Sister Anne Part 1

Sister Anne.

by Charles Paul de k.o.c.k.

I

A NOCTURNAL WALK.--MY AUNT'S FIVE HUNDRED FRANCS

The theatres had long since dismissed their audiences, the shops were closed, and the cafes were closing. Pa.s.sers-by were becoming more and more infrequent, the cabs moved more rapidly, the street lights were burning, and the gas in the houses was disappearing; the streets of Paris, like the inhabitants thereof, were about to enjoy their brief hour of repose.

But repose, like fine weather, is never universal: when we are enjoying it in Paris, it may be that people are fighting in some other quarter of the globe; and while we are revelling in mild and delicious weather, within a hundred leagues of us a tornado may be destroying the crops, or a tempest submerging ships. Since peace and fine weather cannot be universal, let us try to make the most of them while they are in our possession, and let us not worry as to what sort of weather our neighbors are having.

A gentleman, who presumably had no desire to sleep, was walking through the streets of Paris, which had become almost silent. For more than an hour, he had been walking on the boulevards, from Rue du Temple to Rue Poissonniere; occasionally, without any very clear idea as to where he was going, he strayed into the faubourgs; but he soon stopped, looked about him, muttered between his teeth: "What the devil am I doing here?"

and returned to the boulevards.

This gentleman seemed to be in the neighborhood of thirty years of age; he was of medium height, and rather stout than thin. His face was neither ugly nor handsome; his round eyes protruded overmuch, and his nose, while not exactly flat, had neither the n.o.bility of the Grecian nor the charm of the aquiline type. By way of compensation, he had what is called expression, and possessed the art of forcing his features to depict the sentiment which he desired to seem to feel: an art no less valuable in society than on the stage; for we are actors everywhere, and there are at court, in the city, in palaces, in salons, in boudoirs, and even in the servants' hall, people of unexcelled skill in the art of counterfeiting what they do not feel.

Our promenader's costume was neither elegant nor shabby. He was dressed like one who is in the habit of going into society, but not for the purpose of exhibiting the cut of his coat or the color of his trousers.

His bearing corresponded with his dress; it was not at all pretentious.

You will say, perhaps, that a man does not select so late an hour of the night to adopt a swagger or a mincing gait; I shall, in that case, have the honor to reply that I am drawing the portrait of the man as he was under ordinary circ.u.mstances, and that I had made his acquaintance prior to the moment of his introduction to you.

Now that you have the means of forming an idea of this individual's appearance, you will perhaps be curious to know what business detained him on the boulevards, why he was walking there so late instead of going home to bed. In order to find out, let us listen to him for a moment talking to himself as he walks, with both hands in his pockets, and as unconcernedly as if it were only eight o'clock in the evening.

"I had a presentiment of what would happen to me. I didn't want to go to that little Delphine's. If I had stayed away, I should still have my five hundred francs in my pocket. But little Delphine is such a dear creature! she wrote me such a sweet little note! Am I still green enough to fall into such a trap? I, who know the world so well, especially women! If I had had sense enough to take only three hundred francs with me, I should have something left; but, no! I must needs play the millionaire! I played like a fool. That little man who won my money turned the king very often. Hum! it looks a little shady. But one thing is certain, and that is that I haven't a sou, and that my landlord turned me out of his house yesterday because I didn't pay him. For four paltry louis! the Arab! I was going to pay him yesterday, with the five hundred francs my old aunt sent me, when little Delphine's invitation came and upset all my virtuous plans. Poor Dubourg! you are incorrigible, my friend; and yet, you are beginning to be old enough to reform."

At this point, Dubourg--for now we know his name--took his snuff-box from his pocket, and paused to take a pinch.

