While old Saillard was driving
across Paris his son-in-law,
Isidore Baudoyer, and his daughter,
Elisabeth, Baudoyer's wife, were
playing a virtuous game of boston
with their confessor, the Abbe
Gaudron, in company with a few
neighbors and a certain Martin
Falleix, a brass- founder in
the fauborg Saint-Antoine, to
whom Saillard had loaned the
necessary money to establish
a business. This Falleix, a respectable
Auvergnat who had come to seek
his fortune in Paris with his
smelting- pot on his back, had
found immediate employment with
the firm of Brezac, collectors
of metals and other relics from
all chateaux in the provinces.
About twenty-seven years of age,
and spoiled, like others, by
success, Martin Falleix had had
the luck to become the active
agent of Monsieur Saillard, the
sleeping-partner in the working
out of a discovery made by Falleix
in smelting (patent of invention
and gold medal granted at the
exposition of 1825). Madame Baudoyer,
whose only daughter was treading--to
use an expression of old Saillard's--on
the tail of her twelve years,
laid claim to Falleix, a thickset,
swarthy, active young fellow,
of shrewd principles, whose education
she was superintending. The said
education, according to her ideas,
consisted in teaching him to
play boston, to hold his cards
properly, and not to let others
see his game; to shave himself
regularly before he came to the
house, and to wash his hands
with good cleansing soap; not
to swear, to speak her kind of
French, to wear boots instead
of shoes, cotton shirts instead
of sacking, and to brush up his
hair instead of plastering it
flat. During the preceding week
Elisabeth had finally succeeded
in persuading Falleix to give
up wearing a pair of enormous
flat earrings resembling hoops.
"You go too far, Madame Baudoyer," he
said, seeing her satisfaction
at the final sacrifice; "you
order me about too much. You
make me clean my teeth, which
loosens them; presently you will
want me to brush my nails and
curl my hair, which won't do
at all in our business; we don't
like dandies."
Elisabeth Baudoyer, nee Saillard,
is one of those persons who escape
portraiture through their utter
commonness; yet who ought to
be sketched, because they are
specimens of that second-rate
Parisian bourgeoisie which occupies
a place above the well-to-do
artisan and below the upper middle
classes,--a tribe whose virtues
are well-nigh vices, whose defects
are never kindly, but whose habits
and manners, dull and insipid
though they be, are not without
a certain originality. Something
pinched and puny about Elisabeth
Saillard was painful to the eye.
Her figure, scarcely over four
feet in height, was so thin that
the waist measured less than
twenty inches. Her small features,
which clustered close about the
nose, gave her face a vague resemblance
to a weasel's snout. Though she
was past thirty years old she
looked scarcely more than sixteen.
Her eyes, of porcelain blue,
overweighted by heavy eyelids
which fell nearly straight from
the arch of the eyebrows, had
little light in them. Everything
about her appearance was commonplace:
witness her flaxen hair, tending
to whiteness; her flat forehead,
from which the light did not
reflect; and her dull complexion,
with gray, almost leaden, tones.
The lower part of the face, more
triangular than oval, ended irregularly
the otherwise irregular outline
of her face. Her voice had a
rather pretty range of intonation,
from sharp to sweet. Elisabeth
was a perfect specimen of the
second-rate little bourgeoisie
who lectures her husband behind
the curtains; obtains no credit
for her virtues; is ambitious
without intelligent object, and
solely through the development
of her domestic selfishness.
Had she lived in the country
she would have bought up adjacent
land; being, as she was, connected
with the administration, she
was determined to push her way.
If we relate the life of her
father and mother, we shall show
the sort of woman she was by
a picture of her childhood and
youth.
Monsieur Saillard
married the daughter of an
upholsterer keeping
shop under the arcades of the
Market. Limited means compelled
Monsieur and Madame Saillard
at their start in life to bear
constant privation. After thirty-three
years of married life, and twenty-nine
years of toil in a government
office, the property of "the
Saillards"--their circle of acquaintance
called them so--consisted of
sixty thousand francs entrusted
to Falleix, the house in the
place Royale, bought for forty
thousand in 1804, and thirty-six
thousand francs given in dowry
to their daughter Elisabeth.
Out of this capital about fifty
thousand came to them by the
will of the widow Bidault, Madame
Saillard's mother. Saillard's
salary from the government had
always been four thousand five
hundred francs a year, and no
more; his situation was a blind
alley that led nowhere, and had
tempted no one to supersede him.
Those ninety thousand francs,
put together sou by sou, were
the fruit therefore of a sordid
economy unintelligently employed.
In fact, the Saillards did not
know how better to manage their
savings than to carry them, five
thousand francs at a time, to
their notary, Monsieur Sorbier,
Cardot's predecessor, and let
him invest them at five per cent
in first mortgages, with the
wife's rights reserved in case
the borrower was married! In
1804 Madame Saillard obtained
a government office for the sale
of stamped papers, a circumstance
which brought a servant into
the household for the first time.
At the time of which we write,
the house, which was worth a
hundred thousand francs, brought
in a rental of eight thousand.
Falleix paid seven per cent for
the sixty thousand invested in
the foundry, besides an equal
division of profits. The Saillards
were therefore enjoying an income
of not less than seventeen thousand
francs a year. The whole ambition
of the good man now centred on
obtaining the cross of the Legion
and his retiring pension.
