Brother Jacques Part 2

So the poor woman was taken away, almost carried, from the scene of her exploits. When she pa.s.sed a mirror, she thought that she would die of chagrin, or swoon again; in truth, her snuff-besmeared face, her dishevelled hair, her disordered clothing, were well adapted to drive to despair a woman with pretensions; and we have seen that Madame Volenville possessed rather a large supply for her years.

They looked for her husband, and had some difficulty in inducing him to go to his wife, upon whom he insisted that someone had put a mask. At last they were placed in a cab, which took them home, where, if you please, we will leave them, to return to the newly-married pair.

Terpsich.o.r.e had banished cruel Discord, who, since the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis, to which, foolishly enough, she was not bidden, has adopted the habit of coming unexpectedly to sow confusion in marriage festivities; that was the reason, I presume, that she deigned to attend the bourgeois wedding at the Cadran-Bleu; for it is said that a couple can never escape a visit from the ill-omened G.o.ddess; and if she does not appear on the first day, she makes up for it during the year.

But let us leave Terpsich.o.r.e, Discord and all mythology; let us abandon metaphors and figures of speech; let us leave to the authors of octavo romances, flowers, cascades, the moon, the stars, and above all, those poetical inversions of language which tell you at the end of a sentence what the hero meant to say at the beginning; those delightful detours, whereby a father will say: "At last toward me stepped forth my daughter;" instead of saying simply: "My daughter stepped toward me;"

which, in my judgment, would be much more clear, but which would resemble the ordinary way of talking in the world, in society; a vulgar jargon, which should not be employed by persons who live in underground dungeons without breaking their necks, or who constantly scale perpendicular cliffs without being tired when they reach the top.

Moreover, will our lovely women, our _pet.i.tes-maitresses_ extol a novel to the clouds, if the hero does not speak another language than that of their husbands and lovers?--"Bah! that is a book for the servants'

hall!" they will say, as they disdainfully cast aside a novel which is neither English, nor German, nor romantic! "It is an insufferable sort of work! forbidden words are used in it! I find the word _cuckold_ there! Mon Dieu! it is shocking! But our newspaper critic will belabor that author soundly for us!"

And in fact the critic reads the work and considers it revoltingly immoral! The author's cynicism, his obscenity are beyond words! he uses the word _cuckold_ when he finds it necessary! Did anyone ever hear of such indecency?--To be sure, Moliere often used the same word, and some others even stronger, in several of his works; but what a difference!

one must be very careful not to print in a novel what one may say on the stage before a large audience!--Make your inversions, ye novelists; go back to the Syntax; adopt a style _ad usum tyronum linguae Latinae_; monopolize mythology, astronomy, mineralogy, ornithology, zoology, aye, even conchology; mingle with it all a little ancient and sacred history, much about dreams and ghosts, minstrels, druids, or hermits, according to the scene of your plot; indulge in sonorous phrases, which used to be called fustian, and you will surely have a fashionable success! Some ladies will faint when they are reading you, others after they read you; there will even be some who will not understand you; but you will appear all the n.o.bler to them! To be unintelligible is to be sublime in your kind. Great geniuses wrap themselves in mystery.--Ask Cagliostro rather,--he ought not to be dead, as he was a sorcerer,--or Lord Byron, or Mademoiselle Lenormand.

As for you, young authors, who claim to be simple and natural, who seek to arouse laughter or interest with events which may happen any day before our eyes, and who describe them for us in such wise as to be readily understood, away with you to oblivion! or go to see _George Dandin_ and _Le Malade Imaginaire_; those plays are worthy of you; but you will never be read by our vaporish ladies, and you will not cause the hundred mouths of Renown to sound.

Despite all this, we have the unfortunate habit of writing as we should speak, and we shall continue so to do; you are at liberty, reader, to drop us here and now if our method does not suit you.

So the dancing continued at the Cadran-Bleu; but the fete drew toward its close, to the great satisfaction of Edouard, and doubtless of Adeline, who blushed and smiled whenever her fond husband glanced at her.