"O my only comfort! my trusty companion!" he continued, gazing at his snuff-box with an expression that was almost sentimental; "it's very lucky that you are made of nothing more valuable than horn; if you had been, I should have parted with you long ago.--But let us reflect a little. What in the devil am I going to do? I have no employment; they are so ridiculous in these public offices! I earned only fifteen hundred francs, so it seemed fair to me that I shouldn't work any more than the deputy-chief who earned three thousand; strictly speaking, indeed, I ought to have worked only half as much. Now, as my deputy-chief never appeared till noon and went away at four o'clock, and pa.s.sed that time reading the newspapers, cutting quill pens, chatting with his back to the stove in winter, and going out to take the air in summer, I saw no reason why I shouldn't get to the office as late as he did and go away as early; pa.s.s an hour reading the _Moniteur_, three-quarters of an hour on the _Const.i.tutionnel_, and an hour and a quarter on the _Debats_; stare at my pen a long while before tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the nib; look at the work before me without touching it; turn over a file of papers for an hour, and then put it back in its place, without the slightest intention of writing anything on it; and take as much time to go out to buy a roll as it would have taken me to go from Paris to Saint-Cloud. This conduct, dictated by a sense of justice, was not to the liking of my superiors; as they wanted to force me to work hard, so that they need do nothing, they didn't like it because I presumed to imitate them; they reported me to the minister, and I was kicked out. To be sure, they offered to take me back a little later, as a subst.i.tute, but I felt that I was unworthy of such an honor.

"Then I went into a banking-house. Gad! what a difference! There, my superiors set the example of working hard. From the head clerk to the office-boy, everyone came at eight o'clock and stayed till five, then came back at seven and stayed till ten; and during all that time, not a minute's rest; writing, or making figures all the time. If by chance a fellow could venture to say a word, it was only while he was copying a letter or opening an account. No holidays! Always a mail coming in or going out. A man couldn't do too much; and if I happened to leave the office a few minutes before ten, an infernal Dutchman, who had pa.s.sed forty-five years of his life over a ledger, would always take out his watch and say: 'You're in a great hurry to-night!'

"Faith, I couldn't stand it! That animal life was ruining my health; and one fine morning, when they lectured me because I went out to get a gla.s.s of beer at a cafe near by, I took my hat and said good-bye to banking-houses and business.

"I tried being a notary, but I was too absent-minded: I mistook a death certificate for a marriage contract, and a power of attorney for a will; so I was politely advised to abandon that profession.

"Then I went into an old solicitor's office. Ah! I was in clover there for some little time. He had a wife who was past her prime; she was very fond of walking and driving, and she chose me for her escort. The husband, who was thus relieved of that duty, was very well pleased to have me escort her everywhere; I think he would have made me his first clerk, if I would have agreed to take madame to walk all my life. But I got tired of having always on my arm a costume _a la_ Pompadour and the face of a country magistrate. I ceased to be attentive to madame, monsieur took offence and discharged me. _O tempora! O mores!_

"Thereupon I renounced the legal profession; I felt in my heart the impulses of a n.o.ble independence, an intense love of liberty. So I began to do nothing--a superb profession, within everybody's reach; and a delightful one when it is supported by investments in the funds.

Unluckily, my name is not inscribed on the books of the State, but only on those of my tailor, bootmaker, et cetera. I am an orphan; my parents left me very little, and that little could not last long, especially with me, who am neither miserly, nor economical, nor prudent, and who have no desire for money except to have the pleasure of spending it. My father, an estimable Breton, practised medicine; he ought to have made a fortune! Probably in his day there weren't enough colds, fevers, and bad air. He left me nothing but a most honorable name, which, for all my follies, I shall never suffer to be disgraced, because a man can be a reprobate and still be honest.

"When I had spent my modest inheritance, I began to philosophize; I was tempted to write, as Seneca did, on contempt for wealth. But Seneca had a fortune of forty millions when he wrote that; so that he was better acquainted with his subject than I am, without a sou. So, as one should try to talk of nothing except what one knows about, I concluded not to talk about wealth, of which I know nothing.