Elisabeth, the only child,
had toiled steadily from infancy
in a home where the customs of
life were rigid and the ideas
simple. A new hat for Saillard
was a matter of deliberation;
the time a coat could last was
estimated and discussed; umbrellas
were carefully hung up by means
of a brass buckle. Since 1804
no repairs of any kind had been
done to the house. The Saillards
kept the ground-floor in precisely
the state in which their predecessor
left it. The gilding of the pier-glasses
was rubbed off; the paint on
the cornices was hardly visible
through the layers of dust that
time had collected. The fine
large rooms still retained certain
sculptured marble mantel-pieces
and ceilings, worthy of Versailles,
together with the old furniture
of the widow Bidault. The latter
consisted of a curious mixture
of walnut armchairs, disjointed,
and covered with tapestry; rosewood
bureaus; round tables on single
pedestals, with brass railings
and cracked marble tops; one
superb Boulle secretary, the
value of which style had not
yet been recognized; in short,
a chaos of bargains picked up
by the worthy widow,--pictures
bought for the sake of the frames,
china services of a composite
order; to wit, a magnificent
Japanese dessert set, and all
the rest porcelains of various
makes, unmatched silver plate,
old glass, fine damask, and a
four-post bedstead, hung with
curtains and garnished with plumes.
Amid these
curious relics, Madame Saillard
always sat on
a sofa of modern mahogany, near
a fireplace full of ashes and
without fire, on the mantel-shelf
of which stood a clock, some
antique bronzes, candelabra with
paper flowers but no candles,
for the careful housewife lighted
the room with a tall tallow candle
always guttering down into the
flat brass candlestick which
held it. Madame Saillard's face,
despite its wrinkles, was expressive
of obstinacy and severity, narrowness
of ideas, an uprightness that
might be called quadrangular,
a religion without piety, straightforward,
candid avarice, and the peace
of a quiet conscience. You may
see in certain Flemish pictures
the wives of burgomasters cut
out by nature on the same pattern
and wonderfully reproduced on
canvas; but these dames wear
fine robes of velvet and precious
stuffs, whereas Madame Saillard
possessed no robes, only that
venerable garment called in Touraine
and Picardy "cottes," elsewhere
petticoats, or skirts pleated
behind and on each side, with
other skirts hanging over them.
Her bust was inclosed in what
was called a "casaquin," another
obsolete name for a short gown
or jacket. She continued to wear
a cap with starched wings, and
shoes with high heels. Though
she was now fifty-seven years
old, and her lifetime of vigorous
household work ought now to be
rewarded with well-earned repose,
she was incessantly employed
in knitting her husband's stockings
and her own, and those of an
uncle, just as her countrywomen
knit them, moving about the room,
talking, pacing up and down the
garden, or looking round the
kitchen to watch what was going
on.
The Saillard's
avarice, which was really imposed
on them in
the first instance by dire necessity,
was now a second nature. When
the cashier got back from the
office, he laid aside his coat,
and went to work in the large
garden, shut off from the courtyard
by an iron railing, and which
the family reserved to itself.
For years Elisabeth, the daughter,
went to market every morning
with her mother, and the two
did all the work of the house.
The mother cooked well, especially
a duck with turnips; but, according
to Saillard, no one could equal
Elisabeth in hashing the remains
of a leg of mutton with onions. "You
might eat your boots with those
onions and not know it," he remarked.
As soon as Elisabeth knew how
to hold a needle, her mother
had her mend the household linen
and her father's coats. Always
at work, like a servant, she
never went out alone. Though
living close by the boulevard
du Temple, where Franconi, La
Gaite, and l'Ambigu-Comique were
within a stone's throw, and,
further on, the Porte-Saint-Martin,
Elisabeth had never seen a comedy.
When she asked to "see what it
was like" (with the Abbe Gaudron's
permission, be it understood),
Monsieur Baudoyer took her--for
the glory of the thing, and to
show her the finest that was
to be seen--to the Opera, where
they were playing "The Chinese
Laborer." Elisabeth thought "the
comedy" as wearisome as the plague
of flies, and never wished to
see another. On Sundays, after
walking four times to and fro
between the place Royale and
Saint- Paul's church (for her
mother made her practise the
precepts and the duties of religion),
her parents took her to the pavement
in front of the Cafe Ture, where
they sat on chairs placed between
a railing and the wall. The Saillards
always made haste to reach the
place early so as to choose the
best seats, and found much entertainment
in watching the passers-by. In
those days the Cafe Ture was
the rendezvous of the fashionable
society of the Marais, the faubourg
Saint-Antoine, and the circumjacent
regions.
Elisabeth never wore anything
but cotton gowns in summer and
merino in the winter, which she
made herself. Her mother gave
her twenty francs a month for
her expenses, but her father,
who was very fond of her, mitigated
this rigorous treatment with
a few presents. She never read
what the Abbe Gaudron, vicar
of Saint-Paul's and the family
director, called profane books.
This discipline had borne fruit.
Forced to employ her feelings
on some passion or other, Elisabeth
became eager after gain. Though
she was not lacking in sense
or perspicacity, religious theories,
and her complete ignorance of
higher emotions had encircled
all her faculties with an iron
hand; they were exercised solely
on the commonest things of life;
spent in a few directions they
were able to concentrate themselves
on a matter in hand. Repressed
by religious devotion, her natural
intelligence exercised itself
within the limits marked out
by cases of conscience, which
form a mine of subtleties among
which self-interest selects its
subterfuges. Like those saintly
personages in whom religion does
not stifle ambition, Elisabeth
was capable of requiring others
to do a blamable action that
she might reap the fruits; and
she would have been, like them
again, implacable as to her dues
and dissembling in her actions.