At last the clock struck the hour to retire; Madame Germeuil herself took her daughter away; they entered a carriage, drove off, and in due time arrived at Boulevard Montmartre, where the young couple were to live, and with them the dear mamma, who did not wish to part from her Adeline, who, she hoped, would close her eyes.

A dainty apartment was all arranged. Madame Germeuil embraced her daughter lovingly, then went to her own room, not without a sigh. That was quite natural; the rights of a mother cease when those of a husband begin! But what do rights matter when hearts remain the same? Nature and love easily find lodgment in a sensitive heart, and have no power over a cold and selfish one. Men make the laws, but the feelings are not to be commanded.

Luckily for Edouard, the charming Adeline loved him because he pleased her, and not simply because the Church ordered her to love him. That is why, when she was alone with her husband, she threw herself into his arms without a tear; that is why she did not make a great fuss about allowing herself to be undressed, and why she was so soon in bed; and lastly, that is why we shall say no more about it.

III

DUFRESNE

While our young husband and wife abandoned themselves to the unrestrained enjoyment of their mutual love and indulged the legitimate pa.s.sion they felt; while Adeline readily yielded to her new situation, as young wives do, let us leave them and make the acquaintance of a person whom we shall meet again in the course of this narrative.

Among the crowd which had surrounded Madame Volenville and Monsieur Robineau, and had laughed at the misfortunes of the auctioneer's wife and the attorney, there was one man who had remained indifferent to the pranks of the other guests and had taken no part in the jests of the young clerk and the tricks resorted to in order to prolong the famous quadrille.

This man seemed to be not more than twenty-eight or thirty years old; he was tall and well-shaped; his features were regular, and would have been handsome if his eyes had been less shifty; but his vague glance, to which he sought to give an expression of benevolence, inspired neither friendship nor confidence; and the smile which sometimes played about his lips seemed rather bitter than amiable.

Dufresne--such was this young man's name--had been brought to Edouard Murville's wedding by a stout lady with three daughters, who had for a long time been in the habit of taking half a dozen young men to all the parties which she attended with her young ladies. Madame Devaux liked to entertain a great deal of company, especially young men; and her motive was easily divined: when one has three daughters, and no dowry to give them, one does not find husbands for them by keeping them always in their room; they must be introduced into society, and must wait until chance inspires a very sincere little pa.s.sion which ends in marriage.

Unfortunately, sincere pa.s.sions are more infrequent in society than in English novels; and often, in their search for husbands, the young ladies meet gay deceivers instead, who are strong on the pa.s.sions, but weak in virtue! But still, something must be risked in order to catch a husband.

So it was that Madame Devaux had received Dufresne, who had been introduced to her by a friend of one of her neighbors; and as he was young and rather good-looking, she had included him in the list of the men whom she proposed to take to Edouard's wedding, in order that her young ladies might not lack partners.

Dufresne knew neither the bridegroom nor his wife; but it often happens at a large party that one does not know the host; and now that our French receptions are adopting the style of English _routs_, and are becoming mere mobs, no one pays any heed to his neighbor, and it not infrequently happens that you leave those noisy functions without even saluting the host or the hostess.

Madame Devaux had made a mistake, however, in relying upon Dufresne to dance with her daughters. He cared little for dancing; he made haste to pay his debt by inviting each of the Devaux girls to dance once; but after that, he contented himself with the role of simple spectator, taking the precaution to go into the card room when the quadrilles were not full. He cast his eyes over all the guests in the salons, but they rested most frequently upon Edouard and Adeline; the sight of the husband and wife seemed to attract all his attention; he followed their movements; watched their slightest actions, and seemed to be trying to read the inmost thoughts of their hearts. When Adeline smiled fondly at her husband, Dufresne, standing a few steps away, observed that smile, and his eyes eagerly followed its development.

"Really, mamma," said Cleopatra, the oldest of the daughters, to Madame Devaux, "we won't take Monsieur Dufresne to a ball again; just see how he acts! he doesn't dance! he looks like a bear!"

"That is true, my child! If he would only come and sit down by us and talk and pretend to be polite!"

