just got a
sight of Ernestine?
Madame--And that was quite enough, too. (With an exclamation.) How
stupid I am! I forgot. I had a visit from Madame de Lyr as well.
Monsieur--God bless her! But does she still laugh on one side of her
mouth to hide her black tooth?
Madame-How cruel you are! Yet, she likes you very well. Poor woman!
I was really touched by her visit. She came to remind me that we--
now you will be angry. (She kisses him and sits down beside him.)
Monsieur--Be angry! be angry! I'm not a Turk. Come, what is it?
Madame--Come, we shall go to dinner. You know that there are oysters and
a partridge. I won't tell you--you are already in a bad temper.
Besides, I all but told her that we are not going.
Monsieur--(raising his hands aloft)--I thought so. She and her evening
may go to the dogs. What have I done to this woman that she should so
pester me?
Madame--But she thinks she is affording you pleasure. She is a charming
friend. As for me, I like her because she always speaks well of you.
If you had been hidden in that cabinet during her visit, you could not
have helped blushing. (He shrugs his shoulders.) "Your husband is so
amiable," she said to me, "so cheery, so witty. Try to bring him; it is
an honor to have him." I said, "Certainly," but without meaning it, you
know. But I don't care about it at all. It is not so very amusing at
Madame de Lyr's. She always invites such a number of serious people. No
doubt they are influential people, and may prove useful, but what does
that matter to me? Come to dinner. You know that there is a bottle left
of that famous Pomard; I have kept it for your partridge. You can not
imagine what pleasure I feel in seeing you eat a partridge. You eat it
with such a gusto. You are a glutton, my dear. (She takes his arm.)
Come, I can hear your rascal of a son getting impatient in the dining-
room.
Monsieur--(with a preoccupied air)--Hum! and when is it?
Madame--When is what?
Monsieur--The party, of course.
Madame--Ah! you mean the ball--I was not thinking of it. Madame de Lyr's
ball. Why do you ask me that, since we are not going? Let us make
haste, dinner is getting cold . . . . This evening.
Monsieur--(stopping short)--What! this party is a ball, and this ball is
for this evening. But, hang it! people don't invite you to a ball like
that. They always give notice some time beforehand.
Madame--But she sent us an invitation a week ago, though I don't know
what became of the card. I forgot to show it to you.
Monsieur--You forgot! you forgot!
Madame--Well, it is all for the best; I know you would have been sulky
all the week after. Come to dinner.
They sat down to table. The cloth was white, the cutlery bright, the
oysters fresh; the partridge, cooked to perfection, exhaled a delightful
odor. Madame was charming, and laughed at everything. Monsieur unbent
his brows and stretched himself on the chair.
Monsieur--This Pomard is very good. Won't you have some, little dear?
Madame--Yes, your little dear will. (She pushes forward her glass with a
coquettish movement.)
Monsieur--Ah! you have put on your Louis Seize ring. It is a very pretty
ring.
Madame--(putting her hand under her husband's nose)--Yes; but look--see,
there is a little bit coming off.
Monsieur--(kissing his wife's hand)--Where is the little bit?
Madame--(smiling)--You jest at everything. I am speaking seriously.
There--look--it is plain enough! (They draw near once another and bend
their heads together to see it.) Don't you see it? (She points out a
spot on the ring with a rosy and slender finger.) There! do you see now
--there?
Monsieur--That little pearl which--What on earth have you been putting on
your hair, my dear? It smells very nice--You must send it to the
jeweller. The scent is exquisite. Curls don't become you badly.
Madame--Do you think so? (She adjusts her coiffure with her white hand.)
I thought you would like that scent; now, if I were in your place I
should--
Monsieur--What would you do in my place, dear?
Madame--I should--kiss my wife.
Monsieur--(kissing her)--Well, I must say you have very bright ideas
sometimes. Give me a little bit more partridge, please. (With his mouth
full.) How pretty these poor little creatures look when running among the
corn. You know the cry they give when the sun sets?--A little gravy.--
There are moments when the poetic side of country life appeals to one.
And to think that there are barbarians who eat them with cabbage. But
(filling his glass) have you a gown ready?
Madame--(with innocent astonishment.)--What for, dear?
Monsieur--Why, for Madame de Lyr's--
Madame--For the ball?--What a memory you have--There you are still
thinking of it--No, I have not--ah! yes, I have my tarletan, you know;
but then a woman needs so little to make up a ball-room toilette.