Once offended, she watched her
adversaries with the perfidious
patience of a cat, and was capable
of bringing about some cold and
complete vengeance, and then
laying it to the account of God.
Until her marriage the Saillards
lived without other society than
that of the Abbe Gaudron, a priest
from Auvergne appointed vicar
of Saint-Paul's after the restoration
of Catholic worship. Besides
this ecclesiastic, who was a
friend of the late Madame Bidault,
a paternal uncle of Madame Saillard,
an old paper-dealer retired from
business ever since the year
II. of the Republic, and now
sixty-nine years old, came to
see them on Sundays only, because
on that day no government business
went on.
This little
old man, with a livid face
blazoned by the red
nose of a tippler and lighted
by two gleaming vulture eyes,
allowed his gray hair to hang
loose under a three-cornered
hat, wore breeches with straps
that extended beyond the buckles,
cotton stockings of mottled thread
knitted by his niece, whom he
always called "the little Saillard," stout
shoes with silver buckles, and
a surtout coat of mixed colors.
He looked very much like those
verger-beadle-bell- ringing-grave-digging-parish-clerks
who are taken to be caricatures
until we see them performing
their various functions. On the
present occasion he had come
on foot to dine with the Saillards,
intending to return in the same
way to the rue Greneta, where
he lived on the third floor of
an old house. His business was
that of discounting commercial
paper in the quartier Saint-Martin,
where he was known by the nickname
of "Gigonnet," from the nervous
convulsive movement with which
he lifted his legs in walking,
like a cat. Monsieur Bidault
began this business in the year
II. in partnership with a dutchman
named Werbrust, a friend of Gobseck.
Some time later Saillard made
the acquaintance of Monsieur
and Madame Transon, wholesale
dealers in pottery, with an establishment
in the rue de Lesdiguieres, who
took an interest in Elisabeth
and introduced young Isadore
Baudoyer to the family with the
intention of marrying her. Gigonnet
approved of the match, for he
had long employed a certain Mitral,
uncle of the young man, as clerk.
Monsieur and Madame Baudoyer,
father and mother of Isidore,
highly respected leather- dressers
in the rue Censier, had slowly
made a moderate fortune out of
a small trade. After marrying
their only son, on whom they
settled fifty thousand francs,
they determined to live in the
country, and had lately removed
to the neighborhood of Ile-d'Adam,
where after a time they were
joined by Mitral. They frequently
came to Paris, however, where
they kept a corner in the house
in the rue Censier which they
gave to Isidore on his marriage.
The elder Baudoyers had an income
of about three thousand francs
left to live upon after establishing
their son.
Mitral was a being with a sinister
wig, a face the color of Seine
water, lighted by a pair of Spanish-tobacco-colored
eyes, cold as a well-rope, always
smelling a rat, and close-mouthed
about his property. He probably
made his fortune in his own hole
and corner, just as Werbrust
and Gigonnet made theirs in the
quartier Saint- Martin.
Though the
Saillards' circle of acquaintance
increased, neither
their ideas nor their manners
and customs changed. The saint's-days
of father, mother, daughter,
son-in-law, and grandchild were
carefully observed, also the
anniversaries of birth and marriage,
Easter, Christmas, New Year's
day, and Epiphany. These festivals
were preceded by great domestic
sweepings and a universal clearing
up of the house, which added
an element of usefulness to the
ceremonies. When the festival
day came, the presents were offered
with much pomp and an accompaniment
of flowers,--silk stockings or
a fur cap for old Saillard; gold
earrings and articles of plate
for Elisabeth or her husband,
for whom, little by little, the
parents were accumulating a whole
silver service; silk petticoats
for Madame Saillard, who laid
the stuff by and never made it
up. The recipient of these gifts
was placed in an armchair and
asked by those present for a
certain length of time, "Guess
what we have for you!" Then came
a splendid dinner, lasting at
least five hours, to which were
invited the Abbe Gaudron, Falleix,
Rabourdin, Monsieur Godard, under-head-clerk
to Monsieur Baudoyer, Monsieur
Bataille, captain of the company
of the National Guard to which
Saillard and his son-in-law belonged.
Monsieur Cardot, who was invariably
asked, did as Rabourdin did,
namely, accepted one invitation
out of six. The company sang
at dessert, shook hands and embraced
with enthusiasm, wishing each
other all manner of happiness;
the presents were exhibited and
the opinion of the guests asked
about them. The day Saillard
received his fur cap he wore
it during the dessert, to the
satisfaction of all present.
At night, mere ordinary acquaintances
were bidden, and dancing went
on till very late, formerly to
the music of one violin, but
for the last six years Monsieur
Godard, who was a great flute
player, contributed the piercing
tones of a flageolet to the festivity.
The cook, Madame Baudoyer's nurse,
and old Catherine, Madame Saillard's
woman-servant, together with
the porter or his wife, stood
looking on at the door of the
salon. The servants always received
three francs on these occasions
to buy themselves wine or coffee.
This little circle looked upon
Saillard and Baudoyer as transcendent
beings; they were government
officers; they had risen by their
own merits; they worked, it was
said, with the minister himself;
they owed their fortune to their
talents; they were politicians.
Baudoyer was considered the more
able of the two; his position
as head of a bureau presupposed
labor that was more intricate
and arduous than that of a cashier.
Moreover, Isidore, though the
son of a leather-dresser, had
had the genius to study and to
cast aside his father's business
and find a career in politics,
which had led him to a post of
eminence. In short, silent and
uncommunicative as he was, he
was looked upon as a deep thinker,
and perhaps, said the admiring
circle, he would some day become
deputy of the eighth arrondissement.