"Oh, yes! why, he doesn't pay the slightest attention to us! I should like to know what he is doing in that corner, near Madame Germeuil!"

"He certainly is not agreeable, and I shall not take him to Monsieur Verdure's the day after to-morrow, where there is to be music, and perhaps a collation. I will take little G.o.dard; he is rather stupid, but at all events he will dance as long as anybody wants him to."

"Yes, and he is always on hand to give us something to drink."

"By the way, Cleopatra, who will go home with us to-night?"

"Why, I don't know. Two of our gentlemen have gone away already; one had a headache, and the other wanted to go to bed early because he had an appointment for to-morrow morning. But we must have someone."

"Never fear, I will hide Monsieur Dufresne's hat, and he won't go away without us, I promise you; that would be too much,--to be taken to a party by ladies, and let them go home alone!"

"You know very well, mamma, that it wouldn't be the first time that such a thing had happened to us."

"Never mind, Cleopatra, it won't be so to-night, and Monsieur Dufresne will pay for the cab."

While the ladies were conversing, Dufresne continued his observations.

He had noticed that Madame Germeuil was on very intimate terms with a young widow named Madame Dolban; thereafter this Madame Dolban became the object of Dufresne's attentions, and he easily succeeded in making her acquaintance; for the widow was not at all pretty, and the homage of an attractive man was certain to seem all the more flattering to her because she rarely received anything of the sort.

When Dufresne wished to go, he fell into the trap which Madame Devaux had set for him: he did not find his hat until the moment when the mother and her three daughters were ready to go. It was impossible for him to avoid the duty. Moreover, Madame Dolban had refused his escort; but she had given him permission to call and pay her his respects, and that was all that he wanted. So the young man performed with sufficient good grace the service which was expected of him; he packed the Devaux family into a cab, seated himself on the front seat between Cleopatra and Cesarine, and they started for Rue des Martyrs.

On the way, Dufresne was compelled to undergo a constant fire of epigrams discharged by the three girls against men who are not attentive, who do not do as other men do, who have wretched taste, who speak to ugly women and neglect pretty ones; and a thousand other sarcasms inspired by the irritation which it had caused them to see him devote himself to Madame Dolban.

Dufresne listened to all this very calmly, or, to speak more accurately, I believe that he did not listen to it at all; but he cared very little what the people thought who were chattering by his side, and his mind was too much preoccupied to heed the prattling of the three young women.

At last they reached the Rue des Martyrs. Dufresne left the Devaux family at their door; he received with a bow the curtsy of the mother, the cold salutation of Cleopatra, the curt good-evening of Cesarine and the stifled sigh of Cornelie.

IV

PROJECTS OF BLISS

Adeline woke in Edouard's arms; the young wife felt like an entirely different person by her husband's side; one night of love is enough to establish a pleasing confidence, a loving intimacy, and to banish that feeling of awe, of timidity which naught but sensual enjoyment can dispel.

What delightful plans for the future, what a charming existence of unbroken happiness one devises, when, in the arms of the object of one's affection, one abandons oneself without reserve to all the illusions which embellish the imagination of two young lovers.

Adeline, sweet, sensitive, and loving, was certain that she would always be happy so long as her Edouard loved her, and that her Edouard would always love her; she had no doubt of it, nor had he. It is not when a man has experienced for the first time all the joys of love in the arms of his wife, that he thinks upon the possibility of changing. Then he is sincere, he really feels all that he says, and doubtless he would keep all his promises, if the same joys could always cause the same pleasures.

It seems, in those moments of expansiveness which follow the manifestations of love, that the husband and wife were really born for each other. They have the same tastes, the same thoughts, the same desires; what one does, the other approves; the husband was just about to propose what the young wife has planned, they mutually divine each other's thoughts, and it seems to them perfectly natural that they should have but one mind and but one will. Blessed concord! you would bestow the most perfect happiness, if you might only last forever!

"And so, my dear love," said Edouard, kissing his wife's pretty little hands, "we will pa.s.s the winter in Paris, and four months of warm weather in the country."