Monsieur--And the hairdresser, has he been sent for?
Madame--No, he has not been sent for; but I am not anxious to go to this
ball. We will settle down by the fireside, read a little, and go to bed
early. You remind me, however, that, on leaving, Madame de Lyr did say,
"Your hairdresser is the same as mine, I will send him word." How stupid
I am; I remember now that I did not answer her. But it is not far, I can
send Marie to tell him not to come.
Monsieur--Since this blessed hairdresser has been told, let him come and
we will go and--amuse ourselves a little at Madame de Lyr's. But on one
condition only; that I find all my dress things laid out in readiness on
my bed with my gloves, you know, and that you tie my necktie.
Madame--A bargain. (She kisses him.) You are a jewel of a husband. I am
delighted, my poor dear, because I see you are imposing a sacrifice upon
yourself in order to please me; since, as to the ball itself, I am quite
indifferent about it. I did not care to go; really now I don't care to
go.
Monsieur--Hum. Well, I will go and smoke a cigar so as not to be in your
way, and at ten o'clock I will be back here. Your preparations will be
over and in five minutes I shall be dressed. Adieu.
Madame--Au revoir.
Monsieur, after reaching the street, lit his cigar and buttoned up his
great-coat. Two hours to kill. It seems a trifle when one is busy, but
when one has nothing to do it is quite another thing. The pavement is
slippery, rain is beginning to fall--fortunately the Palais Royal is not
far off. At the end of his fourteenth tour round the arcades, Monsieur
looks at his watch. Five minutes to ten, he will be late. He rushes
home.
In the courtyard the carriage is standing waiting.
In the bedroom two unshaded lamps shed floods of light. Mountains of
muslin and ribbons are piled on the bed and the furniture. Dresses,
skirts, petticoats, and underpetticoats, lace, scarfs, flowers, jewels,
are mingled in a charming chaos. On the table there are pots of pomade,
sticks of cosmetic, hairpins, combs and brushes, all carefully set out.
Two artificial plaits stretch themselves languishingly upon a dark mass
not unlike a large handful of horsehair. A golden hair net, combs of
pale tortoise-shell and bright coral, clusters of roses, sprays of white
lilac, bouquets of pale violets, await the choice of the artist or the
caprice of the beauty. And yet, must I say it? amidst this luxury of
wealth Madame's hair is undressed, Madame is uneasy, Madame is furious.
Monsieur--(looking at his watch)--Well, my dear, is your hair dressed?
Madame--(impatiently)--He asks me whether my hair is dressed? Don't you
see that I have been waiting for the hairdresser for an hour and a half?
Can't you see that I am furious, for he won't come, the horrid wretch?
Monsieur--The monster!
Madame--Yes, the monster; and I would advise you not to joke about it.
There is a ring. The door opens and the lady's-maid exclaims, "It is he,
Madame!"
Madame--It is he!
Monsieur--It is he!
The artist enters hurriedly and bows while turning his sleeves up.
Madame--My dear Silvani, this is unbearable.
Silvani--Very sorry, very, but could not come any sooner. I have been
dressing hair since three o'clock in the afternoon. I have just left the
Duchesse de W., who is going to the Ministry this evening. She sent me
home in her brougham. Lisette, give me your mistress's combs, and put
the curling-tongs in the fire.
Madame--But, my dear Silvani, my maid's name is not Lisette.
Silvani--You will understand, Madame, that if I had to remember the names
of all the lady's-maids who help me, I should need six clerks instead of
four. Lisette is a pretty name which suits all these young ladies very
well. Lisette, show me your mistress's dress. Good. Is the ball an
official one?
Madame--But dress my hair, Silvani.
Silvani--It is impossible for me to dress your hair, Madame, unless I
know the circle in which the coiffure will be worn. (To the husband,
seated in the corner.) May I beg you, Monsieur, to take another place?
I wish to be able to step back, the better to judge the effect.
Monsieur--Certainly, Monsieur Silvani, only too happy to be agreeable to
you. (He sits down on a chair.)
Madame--(hastily)--Not there, my dear, you will rumple my skirt. (The
husband gets up and looks for another seat.) Take care behind you, you
are stepping on my bustle.
Monsieur--(turning round angrily)--Her bustle! her bustle!
Madame--Now you go upsetting my pins.
Silvani--May I beg a moment of immobility, Madame?
Monsieur--Come, calm yourself, I will go into the drawing-room; is there
a fire there?