As Gigonnet listened to such
remarks as these, he pressed
his already pinched lips closer
together, and threw a glance
at his great-niece, Elisabeth.
In person, Isidore was a tall,
stout man of thirty-seven, who
perspired freely, and whose head
looked as if he had water on
the brain. This enormous head,
covered with chestnut hair cropped
close, was joined to the neck
by rolls of flesh which overhung
the collar of his coat. He had
the arms of Hercules, hands worthy
of Domitian, a stomach which
sobriety held within the limits
of the majestic, to use a saying
of Brillaet-Savarin. His face
was a good deal like that of
the Emperor Alexander. The Tartar
type was in the little eyes and
the flattened nose turned slightly
up, in the frigid lips and the
short chin. The forehead was
low and narrow. Though his temperament
was lymphatic, the devout Isidore
was under the influence of a
conjugal passion which time did
not lessen.
In spite, however,
of his resemblance to the handsome
Russian Emperor
and the terrible Domitian, Isidore
Baudoyer was nothing more than
a political office-holder, of
little ability as head of his
department, a cut-and-dried routine
man, who concealed the fact that
he was a flabby cipher by so
ponderous a personality that
no scalpel could cut deep enough
to let the operator see into
him. His severe studies, in which
he had shown the patience and
sagacity of an ox, and his square
head, deceived his parents, who
firmly believed him an extraordinary
man. Pedantic and hypercritical,
meddlesome and fault-finding,
he was a terror to the clerks
under him, whom he worried in
their work, enforcing the rules
rigorously, and arriving himself
with such terrible punctuality
that not one of them dared to
be a moment late. Baudoyer wore
a blue coat with gilt buttons,
a chamois waistcoat, gray trousers
and cravats of various colors.
His feet were large and ill-shod.
From the chain of his watch depended
an enormous bunch of old trinkets,
among which in 1824 he still
wore "American beads," which
were very much the fashion in
the year VII.
In the bosom
of this family, bound together
by the force of
religious ties, by the inflexibility
of its customs, by one solitary
emotion, that of avarice, a passion
which was now as it were its
compass, Elisabeth was forced
to commune with herself, instead
of imparting her ideas to those
around her, for she felt herself
without equals in mind who could
comprehend her. Though facts
compelled her to judge her husband,
her religious duty led her to
keep up as best she could a favorable
opinion of him; she showed him
marked respect; honored him as
the father of her child, her
husband, the temporal power,
as the vicar of Saint-Paul's
told her. She would have thought
it a mortal sin to make a single
gesture, or give a single glance,
or say a single word which would
reveal to others her real opinion
of the imbecile Baudoyer. She
even professed to obey passively
all his wishes. But her ears
were receptive of many things;
she thought them over, weighed
and compared them in the solitude
of her mind, and judged so soberly
of men and events that at the
time when our history begins
she was the hidden oracle of
the two functionaries, her husband
and father, who had, unconsciously,
come to do nothing whatever without
consulting her. Old Saillard
would say, innocently, "Isn't
she clever, that Elisabeth of
mine?" But Baudoyer, too great
a fool not to be puffed up by
the false reputation the quartier
Saint-Antoine bestowed upon him,
denied his wife's cleverness
all the while that he was making
use of it.
Elisabeth had long felt sure
that her uncle Bidault, otherwise
called Gigonnet, was rich and
handled vast sums of money. Enlightened
by self-interest, she had come
to understand Monsieur des Lupeaulx
far better than the minister
understood him. Finding herself
married to a fool, she never
allowed herself to think that
life might have gone better with
her, she only imagined the possibility
of better things without expecting
or wishing to attain them. All
her best affections found their
vocation in her love for her
daughter, to whom she spared
the pains and privations she
had borne in her own childhood;
she believed that in this affection
she had her full share in the
world of feeling. Solely for
her daughter's sake she had persuaded
her father to take the important
step of going into partnership
with Falleix. Falleix had been
brought to the Saillard's house
by old Bidault, who lent him
money on his merchandise. Falleix
thought his old countryman extortionate,
and complained to the Saillards
that Gigonnet demanded eighteen
per cent from an Auvergnat. Madame
Saillard ventured to remonstrate
with her uncle.
"It is just because he is an
Auvergnat that I take only eighteen
per cent," said Gigonnet, when
she spoke of him.
Falleix, who had made a discovery
at the age of twenty-eight, and
communicated it to Saillard,
seemed to carry his heart in
his hand (an expression of old
Saillard's), and also seemed
likely to make a great fortune.
Elisabeth determined to husband
him for her daughter and train
him herself, having, as she calculated,
seven years to do it in. Martin
Falleix felt and showed the deepest
respect for Madame Baudoyer,
whose superior qualities he was
able to recognize. If he were
fated to make millions he would
always belong to her family,
where he had found a home. The
little Baudoyer girl was already
trained to bring him his tea
and to take his hat.
On the evening of which we
write, Monsieur Saillard, returning
from the ministry, found a game
of boston in full blast; Elisabeth
was advising Falleix how to play;
Madame Saillard was knitting
in the chimney-corner and overlooking
the cards of the vicar; Monsieur
Baudoyer, motionless as a mile-stone,
was employing his mental capacity
in calculating how the cards
were placed, and sat opposite
to Mitral, who had come up from
Ile-d'Adam for the Christmas
holidays. No one moved as the
cashier entered, and for some
minutes he walked up and down
the room, his fat face contracted
with unaccustomed thought.
