MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICE PORTER SERVANTS
Truly Fortune in Paris has bewildering turns of the wheel!
To have seen the Territorial Bank as I have seen it, the rooms withoutfires, never swept, the desert with its dust, protested bills piled highas _that_ on the desks, every week a notice of sale posted at the door,my stew spreading throughout the whole place the odour of a poor man'skitchen; and then to witness now the reconstitution of our company inits newly furnished halls, in which I have orders to light fires bigenough for a Government department, amid a busy crowd, blowings ofwhistles, electric bells, gold pieces piled up till they fall over; itsavours of miracle. I need to look at myself in the glass before I canbelieve it, to see in the mirror my iron-gray coat, trimmed with silver,my white tie, my usher's chain like the one I used to wear at theFaculty on the days when there were sittings. And to think that to workthis transformation, to bring back to our brows gaiety, the mother ofconcord, to restore to our scrip its value ten times over, to our deargovernor the esteem and confidence of which he had been so unjustlydeprived, one man has sufficed, the being of supernatural wealth whomthe hundred voices of renown designate by the name of the Nabob.
Oh, the first time that he came to the office, with his fine presence,his face a little worn perhaps, but so distinguished, his manners of oneaccustomed to frequent courts, upon terms of the utmost familiarity withall the princes of the Orient--in a word, that indescribable quality ofassurance and greatness which is bestowed by immense wealth--I felt myheart bursting beneath the double row of buttons on my waistcoat. Peoplemay mouth in vain their great words of equality and fraternity; thereare men who stand so surely above the rest that one would like tobow one's self down flat in their presence, to find new phrases ofadmiration in order to compel them to take a practical interest in one.Let us hasten to add that I had need of nothing of the kind to attractthe attention of the Nabob. As I rose at his passage--moved to someemotion, but with dignity, you may trust Passajon for that--he lookedat me with a smile and said in an undertone to the young man whoaccompanied him: "What a fine head, like a--" Then there came a wordwhich I did not catch very well, a word ending in _art_, something like_leopard_. No, however, it cannot have been that. _Jean-Bart_, perhaps,although even then I hardly see the connection. However that be, inany case he did say, "What a fine head," and this condescension made meproud. Moreover, all the directors show me a marked degree of kindnessand politeness. It seems that there was a discussion with regard to meat the meeting of the board, to determine whether I should be kept ordismissed like our cashier, that ill-tempered fellow who was alwaystalking of getting everybody sent to the galleys, and whom they havenow invited to go elsewhere to manufacture his cheap shirt-fronts.Well done! That will teach him to be rude to people. So far as Iam concerned, Monsieur the Governor kindly consented to overlook mysomewhat hasty words, in consideration of my record of service at theTerritorial and elsewhere; and at the conclusion of the board meeting,he said to me with his musical accent: "Passajon, you remain with us."It may be imagined how happy I was and how profuse in the expressionof my gratitude. But just think! I should have left with my few pencewithout hope of ever saving any more; obliged to go and cultivate myvineyard in that little country district of Montbars, a very narrowfield for a man who has lived in the midst of all the financialaristocracy of Paris, and among those great banking operations by whichfortunes are made at a stroke. Instead of that, here I am establishedafresh in a magnificent situation, my wardrobe renewed, and my savings,which I spent a whole day in fingering over, intrusted to the kindcare of the governor, who has undertaken to invest them for meadvantageously. I think that is a manoeuvre which he is the very manto execute successfully. And no need for the least anxiety. Every fearvanishes before the word which is in vogue just now at all the councilsof administration, in all shareholders' meetings, on the Bourse, theboulevards, and everywhere: "The Nabob is in the affair." That is tosay, gold is being poured out abundantly, the worst _combinazioni_ areexcellent.
He is so rich, that man!