Madame--(inattentively)--But, my dear, how can you expect a fire to be in
the drawing-room?
Monsieur--I will go to my study, then.
Madame--There is none there, either. What do you want a fire in your
study for? What a singular idea! High up, you know, Silvani, and a dash
of disorder, it is all the rage.
Silvani--Would you allow a touch of brown under the eyes? That would
enable me to idealize the coiffure.
Monsieur--(impatiently)--Marie, give me my top-coat and my cap. I will
walk up and down in the anteroom. (Aside.) Madame de Lyr shall pay for
this.
Silvani--(crimping)--I leave your ear uncovered, Madame; it would be a
sin to veil it. It is like that of the Princesse de K., whose hair I
dressed yesterday. Lisette, get the powder ready. Ears like yours,
Madame, are not numerous.
Madame--You were saying--
Silvani--Would your ear, Madame, be so modest as not to listen?
Madame's hair is at length dressed. Silvani sheds a light cloud of
scented powder over his work, on which he casts a lingering look of
satisfaction, then bows and retires.
In passing through the anteroom, he runs against Monsieur, who is walking
up and down.
Silvani--A thousand pardons, I have the honor to wish you good night.
Monsieur--(from the depths of his turned-up collar) Good-night.
A quarter of an hour later the sound of a carriage is heard. Madame is
ready, her coiffure suits her, she smiles at herself in the glass as she
slips the glove-stretchers into the twelve-button gloves.
Monsieur has made a failure of his necktie and broken off three buttons.
Traces of decided ill-humor are stamped on his features.
Monsieur--Come, let us go down, the carriage is waiting; it is a quarter
past eleven. (Aside.) Another sleepless night. Sharp, coachman; Rue de
la Pepiniere, number 224.
They reach the street in question. The Rue de la Pepiniere is in a
tumult. Policemen are hurriedly making way through the crowd. In the
distance, confused cries and a rapidly approaching, rumbling sound are
heard. Monsieur thrusts his head out of the window.
Monsieur--What is it, Jean?
Coachman--A fire, Monsieur; here come the firemen.
Monsieur--Go on all the same to number 224.
Coachman--We are there, Monsieur; the fire is at number 224.
Doorkeeper of the House--(quitting a group of people and approaching the
carriage)--You are, I presume, Monsieur, one of the guests of Madame de
Lyr? She is terror-stricken; the fire is in her rooms. She can not
receive any one.
Madame--(excitedly)--It is scandalous.
Monsieur--(humming)--Heart-breaking, heartbreaking! (To the coachman.)
Home again, quickly; I am all but asleep. (He stretches himself out and
turns up his collar.) ( Aside.) After all, I am the better for a well-
cooked partridge.
CHAPTER XVI
A FALSE ALARM
Every time I visit Paris, which, unhappily, is too often, it rains in
torrents. It makes no difference whether I change the time of starting
from that which I had fixed upon at first, stop on the way, travel at
night, resort, in short, to a thousand devices to deceive the barometer-
at ten leagues from Paris the clouds begin to pile up and I get out of
the train amidst a general deluge.
On the occasion of my last visit I found myself as usual in the street,
followed by a street porter carrying my luggage and addressing despairing
signals to all the cabs trotting quickly past amid the driving rain.
After ten minutes of futile efforts a driver, more sensible than the
others, and hidden in his triple cape, checks his horses. With a single
bound I am beside the cab, and opening, the door with a kind of frenzy,
jump in.
Unfortunately, while I am accomplishing all this on one side, a
gentleman, similarly circumstanced, opens the other door and also jumps
in. It is easy to understand that there ensues a collision.
"Devil take you!" said my rival, apparently inclined to push still
farther forward.
I was about to answer him, and pretty sharply, too, for I hail from the
south of France and am rather hotheaded, when our eyes met. We looked
one another in the face like two lions over a single sheep, and suddenly
we both burst out laughing. This angry gentleman was Oscar V., that dear
good fellow Oscar, whom I had not seen for ten years, and who is a very
old friend of mine, a charming fellow whom I used to play with as a boy.
We embraced, and the driver, who was looking at us through the window,
shrugged his shoulders, unable to understand it all. The two porters,
dripping with water, stood, one at each door, with a trunk on his
shoulder. We had the luggage put on the cab and drove off to the Hotel
du Louvre, where Oscar insisted on dropping me.
"But you are travelling, too, then?" said I to my friend, after the
first moments of expansion. "Don't you live in Paris?"