"He is always so when he dines
at the ministry," remarked Madame
Saillard; "happily, it is only
twice a year, or he'd die of
it. Saillard was never made to
be in the government-- Well,
now, I do hope, Saillard," she
continued in a loud tone, "that
you are not going to keep on
those silk breeches and that
handsome coat. Go and take them
off; don't wear them at home,
my man."
"Your father has something
on his mind," said Baudoyer to
his wife, when the cashier was
in his bedroom, undressing without
any fire.
"Perhaps Monsieur de la Billardiere
is dead," said Elisabeth, simply; "and
as he is anxious you should have
the place, it worries him."
"Can I be useful in any way?" said
the vicar of Saint-Paul's; "if
so, pray use my services. I have
the honor to be known to Madame
la Dauphine. These are days when
public offices should be given
only to faithful men, whose religious
principles are not to be shaken."
"Dear me!" said Falleix, "do
men of merit need protectors
and influence to get places in
the government service? I am
glad I am an iron-master; my
customers know where to find
a good article--"
"Monsieur," interrupted Baudoyer, "the
government is the government;
never attack it in this house."
"You speak like the 'Constitutionel,'" said
the vicar.
"The 'Constitutionel' never
says anything different from
that," replied Baudoyer, who
never read it.
The cashier believed his son-in-law
to be as superior in talent to
Rabourdin as God was greater
than Saint-Crepin, to use his
own expression; but the good
man coveted this appointment
in a straightforward, honest
way. Influenced by the feeling
which leads all officials to
seek promotion,--a violent, unreflecting,
almost brutal passion,--he desired
success, just as he desired the
cross of the Legion of honor,
without doing anything against
his conscience to obtain it,
and solely, as he believed, on
the strength of his son-in- law's
merits. To his thinking, a man
who had patiently spent twenty-
five years in a government office
behind an iron railing had sacrificed
himself to his country and deserved
the cross. But all that he dreamed
of doing to promote his son-in-law's
appointment in La Billardiere's
place was to say a word to his
Excellency's wife when he took
her the month's salary.
"Well, Saillard, you look as
if you had lost all your friends!
Do speak; do, pray, tell us something," cried
his wife when he came back into
the room.
Saillard, after making a little
sign to his daughter, turned
on his heel to keep himself from
talking politics before strangers.
When Monsieur Mitral and the
vicar had departed, Saillard
rolled back the card-table and
sat down in an armchair in the
attitude he always assumed when
about to tell some office-gossip,--a
series of movements which answered
the purpose of the three knocks
given at the Theatre- Francais.
After binding his wife, daughter,
and son-in-law to the deepest
secrecy,--for, however petty
the gossip, their places, as
he thought, depended on their
discretion,--he related the incomprehensible
enigma of the resignation of
a deputy, the very legitimate
desire of the general-secretary
to get elected to the place,
and the secret opposition of
the minister to this wish of
a man who was one of his firmest
supporters and most zealous workers.
This, of course, brought down
an avalanche of suppositions,
flooded with the sapient arguments
of the two officials, who sent
back and forth to each other
a wearisome flood of nonsense.
Elisabeth quietly asked three
questions:--
"If Monsieur
des Lupeaulx is on our side,
will Monsieur Baudoyer
be appointed in Monsieur de la
Billardiere's place?"
"Heavens! I should think so," cried
the cashier.
"My uncle Bidault and Monsieur
Gobseck helped in him 1814," thought
she. "Is he in debt?" she asked,
aloud.
"Yes," cried the cashier with
a hissing and prolonged sound
on the last letter; "his salary
was attached, but some of the
higher powers released it by
a bill at sight."
"Where is the
des Lupeaulx estate?"
"Why, don't
you know? in the part of the
country where your
grandfather and your great-uncle
Bidault belong, in the arrondissement
of the deputy who wants to resign."
When her colossus
of a husband had gone to bed,
Elisabeth leaned
over him, and though he always
treated her remarks as women's
nonsense, she said, "Perhaps
you will really get Monsieur
de la Billardiere's place."
"There you go with your imaginations!" said
Baudoyer; "leave Monsieur Gaudron
to speak to the Dauphine and
don't meddle with politics."
At eleven o'clock, when all
were asleep in the place Royale,
Monsieur des Lupeaulx was leaving
the Opera for the rue Duphot.
This particular Wednesday was
one of Madame Rabourdin's most
brilliant evenings. Many of her
customary guests came in from
the theatres and swelled the
company already assembled, among
whom were several celebrities,
such as: Canalis the poet, Schinner
the painter, Dr. Bianchon, Lucien
de Rubempre, Octave de Camps,
the Comte de Granville, the Vicomte
de Fontaine, du Bruel the vaudevillist,
Andoche Finot the journalist,
Derville, one of the best heads
in the law courts, the Comte
du Chatelet, deputy, du Tillet,
banker, and several elegant young
men, such as Paul de Manerville
and the Vicomte de Portenduere.
Celestine was pouring out tea
when the general-secretary entered.
Her dress that evening was very
becoming; she wore a black velvet
robe without ornament of any
kind, a black gauze scarf, her
hair smoothly bound about her
head and raised in a heavy braided
mass, with long curls a l'Anglaise
falling on either side of her
face. The charms which particularly
distinguished this woman were
the Italian ease of her artistic
nature, her ready comprehension,
and the grace with which she
welcomed and promoted the least
appearance of a wish on the part
of others. Nature had given her
an elegant, slender figure, which
could sway lightly at a word,
black eyes of oriental shape,
able, like those of the Chinese
women, to see out of their corners.