Rich to a degree one cannot imagine. Has he not just lent fifteenmillion francs as a simple loan passing from hand to hand, to the Beyof Tunis? I repeat, fifteen millions. It was a trick he played on theHemerlingues, who wished to embroil him with that monarch and cut thegrass under his feet in those fine regions of the Orient where it growsgolden, high, and thick. It was an old Turk whom I know, Colonel Brahim,one of our directors at the Territorial, who arranged the affair.Naturally, the Bey, who happened to be, it appears, short ofpocket-money, was very much touched by the alacrity of the Nabob tooblige him, and he has just sent him through Brahim a letter of thanksin which he announces that upon the occasion of his next visit toVichy, he will stay a couple of days with him at that fine Chateau deSaint-Romans, which the former Bey, the brother of this one, honouredwith a visit once before. You may fancy, what an honour! To receive areigning prince as a guest! The Hemerlingues are in a rage. They who hadmanoeuvred so carefully--the son at Tunis, the father in Paris--to getthe Nabob into disfavour. And then it is true that fifteen millions isa big sum. And do not say, "Passajon is telling us some fine tales." Theperson who acquainted me with the story has held in his hands the papersent by the Bey in an envelope of green silk stamped with the royalseal. If he did not read it, it was because this paper was written inArabic, otherwise he would have made himself familiar with its contentsas in the case of all the rest of the Nabob's correspondence. Thisperson is his _valet de chambre_, M. Noel, to whom I had the honourof being introduced last Friday at a small evening-party of persons inservice which he gave to all his friends. I record an account of thisfunction in my memoirs as one of the most curious things which I haveseen in the course of my four years of sojourn in Paris.
I had thought at first when M. Francis, Monpavon's _valet de chambre_,spoke to me of the thing, that it was a question of one of those littleclandestine junketings such as are held sometimes in the garrets of ourboulevards with the fragments of food brought up by Mlle. Seraphine andthe other cooks in the building, at which you drink stolen wine, andgorge yourself, sitting on trunks, trembling with fear, by the lightof a couple of candles which are extinguished at the least noise in thecorridors. These secret practices are repugnant to my character. Butwhen I received, as for the regular servants' ball, an invitationwritten in a very beautiful hand upon pink paper:
"M. Noel rekwests M---- to be present at his evenin-party on the 25thinstent. Super will be provided"
I saw clearly, not withstanding the defective spelling, that it was aquestion of something serious and authorized. I dressed myself thereforein my newest frock-coat, my finest linen, and arrived at the PlaceVendome at the address indicated by the invitation.
For the giving of his party, M. Noel had taken advantage of afirst-night at the opera, to which all fashionable society wasthronging, thus giving the servants a free rein, and putting the entireplace at our disposal until midnight. Notwithstanding this, the hosthad preferred to receive us upstairs in his own bed-chamber, and this Iapproved highly, being in that matter of the opinion of the old fellowin the rhyme:
Fie on the pleasure That fear may corrupt!
But my word, the luxury on the Place Vendome! A felt carpet on thefloor, the bed hidden away in an alcove, Algerian curtains with redstripes, an ornamental clock in green marble on the chimneypiece, thewhole lighted by lamps of which the flames can be regulated at will. Ouroldest member, M. Chalmette, is not better lodged at Dijon. I arrivedabout nine o'clock with Monpavon's old Francis, and I must confess thatmy entry made a sensation, preceded as I was by my academical past, myreputation for politeness, and great knowledge of the world. My finepresence did the rest, for it must be said that I know how to go into aroom. M. Noel, in a dress-coat, very dark skinned and with mutton-chopwhiskers, came forward to meet us.
"You are welcome, M. Passajon," said he, and taking my cap with silvergalloons which, according to the fashion, I had kept in my right handwhile making
my entry, he gave it to a gigantic negro in red and goldlivery.
"Here, Lakdar, hang that up--and that," he added by way of a joke,giving him a kick in a certain region of the back.
