XV.
MEMOIRS OF A CLERK.--IN THE RECEPTION-ROOM.
There was a grand affair last Saturday on Place Vendome.
Monsieur Bernard Jansoulet, the new Deputy for Corsica, gave amagnificent evening party in honor of his election, with municipalguards at the door, the whole house illuminated and two thousandinvitations strewn broadcast through fashionable Paris.
I was indebted to the distinction of my manners, to the resonance of myvoice, which the president of the administrative council has had achance to appreciate at the meetings of the _Caisse Territoriale_, forthe privilege of taking part in that sumptuous festivity, where I stoodfor three hours in the reception-room, amid flowers and draperies,dressed in scarlet and gold, with the majestic bearing peculiar topersons who exert some little authority, and with my calves exposed forthe first time in my life, and sent the name of each guest like thereport of a cannon into the long line of five salons, a resplendentfootman saluting each time with the _bing_ of his halberd on the floor.
How many interesting observations I was able to make that evening, whatjocose sallies, what quips, all in most excellent taste, were tossedback and forth by the servants, concerning the people of fashion whopassed! I should never have heard anything so amusing with thevine-dressers of Montbars. I ought to say that the worthy M. Barreaucaused us all to be served with a hearty, well-irrigated lunch in hisoffice, which was filled to the ceiling with iced drinks andrefreshments, thereby putting every one of us in an excellent humor,which was maintained throughout the evening by glasses of punch andchampagne whisked from the salvers as they passed.
The masters, however, were not so contented as we were. When I reachedmy post, at nine o'clock, I was struck by the anxious, nervous face ofthe Nabob, whom I spied walking with M. de Gery through thebrilliantly-lighted, empty salons, talking earnestly and gesticulatingwildly.
"I will kill him," he said, "I will kill him."
The other tried to soothe him, then Madame appeared and they talkedabout something else.
A magnificent figure of a woman, that Levantine, twice as powerful as Iam, and dazzling to look at with her diamond diadem, the jewels thatcovered her huge white shoulders, her back as round as her breast, herwaist squeezed into a breastplate of greenish gold, which extended inlong stripes the whole length of her skirt. I never saw anything sorich, so imposing. She was like one of those beautiful white elephantswith towers on their backs that we read about in books of travel. Whenshe walked, clinging painfully to the furniture, all her flesh shook andher ornaments jangled like old iron. With it all a very shrill littlevoice and a beautiful red face which a little negro boy kept fanning allthe time with a fan of white feathers as big as a peacock's tail.
It was the first time that that indolent savage had made her appearancein Parisian society, and M. Jansoulet seemed very proud and very happythat she had consented to preside at his fete: a task that involved nogreat labor on the lady's part, however, for, leaving her husband toreceive his guests in the first salon, she went and stretched herselfout on the couch in the little Japanese salon, wedged between two pilesof cushions, and perfectly motionless, so that you could see her in thedistance, at the end of the line of salons, like an idol, under thegreat fan which her negro waved with a clocklike motion, as if bymachinery. These foreigners have the brass for you!
The Nabob's irritation had impressed me all the same, and as I saw hisvalet going downstairs four steps at a time, I caught him on the wingand whispered in his ear:
"What the deuce is the matter with your governor, Monsieur Noel?"
"It's the article in the _Messager_," he replied, and I had to abandonthe idea of finding out anything more for the moment, as a loud ring atthe bell announced the arrival of the first carriage, and it wasfollowed by a multitude of others.
Intent upon my business, giving close attention to the properpronunciation of the names given me and to making them ricochet fromsalon to salon, I thought of nothing else. It is no easy matter toannounce properly people who always think that their names must be wellknown, so that they simply murmur them through their closed lips as theypass, and then are surprised to hear you murder them in your mostsonorous tone and almost bear you a grudge for the unimpressiveentrances, greeted with faint smiles, that follow a bunglingannouncement. The task was made even more difficult at M. Jansoulet's bythe swarm of foreigners, Turks, Egyptians, Persians, Tunisians. I do notmention the Corsicans, who were also very numerous on that occasion,because, during my four years of service at the _Caisse Territoriale_, Ihave become accustomed to pronouncing those high-sounding, interminablenames, always followed by the name of a place: "Paganetti ofPorto-Vecchio, Bastelica of Bonifacio, Paianatchi of Barbicaglia."
I enjoyed dwelling upon those Italian syllables, giving them their fullresonant value, and I could see by the stupefied expressions of thoseworthy islanders how surprised and delighted they were to be introducedin that fashion into the best continental society. But with the Turks,the pachas and beys and effendis, I had much more difficulty, and I mustoften have pronounced them awry, for M. Jansoulet, on two differentoccasions, sent word to me to pay more attention to the names given me,and especially to announce them more naturally. That command, uttered ina loud voice at the door of the reception-room with unnecessarybrutality, annoyed me exceedingly, and prevented me--shall I confessit?--from pitying the vulgar parvenu when I learned, during the evening,what sharp thorns had found their way into his bed of roses.