"Luckily, I still have an old aunt, in the wilds of Bretagne, who has never married. The dear woman has only a modest fortune, and yet she has never deserted her nephew. To be sure, I have written her some very affecting letters. Poor, dear soul! she thinks I am married! Faith! as I couldn't think of any other possible way of getting money from her, in my last letter I made myself out, at one stroke, a husband and father; yes, and the father of triplets! That was what brought the five-hundred-franc note that I have just lost at ecarte. O cursed ecarte! I swore that I wouldn't gamble any more, as I am in hard luck this month. But how could I resist? I went to little Delphine's, who, since she left the stage, receives the best people in Paris: artists, authors, journalists, English, Russian, and Tartar n.o.blemen. Tartars, yes! indeed, I fancy that little man I played with was something of a Greek.[A] To pa.s.s eighteen times in succession is a little too much! And that other idiot, who made a point of offering me punch every time I lost! as if I could drink five hundred francs' worth of it! Ah! my poor old aunt! if you knew what had become of your money! The worst of it all is that she won't send me any more for a long time. I can't have the wife I have taken to my bosom, to touch my aunt's heart, lie in every month; I have said she was sick twice already; I have credited my triplets with all the diseases children have, and have given myself inflammation of the lungs and jaundice. But that sort of thing will be played out sooner or later. No, my poor aunt, no, I won't pester you any more. No, I don't propose that you shall deprive yourself any longer of all the little comforts of life, for your scamp of a nephew. I have abused your goodness of heart too much. I blush to think how often I have appealed to it; I feel in my heart a n.o.ble pride; and when I think of your last remittance of five hundred francs! gone in four games! Gad!

it's horrible!"

[A] Greek, _i.e._, "sharper."

Dubourg began to walk a little more rapidly; he took his hands from his pockets, as if he were furious to find nothing in them; but in a moment he became calm again, resumed his former gait, and once more exclaimed:

"But what in the deuce am I going to do?"

At that moment, he pa.s.sed one of those individuals who wander about the streets at night, with a bag on their back and a hooked stick in their hand, and halt in front of places which we avoid during the day.

"That's a last resort, to be sure," said Dubourg, glancing at the man with the lantern; "but I confess that I don't as yet feel courageous enough to employ it; and although a famous author has said: 'It is not the trade that honors the man, but the man should honor the trade,' I doubt whether I should be held in high esteem if I should take to that little hooked stick; even though I possessed with it the wisdom of Cato, the clemency of t.i.tus, and the virtues of Marcus Aurelius.

"However, I have some talents of my own, and I am not reduced to that yet. I love the arts; ah! I adore them! I was born to be an artist. I don't know how to draw, I cannot play on any instrument, I do not write poetry with great facility; but, for all that, I love painting, music, and poetry. If I should go on the stage, I believe I should make a success of it. But to make one's debut at thirty years--that's rather late in life. And then, the idea of the son of a doctor at Rennes going on the stage! But why not? Louis XIV did it; he acted before his court; and if I had been in Racine's place, I certainly would have written some splendid parts for him, instead of trying to turn aside his inclination.

Our present-day authors wouldn't be so stupid; consequently they are rich, whereas in Racine's time they were not.

"But I can't begin to-morrow, and yet I must dine to-morrow: a desperate plight to be in when one has neither money nor credit. Come, come, Dubourg! come, my fine fellow, don't be downcast, retain that lightness of heart, that sang-froid which has never failed you thus far. Remember that it is a glorious thing to be able to endure misfortune; that it is in disaster that a brave heart manifests its courage. Oh! yes; it's easy enough for me to say all this now, while my stomach is still full of Mademoiselle Delphine's cakes and sweetmeats and punch; but when I am hungry, I am afraid I shall be a wretched philosopher.

"In misfortune, one has recourse to one's friends; but one has no friends when one is unfortunate. But sometimes men aren't so selfish as they are said to be. Let me think! Frederic! yes, he alone can be useful to me. Frederic is only twenty; he still looks upon the world as a young man is likely to do at that age, when he has been, up to eighteen, under his father's eye and under the care of a tutor. Frederic is kind-hearted, generous, easily moved--too easily, indeed; but it is not for me to blame him for following too readily the impulses of his heart.

He has accommodated me several times; but, no matter; I am sure that he'll do it again, if he can. Let us go to see Frederic."

Dubourg mechanically put his hand to his fob, to see what time it was; then he sighed, and murmured:

"Unlucky dog that I am! I have never been able to keep one a week. Ah!

my poor aunt! If I only had your five hundred francs!"

The weather was becoming threatening, and a few drops of rain fell. The cabs had ceased to break the silence of the night; the street lanterns cast only a faint and flickering light.