There was much laughter at this sally, and we began to chat togetherin very friendly fashion. An excellent fellow, this M. Noel, with hisaccent of the Midi, his pronounced style of dress, the smoothness andthe simplicity of his manners. He reminded me of the Nabob, withouthis distinction, however. I noticed, moreover, that evening, that theseresemblances are frequently to be observed in _valets de chambre_ who,living in the intimacy of their masters, by whom they are always alittle dazzled, end by acquiring their manners and habits. Thus, M.Francis has a certain way of straightening his body when displaying hislinen-front, a mania for raising his arms in order to pull his cuffsdown--it is Monpavon to a T. Now one, for instance, who bears noresemblance to his master is Joey, the coachman of Dr. Jenkins. I callhim Joey, but at the party every one called him Jenkins; for, in thatworld, the stable folk among themselves give to each other the namesof their masters, call each other Bois l'Hery, Monpavon, and Jenkins,without ceremony. Is it in order to degrade their superiors, to raisethe status of menials? Every country has its customs; it is only a foolwho will be surprised by them. To return to Joey Jenkins, how can thedoctor, affable as he is, so polished in every particular, keep in hisservice that brute, bloated with _porter_ and _gin_, who will remainsilent for hours at a time, then, at the first mounting of liquor tohis head, begins to howl and to wish to fight everybody, as witness thescandalous scene which had just occurred when we entered?
The marquis's little groom, Tom Bois l'Hery, as they call him here, haddesired to have a jest with this uncouth creature of an Irishman, whohad replied to a bit of Parisian urchin's banter with a terrible Belfastblow of his fist right in the lad's face.
"A sausage with paws, I! A sausage with paws, I!" repeated the coachman,choking with rage, while his innocent victim was being carried into theadjoining room, where the ladies and girls found occupation in bathinghis nose. The disturbance was quickly appeased, thanks to our arrival,thanks also to the wise words of M. Barreau, a middle-aged man, sedateand majestic, with a manner resembling my own. He is the Nabob's cook,a former _chef_ of the Cafe Anglais, whom Cardailhac, the manager ofthe Nouveautes, has procured for his friend. To see him in a dress-coat,with white tie, his handsome face full and clean-shaven, you would havetaken him for one of the great functionaries of the Empire. It is truethat a cook in an establishment where the table is set every morningfor thirty persons, in addition to madame's special meal, and all eatingonly the very finest and most delicate of food, is not the same as theordinary preparer of a _ragout_. He is paid the salary of a colonel,lodged, boarded, and then the perquisites! One has hardly a notionof the extent of the perquisites in a berth like this. Every oneconsequently addressed him respectfully, with the deference due to a manof his importance. "M. Barreau" here, "My dear M. Barreau" there. Forit is a great mistake to imagine that servants among themselves are allcronies and comrades. Nowhere do you find a hierarchy more prevalentthan among them. Thus at M. Noel's party I distinctly noticed that thecoachmen did not fraternize with their grooms, nor the valets with thefootmen and the lackeys, any more than the steward or the butler wouldmix with the lower servants; and when M. Barreau emitted any littlepleasantry it was amusing to see how exceedingly those under his ordersseemed to enjoy it. I am not opposed to this kind of thing. Quite onthe contrary. As our oldest member used to say, "A society withouta hierarchy is like a house without a staircase." The observation,however, seems to me one worth setting down in these memoirs.
The party, I need scarcely say, did not shine with its full splendouruntil after the return of its most beauteous ornaments, the ladies andgirls who had gone to nurse the little Tom, ladies'-maids with shiningand pomaded hair, chiefs of domestic departments in bonnets adorned withribbons, negresses, housekeepers, a brilliant assembly in which I wasimmediately given great prestige, thanks to my dignified bearing and tothe surname of "Uncle" which the younger among these delightful personssaw fit to bestow upon me.
I fancy there was in the room a good deal of second-hand frippery inthe way of silk and lace, rather faded velvet, even, eight-buttongloves that had been cleaned several times, and perfumes abstracted frommadame's dressing-table, but the faces were happy, thoughts given whollyto gaiety, and I was able to make a little corner for myself, which wasvery lively, always within the bounds of propriety--that goes withoutsaying--and of a character suitable for an individual in my position.This was, moreover, the general tone of the party. Until towards the endof the entertainment I heard none of those unseemly jests, none of thosescandalous stories which give so much amusement to the gentlemen ofour Board; and I take pleasure in remarking that Bois l'Hery thecoachman--to cite only one example--is much more observant of theproprieties than Bois l'Hery the master.