From half-past ten till midnight the bell did not cease to ring, thecarriages to rumble under the porch, the guests to follow on oneanother's heels, deputies, senators, councillors of state, municipalcouncillors, who acted much more as if they were attending a meeting ofshareholders than an evening party in society. What did it all mean? Icould not succeed in puzzling it out, but a word from Nicklauss thedoor-keeper opened my eyes.
"Do you notice, Monsieur Passajon," said that worthy retainer, standingin front of me, halberd in hand, "do you notice how few ladies we have?"
_Pardieu!_ that was it. And we two were not the only ones who noticedit. At each new arrival, I heard the Nabob, who stood near the door,exclaim in consternation with the hoarse voice of a Marseillais with acold in his head:
"Alone?"
The guest would apologize in an undertone. _M-m-m-m-m-m_--his wife notvery well. Very sorry indeed. Then another would come; and the samequestion would bring the same reply.
We heard that word "alone" so much, that at last we began to joke aboutit in the reception-room; outriders and footmen tossed it from one toanother when a new guest entered: "Alone!" And we laughed and enjoyedourselves. But M. Nicklauss, with his extended knowledge of society,considered that the almost universal abstention of the fair sex was byno means natural.
"It must be the article in the _Messager_," he said.
Everybody was talking of that rascally article, and as each guest pausedbefore entering the salon to look himself over in the mirror with itsgarland of flowers, I overheard snatches of whispered dialogue of thissort:
"Have you read it?"
"It's a frightful thing."
"Do you believe it can possibly be true?"
"I have no idea. At all events I preferred not to bring my wife."
"I felt as you did. A man can go anywhere without compromising himself."
"Of course. While a woman--"
Then they would go in, their crush hats under their arms, with theconquering air of married men unaccompanied by their wives.
What was this newspaper article, this terrible article which threatenedso seriously the influence of such a wealthy man? Unfortunately myduties held me fast; I could not go down to the butlers pantry or thedressing-room, to talk with the coachmen, the footmen and outriders whomI saw standing at the foot of the stairs, amusing themselves by makingfun of the people who went up. What can you expect? The masters givethemselves too many airs. How could one help laughing to see the Marquisand Marquise de Bois-l'Hery sail by with a haught
y air and emptystomachs, after all the stories we have heard about Monsieur's businessarrangements and Madame's dresses? And then the Jenkins family, soaffectionate, so united, the attentive doctor throwing a lace shawl overhis wife's shoulders for fear she may take cold in the hall; she,tricked out and smiling, dressed all in velvet, with a train yards long,leaning on her husband's arm as if to say: "How happy I am!" when I knowthat, ever since the death of the Irishwoman, his lawful wife, thedoctor has been thinking of getting rid of his old incubus so that hecan marry a young woman, and that the old incubus passes her nights indespair, in wearing away with tears what beauty she still has.
The amusing part of it was that not one of them all suspected the quipsand jokes that were spit out at them as they passed, the vile thingsthat their trains swept up from the vestibule carpet, and the whole crewassumed disdainful airs fit to make one die with laughter.
The two ladies I have named, the Governor's wife, a little Corsicanwoman whose heavy eyebrows, white teeth and ruddy cheeks, dark in thelower part, make her look like a clean-shaved Auvergnat--a clevercreature by the way, and always laughing except when her husband looksat other women--these with a few Levantines with diadems of gold orpearls, less resplendent than ours but in the same style, wives ofupholsterers, jewellers, dealers who supply the household regularly,with shoulders as extensive as shop-fronts and dresses in which thematerial was not sparingly used; and lastly, several wives of clerks atthe _Caisse Territoriale_, with rustling dresses and devil a sou intheir pockets,--such was the representation of the fair sex at thatfunction, some thirty ladies lost among myriads of black coats; onemight as well say that there were none at all there. From time to time,Cassagne, Laporte and Grandvarlet, who were carrying dishes, told uswhat was going on in the salons.
"Ah! my children, if you could just see how gloomy, how mournful it is!The men don't move from the sideboards. The women are all sitting in acircle, way at the end, fanning themselves, without a word. La Grosse[1]doesn't speak to any one. I believe she's taking a snooze. Monsieur'sthe one who keeps things going. Pere Passajon, a glass ofChateau-Larose. It will set you up."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Fat Woman, or "Fatty."
All those young fellows were delightful to me, and took a mischievouspleasure in doing the honors of the cellar so often and in such bumpersthat my tongue began to grow heavy and uncertain; as they said to me, intheir slightly familiar language: "You're spluttering, uncle." Luckilythe last of the effendis had arrived and there was no one else toannounce; for it was of no use for me to struggle against it, every timeI walked between the hangings to launch a name into the salons, thechandeliers whirled round and round with hundreds of thousands ofdancing lights, and the floors became inclined planes as slippery andsteep as Russian mountains. I must have spluttered, that is sure.