"I live in it as little as possible and have just come up from Les
Roches, an old-fashioned little place I inherited from my father, at
which I pass a great deal of the year. Oh! it is not a chateau; it is
rustic, countrified, but I like it, and would not change anything about
it. The country around is fresh and green, a clear little river flows
past about forty yards from the house, amid the trees; there is a mill in
the background, a spreading valley, a steeple and its weather-cock on the
horizon, flowers under the windows, and happiness in the house. Can I
grumble? My wife makes exquisite pastry, which is very agreeable to me
and helps to whiten her hands. By the way, I did not tell you that I am
married. My dear fellow, I came across an angel, and I rightly thought
that if I let her slip I should not find her equal. I did wisely. But I
want to introduce you to my wife and to show you my little place. When
will you come and see me? It is three hours from Paris--time to smoke a
couple of cigars. It is settled, then--I am going back to-morrow morning
and I will have a room ready for you. Give me your card and I will write
down my address on it."
All this was said so cordially that I could not resist my friend's
invitation, and promised to visit him.
Three or four days later, Paris being empty and the recollection of my
old companion haunting me, I felt a strong desire to take a peep at his
conjugal felicity and to see with my own eyes this stream, this mill,
this steeple, beside all which he was so happy.
I reached Les Roches at about six in the evening and was charmed at the
very first glance. Oscar's residence was a little Louis Quinze chateau
buried in the trees; irregularly built, but charmingly picturesque. It
had been left unaltered for a century at least, and everything, from the
blackened mansard roofs with their rococo weather-cocks, to the bay
windows with their tiny squares of glass and the fantastic escutcheon
over the door, was in keeping. Over the thick tiles of the somewhat
sunken roof, the rough-barked old chestnuts lazily stretched their
branches. Creepers and climbing roses wantoned over the front, framing
the windows, peeping into the garrets, and clinging to the waterspouts,
laden with large bunches of flowers which swayed gently in the air. Amid
all these pointed roofs and this profusion of verdure and trees the blue
sky could only be caught a glimpse of here and there.
The first person I saw was Oscar, clad in white from head to foot, and
wearing a straw hat. He was seated on an enormous block of stone which
seemed part and parcel of the house, and appeared very much interested in
a fine melon which his gardener had just brought to him. No sooner had
he caught sight of me than he darted forward and grasped me by the hand
with such an expression of good-humor and affection that I said to
myself, "Yes, certainly he was not deceiving me, he is happy." I found
him just as I had known him in his youth, lively, rather wild, but kind
and obliging.
"Pierre," said he to the gardener, "take this gentleman's portmanteau to
the lower room," and, as the gardener bestirred himself slowly and with
an effort, Oscar seized the portmanteau and swung it, with a jerk, on to
the shoulders of the poor fellow, whose legs bent under the weight.
"Lazybones," said Oscar, laughing heartily. "Ah! now I must introduce
you to my little queen. My wife, where is my wife?"
He ran to the bell and pulled it twice. At once a fat cook with a red
face and tucked-up sleeves, and behind her a man-servant wiping a plate,
appeared at the ground-floor windows. Had they been chosen on purpose?
I do not know, but their faces and bearing harmonized so thoroughly with
the picture that I could not help smiling.
"Where is your mistress?" asked Oscar, and as they did not answer
quickly enough he exclaimed, "Marie, Marie, here is my friend George."
A young girl, fair as a lily, appeared at a narrow, little window, the
one most garlanded by, flowers, on the first floor. She was clad in a
white dressing-gown of some particular shape; I could not at first make
out. With one hand she gathered its folds about her, and with the other
restrained her flowing hair. Hardly had she seen me when she blushed,
somewhat ashamed, no doubt, at having been surprised in the midst of her
toilet, and, giving a most embarrassed yet charming bow; hurriedly
disappeared. This vision completed the charm; it seemed to me that I had
suddenly been transported into fairy-land. I had fancied when strapping
my portmanteau that I should find my friend Oscar installed in one of
those pretty, little, smart-looking houses, with green shutters and gilt
lightning-conductor, dear to the countrified Parisian, and here I found
myself amid an ideal blending of time-worn stones hidden in flowers,
ancient gables, and fanciful ironwork reddened by rust. I was right in
the midst of one of Morin's sketches, and, charmed and stupefied, I stood
for some moments with my eyes fixed on the narrow window at which the
fair girl had disappeared.