M. Noel alone was conspicuous by his familiar tone and by the livelinessof his repartees. In him you have a man who does not hesitate to callthings by their names. Thus he remarked aloud to M. Francis, from oneend of the room to the other: "I say, Francis, that old swindler ofyours has made a nice thing out of us again this week." And as the otherdrew himself up with a dignified air, M. Noel began to laugh.
"No offence, old chap. The coffer is solid. You will never get to thebottom of it."
And it was on this that he told us of the loan of fifteen millions, towhich I alluded above.
I was surprised, however, to see no sign of preparation for the supperwhich was mentioned on the cards of invitation, and I expressed myanxiety on the point to one of my charming nieces, who replied:
"They are waiting for M. Louis."
"M. Louis?"
"What! you do not know M. Louis, the _valet de chambre_ of the Duc deMora?"
I then learned who this influential personage was, whose protection issought by prefects, senators, even ministers, and who must make them paystiffly for it, since with his salary of twelve hundred francs fromthe duke he has saved enough to produce him an income of twenty-fivethousand, sends his daughters to the convent school of the Sacre Coeur,his son to the College Bourdaloue, and owns a chalet in Switzerlandwhere all his family goes to stay during the holidays.
At this juncture the personage in question arrived; but nothing in hisappearance would have suggested the unique position in Paris which ishis. Nothing of majesty in his deportment, a waistcoat buttoned up tothe collar, a mean-looking and insolent manner, and a way of speakingwithout moving the lips which is very impolite to those who arelistening to you.
He greeted the assembly with a slight nod of the head, extended a fingerto M. Noel, and we were sitting there looking at each other, frozen byhis grand manners, when a door opened at the farther end of the room andwe beheld the supper laid out with all kinds of cold meats, pyramidsof fruit, and bottles of all shapes beneath the light falling from twocandelabra.
"Come, gentlemen, give the ladies your hands." In a minute we were attable, the ladies seated next the eldest or the most important amongus all, the rest on their feet, serving, chattering, drinking fromeverybody's glass, picking a morsel from any plate. I had M. Francisfor my neighbour and I had to listen to his grudges against M. Louis, ofwhose place he was envious, so brilliant was it in comparison with thatwhich he occupied under the noble but worn-out old gambler who was hismaster.
"He is a _parvenu_," he muttered to me in a low voice. "He owes hisfortune to his wife, to Mme. Paul."
It appears that this Mme. Paul is a housekeeper, who has been in theduke's establishment for twenty years, and who excels beyond all othersin the preparation for him of a certain ointment for an affection towhich he is subject. She is indispensable to Mora. Recognising this, M.Louis made love to the old lady, married her though much younger thanshe, and in order not to lose his sick-nurse and her ointments, hisexcellency engaged the husband as _valet de chambre_. At bottom, inspite of what I said to M. Francis, for my own part I thought thepro
ceeding quite praiseworthy and conformable to the loftiest morality,since the mayor and the priest had a finger in it. Moreover, thatexcellent meal, composed of delicate and very expensive foods withwhich I was unacquainted even by name, had strongly disposed my mind toindulgence and good-humour. But every one was not similarly inclined,for from the other side of the table I could hear the bass voice of M.Barreau, complaining:
"Why can he not mind his own business? Do I go pushing my nose intohis department? To begin with, the thing concerns Bompain, not him. Andthen, after all, what is it that I am charged with? The butcher sends mefive baskets of meat every morning. I use only two of them and sell thethree others back to him. Where is the _chef_ who does not do the same?As if, instead of coming to play the spy in my basement, he would notdo better to look after the great leakage up there. When I think thatin three months that gang on the first floor has smoked twenty-eightthousand francs' worth of cigars. Twenty-eight thousand francs! AskNoel if I am not speaking the truth. And on the second floor, in theapartments of madame, that is where you should look to see a fineconfusion of linen, of dresses thrown aside after being worn once,jewels by the handful, pearls that you crush on the floor as you walk.Oh, but wait a little. I shall get my own back from that same littlegentleman."