She well knew how to manage a
soft, insinuating voice, which
threw a tender charm into every
word, even such as she merely
chanced to utter; her feet were
like those we see in portraits
where the painter boldly lies
and flatters his sitter in the
only way which does not compromise
anatomy. Her complexion, a little
yellow by day, like that of most
brunettes, was dazzling at night
under the wax candles, which
brought out the brilliancy of
her black hair and eyes. Her
slender and well-defined outlines
reminded an artist of the Venus
of the Middle Ages rendered by
Jean Goujon, the illustrious
sculptor of Diane de Poitiers.
Des Lupeaulx
stopped in the doorway, and
leaned against the
woodwork. This ferret of ideas
did not deny himself the pleasure
of spying upon sentiment, and
this woman interested him more
than any of the others to whom
he had attached himself. Des
Lupeaulx had reached an age when
men assert pretensions in regard
to women. The first white hairs
lead to the latest passions,
all the more violent because
they are astride of vanishing
powers and dawning weakness.
The age of forty is the age of
folly,--an age when man wants
to be loved for himself; whereas
at twenty-five life is so full
that he has no wants. At twenty-five
he overflows with vigor and wastes
it with impunity, but at forty
he learns that to use it in that
way is to abuse it. The thoughts
that came into des Lupeaulx's
mind at this moment were melancholy
ones. The nerves of the old beau
relaxed; the agreeable smile,
which served as a mask and made
the character of his countenance,
faded; the real man appeared,
and he was horrible. Rabourdin
caught sight of him and thought, "What
has happened to him? can he be
disgraced in any way?" The general-secretary
was, however, only thinking how
the pretty Madame Colleville,
whose intentions were exactly
those of Madame Rabourdin, had
summarily abandoned him when
it suited her to do so. Rabourdin
caught the sham statesman's eyes
fixed on his wife, and he recorded
the look in his memory. He was
too keen an observer not to understand
des Lupeaulx to the bottom, and
he deeply despised him; but,
as with most busy men, his feelings
and sentiments seldom came to
the surface. Absorption in a
beloved work is practically equivalent
to the cleverest dissimulation,
and thus it was that the opinions
and ideas of Rabourdin were a
sealed book to des Lupeaulx.
The former was sorry to see the
man in his house, but he was
never willing to oppose his wife's
wishes. At this particular moment,
while he talked confidentially
with a supernumerary of his office
who was destined, later, to play
an unconscious part in a political
intrigue resulting from the death
of La Billardiere, he watched,
though half- abstractedly, his
wife and des Lupeaulx.
Here we must explain, as much
for foreigners as for our own
grandchildren, what a supernumerary
in a government office in Paris
means.
The supernumerary
is to the administration what
a choir-boy
is to a church, what the company's
child is to the regiment, what
the figurante is to a theatre;
something artless, naive, innocent,
a being blinded by illusions.
Without illusions what would
become of any of us? They give
strength to bear the res angusta
domi of arts and the beginnings
of all science by inspiring us
with faith. Illusion is illimitable
faith. Now the supernumerary
has faith in the administration;
he never thinks it cold, cruel,
and hard, as it really is. There
are two kinds of supernumeraries,
or hangers-on,--one poor, the
other rich. The poor one is rich
in hope and wants a place, the
rich one is poor in spirit and
wants nothing. A wealthy family
is not so foolish as to put its
able men into the administration.
It confides an unfledged scion
to some head-clerk, or gives
him in charge of a directory
who initiates him into what Bilboquet,
that profound philosopher, called
the high comedy of government;
he is spared all the horrors
of drudgery and is finally appointed
to some important office. The
rich supernumerary never alarms
the other clerks; they know he
does not endanger their interests,
for he seeks only the highest
posts in the administration.
About the period of which we
write many families were saying
to themselves: "What can we do
with our sons?" The army no longer
offered a chance for fortune.
Special careers, such as civil
and military engineering, the
navy, mining, and the professorial
chair were all fenced about by
strict regulations or to be obtained
only by competition; whereas
in the civil service the revolving
wheel which turned clerks into
prefects, sub-prefects, assessors,
and collectors, like the figures
in a magic lantern, was subjected
to no such rules and entailed
no drudgery. Through this easy
gap emerged into life the rich
supernumeraries who drove their
tilburys, dressed well, and wore
moustachios, all of them as impudent
as parvenus. Journalists were
apt to persecute the tribe, who
were cousins, nephews, brothers,
or other relatives of some minister,
some deputy, or an influential
peer. The humbler clerks regarded
them as a means of influence.
The poor supernumerary,
on the other hand, who is the
only
real worker, is almost always
the son of some former clerk's
widow, who lives on a meagre
pension and sacrifices herself
to support her son until he can
get a place as copying-clerk,
and then dies leaving him no
nearer the head of his department
than writer of deeds, order-
clerks, or, possibly, under-head-clerk.
Living always in some locality
where rents are low, this humble
supernumerary starts early from
home. For him the Eastern question
relates only to the morning skies.