"It must be very late," said Dubourg, glancing about. "Frederic lives with his father, Monsieur le Comte de Montreville. How can I venture to go there at this time of night? The count is inclined to be strict; he's not one of your stage fathers, with whom you can do whatever you choose. On the contrary, they say that he demands the most absolute obedience from his son, and that his son trembles before him. But I have no doubt that his severity is exaggerated; at all events, he hardly knows me. I have been to the house several times, but he has seen me only once or twice. Frederic's apartment is in a different wing from his, so we will try our luck."

And Dubourg, leaving at last the circle to which he had confined his steps for so long, walked rapidly toward Rue de Provence, where the Comte de Montreville's mansion was situated.

As he drew nearer to Frederic's abode, his hope of seeing him before the next day became fainter and fainter. Ought he to turn the whole house upside down in the middle of the night? If he woke the son, he would wake the father too; and it was a decidedly ill-advised method of improving his acquaintance with Monsieur de Montreville, to call at his house between two and three o'clock in the morning.

But Dubourg walked on, even while he reflected thus; like a lover, who has sworn never to see his faithless one again, but who prowls constantly about her abode and always ends by going in, still repeating: "I will never see her again!"--At such time, reason speaks, but pa.s.sion guides our footsteps. Poor mortals! is it your fault, pray, that pa.s.sion so often carries the day?

As he approached the house, Dubourg's eyes were agreeably surprised by the appearance of a double row of private carriages, whose lanterns lighted a large part of the street. He quickened his pace; the carriages were most numerous in front of the Comte de Montreville's house, and the courtyard was filled with coupes, landaus, and vis-a-vis. The coachmen were talking together, the footmen swearing impatiently; servants hurried to and fro across the courtyard. Lamps on the carriage-stones and on the broad steps banished the darkness, and delicious strains of music floated out through the windows of the beautiful salon, brilliantly lighted by thousands of candles, forming a strong contrast with the depressing silence that reigned a short distance away.

Dubourg no longer walked: he ran, he leaped, he flew. The sight of the lanterns, the noise made by so numerous a company, and the strains of the contra-dances within, drove from his mind the serious thoughts which had begun to monopolize it.

"There's a party going on," he cried, "a ball! Idiot that I am! to forget that this was Thursday, monsieur le comte's reception day; and they say he gives delightful parties. Frederic has invited me several times; he said he wanted to introduce me to his father. Hum! it rested only with me to go into the best society, to make acquaintances who would have given me a boost in the world. But, no; it isn't in my power to be sensible and leave those d.a.m.ned billiard-tables! Ah! I recognize that tune; it's by Rossini; a three-step. I danced to it at Vauxhall, with the stout blonde."

Dubourg was already in the courtyard, threading his way among carriages, coachmen, and footmen. No one had paid any attention to him; and, if he had been suitably dressed, he might have entered the salons, and, perhaps, have played cards and danced, without attracting the notice of the host; for at such large functions, it not infrequently happens that the master of the house fails to see and speak with all of his guests.

But Dubourg stopped under the windows of the salon on the first floor, where dancing was in progress. In order to keep in the background, he had walked away from the brilliantly lighted steps and taken his stand in the shadow of a huge berlin, whence he could see the ball and distinguish the dancers.

He was tempted for a moment to enter the salon; but, upon glancing down at his dress, he realized that it was not an opportune moment to appear before monsieur le comte, who was a great stickler for etiquette. His coat was blue, with metal b.u.t.tons; he wore high boots and a black cravat. That was a very suitable costume in which to play ecarte and talk nonsense at Mademoiselle Delphine's, but it would have been exceedingly out of place at Monsieur de Montreville's reception.

"Ah! if I had kept my aunt's five hundred francs," he muttered again, as he turned his eyes from his costume to the ballroom, "I should have outshone all those fine clothes!"

As he watched the dancing and eyed the ladies through the windows, most of which were open because of the heat, Dubourg spied a table with a green cloth in a smaller salon, at which two middle-aged men had just taken their seats. They were soon surrounded by onlookers, and the table was covered with gold.

In order to obtain a better view of the small salon, Dubourg climbed up behind the carriage by which he was standing; there he could watch the game perfectly, and could see the hand of one of the players, who was sitting with his back to the window.

"How lucky they are!" he thought; "they are playing ecarte. The deuce!