I understood that the allusion was to M. de Gery, that young secretaryof the Nabob who often comes to the Territorial, where he is alwaysoccupied rummaging into the books. Very polite, certainly, but a veryhaughty young man, who does not know how to push himself forward. Fromall round the table there came nothing but a concert of maledictionson him. M. Louis himself addressed some remarks to the company upon thesubject with his grand air:
"In our establishment, my dear M. Barreau, the cook quite recently hadan affair, similar to yours, with the chief of his excellency's Cabinet,who had permitted himself to make some comments upon the expenditure.The cook went up to the duke's apartments upon the instant in hisprofessional costume, and with his hand on the strings of his apron,said, 'Let your excellency choose between monsieur and myself.' The dukedid not hesitate. One can find as many Cabinet leaders as one desires,while the good cooks, you can count them. There are in Paris fouraltogether. I include you, my dear Barreau. We dismissed the chiefof our Cabinet, giving him a prefecture of the first class by way ofconsolation; but we kept the _chef_ of our kitchen."
"Ah, you see," said M. Barreau, who rejoiced to hear this story,"you see what it is to serve in the house of a _grand seigneur_. But_parvenus_ are _parvenus_--what will you have?"
"And that is all Jansoulet is," added M. Francis, tugging at his cuffs."A man who used to be a street porter at Marseilles."
M. Noel took offence at this.
"Hey, down there, old Francis, you are very glad all the same to havehim to pay your card-debts, the street porter of La Cannebriere. You maywell be embarrassed by _parvenus_ like us who lend millions to kings,and whom _grand seigneurs_ like Mora do not blush to admit to theirtables."
"Oh, in the country," chuckled M. Francis, with a sneer that showed hisold tooth.
The other rose, quite red in the face. He was about to give way to hisanger when M. Louis made a gesture with his hand to signify that he hadsomething to say, and M. Noel sat down immediately, putting his hand tohis ear like all the rest of us in order to lose nothing that fell fromthose august lips.
"It is true," remarked the personage, speaking with the slightestpossible movement of his mouth and continuing to take his wine in littlesips, "it is true that we received the Nabob at Grandbois the otherweek. There even happened something very funny on the occasion. We havea quantity of mushrooms in the second park, and his excellency amuseshimself sometimes by gathering them. Now at dinner was served a largedish of fungi. There were present, what's his name--I forget, what isit?--Marigny, the Minister of the Interior, Monpavon, and your master,my dear Noel. The mushrooms went the round of the table, they lookednice, the gentlemen helped themselves freely, except M. le Duc, whocannot digest them and out of politeness feels it his duty to remark tohis guests: 'Oh, you know, it is not that I am suspicious of them. Theyare perfectly safe. It was I myself who gathered them.'
"'_Sapristi!_' said Monpavon, laughing, 'then, my dear Auguste, allow meto be excused from tasting them.' Marigny, less familiar, glanced at hisplate out of the corner of his eye.
"'But, yes, Monpavon, I assure you. They look extremely good, thesemushrooms. I am truly sorry that I have no appetite left.'
"The duke remained very serious.
"'Come, M. Jansoulet, I sincerely hope that you are not going to offerme this affront, you also. Mushrooms selected by myself.'
"'Oh, Excellency, the very idea of such a thing! Why, I would eat themwith my eyes closed.'
"So you see what sort of luck he had, the poor Nabob, the first timethat he dined with us. Duperron, who was serving opposite him, told usall about it in the pantry. It seems there could have been nothing morecomic than to see the Jansoulet stuffing himself with mushrooms, androlling terrified eyes, while the others sat watching him curiouslywithout touching their plates. He sweated under the effort, poor wretch.And the best of it was that he took a second portion, he actually foundthe courage to take a second portion. He kept drinking off glasses ofwine, however, like a mason, between each mouthful. Ah, well, do youwish to hear my opinion? What he did there was very clever, and I am nolonger surprised that this fat cow-herd should have become thefavourite of sovereigns. He knows where to flatter them in those littlepretensions which no man avows. In brief, the duke has been crazy overhim since that day."