To go on foot and not get muddied,
to save his clothes, and allow
for the time he may lose in standing
under shelter during a shower,
are the preoccupations of his
mind. The street pavements, the
flaggings of the quays and the
boulevards, when first laid down,
were a boon to him. If, for some
extraordinary reason, you happen
to be in the streets of Paris
at half-past seven or eight o'clock
of a winter's morning, and see
through piercing cold or fog
or rain a timid, pale young man
loom up, cigarless, take notice
of his pockets. You will be sure
to see the outline of a roll
which his mother has given him
to stay his stomach between breakfast
and dinner. The guilelessness
of the supernumerary does not
last long. A youth enlightened
by gleams by Parisian life soon
measures the frightful distance
that separates him from the head-
clerkship, a distance which no
mathematician, neither Archimedes,
nor Leibnitz, nor Laplace has
ever reckoned, the distance that
exists between 0 and the figure
1. He begins to perceive the
impossibilities of his career;
he hears talk of favoritism;
he discovers the intrigues of
officials: he sees the questionable
means by which his superiors
have pushed their way,--one has
married a young woman who made
a false step; another, the natural
daughter of a minister; this
one shouldered the responsibility
of another's fault; that one,
full of talent, risks his health
in doing, with the perseverance
of a mole, prodigies of work
which the man of influence feels
incapable of doing for himself,
though he takes the credit. Everything
is known in a government office.
The incapable man has a wife
with a clear head, who has pushed
him along and got him nominated
for deputy; if he has not talent
enough for an office, he cabals
in the Chamber. The wife of another
has a statesman at her feet.
A third is the hidden informant
of a powerful journalist. Often
the disgusted and hopeless supernumerary
sends in his resignation. About
three fourths of his class leave
the government employ without
ever obtaining an appointment,
and their number is winnowed
down to either those young men
who are foolish or obstinate
enough to say to themselves, "I
have been here three years, and
I must end sooner or later by
getting a place," or to those
who are conscious of a vocation
for the work. Undoubtedly the
position of supernumerary in
a government office is precisely
what the novitiate is in a religious
order,--a trial. It is a rough
trial. The State discovers how
many of them can bear hunger,
thirst, and penury without breaking
down, how many can toil without
revolting against it; it learns
which temperaments can bear up
under the horrible experience--
or if you like, the disease--of
government official life. From
this point of view the apprenticeship
of the supernumerary, instead
of being an infamous device of
the government to obtain labor
gratis, becomes a useful institution.
The young man
with whom Rabourdin was talking
was a poor supernumerary
named Sebastien de la Roche,
who had picked his way on the
points of his toes, without incurring
the least splash upon his boots,
from the rue du Roi-Dore in the
Marais. He talked of his mamma,
and dared not raise his eyes
to Madame Rabourdin, whose house
appeared to him as gorgeous as
the Louvre. He was careful to
show his gloves, well cleaned
with india-rubber, as little
as he could. His poor mother
had put five francs in his pocket
in case it became absolutely
necessary that he should play
cards; but she enjoined him to
take nothing, to remain standing,
and to be very careful not to
knock over a lamp or the bric-a-brac
from an etagere. His dress was
all of the strictest black. His
fair face, his eyes, of a fine
shade of green with golden reflections,
were in keeping with a handsome
head of auburn hair. The poor
lad looked furtively at Madame
Rabourdin, whispering to himself, "How
beautiful!" and was likely to
dream of that fairy when he went
to bed.
Rabourdin had noted a vocation
for his work in the lad, and
as he himself took the whole
service seriously, he felt a
lively interest in him. He guessed
the poverty of his mother's home,
kept together on a widow's pension
of seven hundred francs a year--for
the education of the son, who
was just out of college, had
absorbed all her savings. He
therefore treated the youth almost
paternally; often endeavoured
to get him some fee from the
Council, or paid it from his
own pocket. He overwhelmed Sebastien
with work, trained him, and allowed
him to do the work of du Bruel's
place, for which that vaudevillist,
otherwise known as Cursy, paid
him three hundred francs out
of his salary. In the minds of
Madame de la Roche and her son,
Rabourdin was at once a great
man, a tyrant, and an angel.
On him all the poor fellow's
hopes of getting an appointment
depended, and the lad's devotion
to his chief was boundless. He
dined once a fortnight in the
rue Duphot; but always at a family
dinner, invited by Rabourdin
himself; Madame asked him to
evening parties only when she
wanted partners.
At that moment
Rabourdin was scolding poor
Sebastien, the
only human being who was in the
secret of his immense labors.
The youth copied and recopied
the famous "statement," written
on a hundred and fifty folio
sheets, besides the corroborative
documents, and the summing up
(contained in one page), with
the estimates bracketed, the
captions in a running hand, and
the sub-titles in a round one.
Full of enthusiasm, in spite
of his merely mechanical participation
in the great idea, the lad of
twenty would rewrite whole pages
for a single blot, and made it
his glory to touch up the writing,
regarding it as the element of
a noble undertaking. Sebastien
had that afternoon committed
the great imprudence of carrying
into the general office, for
the purpose of copying, a paper
which contained the most dangerous
facts to make known prematurely,
namely, a memorandum relating
to the officials in the central
offices of all ministries, with
facts concerning their fortunes,
actual and prospective, together
with the individual enterprises
of each outside of his government
employment.
All government clerks in Paris
who are not endowed, like Rabourdin,
with patriotic ambition or other
marked capacity, usually add
the profits of some industry
to the salary of their office,
in order to eke out a living.
A number do as Monsieur Saillard
did,--put their money into a
business carried on by others,
and spend their evenings in keeping
the books of their associates.
Many clerks are married to milliners,
licensed tobacco dealers, women
who have charge of the public
lotteries or reading-rooms. Some,
like the husband of Madame Colleville,
Celestine's rival, play in the
orchestra of a theatre; others
like du Bruel, write vaudeville,
comic operas, melodramas, or
act as prompters behind the scenes.
We may mention among them Messrs.
Planard, Sewrin, etc. Pigault-Lebrun,
Piis, Duvicquet, in their day,
were in government employ. Monsieur
Scribe's head-librarian was a
clerk in the Treasury.