This little story caused much laughter and scattered the clouds whichhad been raised by a few imprudent words. So then, since the wine haduntied people's tongues, and they knew each other better, elbows wereleaned on the table and the conversation fell on masters, on the placesin which each of them had served, on the amusing things he had seen inthem. Ah! of how many such adventures did I not hear, how much of theinterior life of those establishments did I not see pass before me.Naturally I also made my own little effect with the story of my larderat the Territorial, the times when I used to keep my stew in the emptysafe, which circumstance, however, did not prevent our old cashier, agreat stickler for forms, from changing the key-word of the lock everytwo days, as though all the treasures of the Bank of France had beeninside. M. Louis appeared to find my anecdote entertaining. But themost astonishing was what the little Bois l'Hery, with his Parisianstreet-boy's accent, related to us concerning the household of hisemployers.
Marquis and Marquise de Bois l'Hery, second floor, Boulevard Haussmann.Furniture rich as at the Tuileries, blue satin on all the walls,Chinese ornaments, pictures, curiosities, a veritable museum, indeed,overflowing even on to the stairway. The service very smart: sixmen-servants, chestnut livery in winter, nankeen livery in summer.These people are seen everywhere at the small Mondays, at the races, atfirst-nights, at embassy balls, and their name always in the newspaperswith a remark upon the handsome toilettes of Madame, and Monsieur'sremarkable chic. Well! all that is nothing at all but pretence, platedgoods, show, and when the marquis wants five francs nobody wouldlend them to him upon his possessions. The furniture is hired bythe fortnight from Fitily, the upholsterer of the demi-monde. Thecuriosities, the pictures, belong to old Schwalbach, who sends hisclients round there and makes them pay doubly dear, since people don'tbargain when they think they are dealing with a marquis, an amateur.As for the toilettes of the marquise, the milliner and the dressmakerprovide her with them each season gratis, get her to wear the newfashions, a little ridiculous sometimes but which society subsequentlyadopts because Madame is still a very handsome woman and reputed forher elegance; she is what is called a _launcher_. Finally, the servants!Makeshifts like the rest, changed each week at the pleasure of theregistry office which sends them there to do a period of probation byway of preliminary to a serious engagement. If you have neither suretiesnor certificates, if you have just come out of prison or anything ofthat kind, Glanand, the famous ag
ent of the Rue de la Paix, sends youoff to the Boulevard Haussmann. You remain in service there for aweek or two, just the time necessary to buy a good reference from themarquis, who, of course, it is understood, pays you nothing and barelyboards you; for in that house the kitchen-ranges are cold most of thetime, Monsieur and Madame dining out nearly every evening or going toballs, where a supper is included in the entertainment. It is positivefact that there are people in Paris who take the sideboard seriously andmake the first meal of their day after midnight. The Bois l'Herys, inconsequence, are well-informed with regard to the houses that providerefreshments. They will tell you that you get a very good supper at theAustrian Embassy, that the Spanish Embassy rather neglects the wines,and that it is at the Foreign Office again that you find the best_chaud-froid de volailles_. And that is the life of this curioushousehold. Nothing that they possess is really theirs; everything istacked on, loosely fastened with pins. A gust of wind and the wholething blows away. But at least they are certain of losing nothing. It isthis assurance which gives to the marquis that air of raillery worthy ofa Father Tranquille which he has when he looks at you with both hands inhis pockets, as much as to say: "Ah, well, and what then? What can theydo to me?"
And the little groom, in the attitude which I have just mentioned, withhis head like that of a prematurely old and vicious child, imitated hismaster so well that I could fancy I saw himself as he looks at our boardmeetings, standing in front of the governor and overwhelming him withhis cynical pleasantries. All the same, one must admit that Paris isa tremendously great city, for a man to be able to live thus, throughfifteen, twenty years of tricks, artifice, dust thrown in people's eyes,without everybody finding him out, and for him still to be able to makea triumphal entry into a drawing-room in the rear of his name announcedloudly and repeatedly, "Monsieur le Marquis de Bois l'Hery."