Besides such information as
this, Rabourdin's memorandum
contained an inquiry into the
moral and physical capacities
and faculties necessary in those
who were to examine the intelligence,
aptitude for labor, and sound
health of the applicants for
government service,--three indispensable
qualities in men who are to bear
the burden of public affairs
and should do their business
well and quickly. But this careful
study, the result of ten years'
observation and experience, and
of a long acquaintance with men
and things obtained by intercourse
with the various functionaries
in the different ministries,
would assuredly have, to those
who did not see its purport and
connection, an air of treachery
and police espial. If a single
page of these papers were to
fall under the eye of those concerned,
Monsieur Rabourdin was lost.
Sebastien, who admired his chief
without reservation, and who
was, as yet, wholly ignorant
of the evils of bureaucracy,
had the follies of guilelessness
as well as its grace. Blamed
on a former occasion for carrying
away these papers, he now bravely
acknowledged his fault to its
fullest extent; he related how
he had put away both the memorandum
and the copy carefully in a box
in the office where no one would
ever find them. Tears rolled
from his eyes as he realized
the greatness of his offence.
"Come, come!" said Rabourdin,
kindly. "Don't be so imprudent
again, but never mind now. Go
to the office very early tomorrow
morning; here is the key of a
small safe which is in my roller
secretary; it shuts with a combination
lock. You can open it with the
word 'sky'; put the memorandum
and your copy into it and shut
it carefully."
This proof of confidence dried
the poor fellow's tears. Rabourdin
advised him to take a cup of
tea and some cakes.
"Mamma forbids me to drink
tea, on account of my chest," said
Sebastien.
"Well, then, my dear child," said
the imposing Madame Rabourdin,
who wished to appear gracious, "here
are some sandwiches and cream;
come and sit by me."
She made Sebastien sit down
beside her, and the lad's heart
rose in his throat as he felt
the robe of this divinity brush
the sleeve of his coat. Just
then the beautiful woman caught
sight of Monsieur des Lupeaulx
standing in the doorway. She
smiled, and not waiting till
he came to her, she went to him.
"Why do you stay there as if
you were sulking?" she asked.
"I am not sulking," he returned; "I
came to announce some good news,
but the thought has overtaken
me that it will only add to your
severity towards me. I fancy
myself six months hence almost
a stranger to you. Yes, you are
too clever, and I too experienced,--too
blase, if you like,--for either
of us to deceive the other. Your
end is attained without its costing
you more than a few smiles and
gracious words."
"Deceive each other! what can
you mean?" she cried, in a hurt
tone.
"Yes; Monsieur
de la Billardiere is dying,
and from what the minister
told me this evening I judge
that your husband will be appointed
in his place."
He thereupon related what he
called his scene at the ministry
and the jealousy of the countess,
repeating her remarks about the
invitation he had asked her to
send to Madame Rabourdin.
"Monsieur des Lupeaulx," said
Madame Rabourdin, with dignity, "permit
me to tell you that my husband
is the oldest head-clerk as well
as the most capable man in the
division; also that the appointment
of La Billardiere over his head
made much talk in the service,
and that my husband has stayed
on for the last year expecting
this promotion, for which he
has really no competitor and
no rival."
"That is true."
"Well, then," she resumed,
smiling and showing her handsome
teeth, "how can you suppose that
the friendship I feel for you
is marred by a thought of self-interest?
Why should you think me capable
of that?"
Des Lupeaulx made a gesture
of admiring denial.
"Ah!" she continued, "the
heart of woman will always
remain a
secret for even the cleverest
of men. Yes, I welcomed you to
my house with the greatest pleasure;
and there was, I admit, a motive
of self- interest behind my pleasure--"
"Ah!"
"You have a career before you," she
whispered in his ear, "a future
without limit; you will be deputy,
minister!" (What happiness for
an ambitious man when such things
as these are warbled in his ear
by the sweet voice of a pretty
woman!) "Oh, yes! I know you
better than you know yourself.
Rabourdin is a man who could
be of immense service to you
in such a career; he could do
the steady work while you were
in the Chamber. Just as you dream
of the ministry, so I dream of
seeing Rabourdin in the Council
of State, and general director.
It is therefore my object to
draw together two men who can
never injure, but, on the contrary,
must greatly help each other.
Isn't that a woman's mission?
If you are friends, you will
both rise the faster, and it
is surely high time that each
of you made hay. I have burned
my ships," she added, smiling. "But
you are not as frank with me
as I have been with you."
"You would not listen to me
if I were," he replied, with
a melancholy air, in spite of
the deep inward satisfaction
her remarks gave him. "What would
such future promotions avail
me, if you dismiss me now?"
"Before I listen to you," she
replied, with naive Parisian
liveliness, "we must be able
to understand each other."
And she left the old fop to
go and speak with Madame de Chessel,
a countess from the provinces,
who seemed about to take leave.
"That is a very extraordinary
woman," said des Lupeaulx to
himself. "I don't know my own
self when I am with her."
Accordingly, this man of no
principle, who six years earlier
had kept a ballet-girl, and who
now, thanks to his position,
made himself a seraglio with
the pretty wives of the under-clerks,
and lived in the world of journalists
and actresses, became devotedly
attentive all the evening to
Celestine, and was the last to
leave the house.
"At last!" thought Madame Rabourdin,
as she undressed that night, "we
have the place! Twelve thousand
francs a year and perquisites,
beside the rents of our farms
at Grajeux,--nearly twenty thousand
francs a year. It is not affluence,
but at least it isn't poverty."
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