No, look you, the things that are to be learned at a servants' party,what a curious spectacle is presented by the fashionable world of Paris,seen thus from below, from the basements, you need to go to onebefore you can realize. Here, for instance, is a little fragment ofconversation which, happening to find myself between M. Francis and M.Louis, I overheard about the worthy sire de Monpavon.
"You are making a mistake, Francis. You are in funds just now. Youought to take advantage of the occasion to restore that money to theTreasury."
"What will you have?" replied M. Francis with a despondent air. "Play isdevouring us."
"Yes, I know it well. But take care. We shall not always be there. Wemay die, fall from power. Then you will be asked for accounts by thepeople down yonder. And it will be a terrible business."
I had often heard whispered the story of a forced loan of two hundredthousand francs which the marquis was reputed to have secured from theState at the time when he was Receiver-General; but the testimony of his_valet de chambre_ was worse than all. Ah! if masters had any suspicionof how much servants know, of all the stories that are told in theservants' hall, if they could see their names dragged among thesweepings of the house and the refuse of the kitchen, they would neveragain dare to say even "shut the door" or "harness the horses." Why, forinstance, take Dr. Jenkins, with the most valuable practice in Paris,ten years of life in common with a magnificent woman, who is soughtafter everywhere; it is in vain that he has done everything todissimulate his position, announced his marriage in the newspapers afterthe English fashion, admitted to his house only foreign servants knowinghardly three words of French. In those three words, seasoned with vulgaroaths and blows of his fist on the table, his coachman Joey, who hateshim, told us his whole history during supper.
"She is going to kick the bucket, his Irish wife, the real one. Remainsto be seen now whether he will marry the other. Forty-five, she is, Mrs.Maranne, and not a shilling. You should see how afraid she is of beingleft in the lurch. Whether he marries her or whether he does not marryher--kss, kss--we shall have a good laugh."
And the more drink he was given, the more he told us about her, speakingof his unfortunate mistress as though she were the lowest of the low.For my own part, I confess that she interested me, this false Mme.Jenkins, who goes about weeping in every corner, implores her loveras though he were the executioner, and runs the chance of being thrownoverboard altogether, when all society believes her to be married,respectable, and established in life. The others only laughed over thestory, the women especially. Dame! it is amusing when one is in serviceto see that the ladies of the upper ten have their troubles also andtorments that keep them awake at night.
Our festal board at this stage presented the most lively aspect, acircle of gay faces stretched towards this Irishman whose story wasadjudged to have won the prize. The fact excited envy; the rest soughtand hunted through their memories for whatever they might hold in theway of old scandals, adventures of deceived husbands, of those intimateprivacies which are emptied on the kitchen-table along with the scrapsfrom the plates and the dregs from the bottles. The champagne wasbeginning to claim its own among the guests. Joey wanted to dance a jigon the table-cloth. The ladies, at the least word that was a little gay,threw themselves back with the piercing laughter of people who are beingtickled, allowing their embroidered skirts to trail beneath the table,loaded with the remains of the food and covered with spilt grease. M.Louis had discreetly retired. Glasses were filled up before they hadbeen emptied; one of the housekeepers dipped a handkerchief in hers,filled with water, and bathed her forehead with it, because her head wasswimming, she said. It was time that the festivity should end; and,in fact, an electric bell ringing in the corridor warned us that thefootman, on duty at the theatre, had come to summon the coachmen.Thereupon Monpavon proposed the health of the master of the house,thanking him for his little party. M. Noel announced that he proposedto give another at Saint-Romans, in honour of the visit of the Bey, towhich most of those present would probably be invited. And I was aboutto rise in my turn, being sufficiently accustomed to social banquetsto know that on such an occasion the oldest man present is expected topropose the health of the ladies, when the door opened abruptly, anda tall footman, bespattered with mud, a dripping umbrella in his hand,perspiring, out of breath, cried to us, without respect for the company:
"But come on then, you set of idiots! What are you sticking here for?Don't you know it is over?"