The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 84

"Why, by working for it, my dear," said Florence with a valiant air, "working like lions!"

"You, Florence, you work?" exclaimed Valentine, in astonishment. "And Michel, too?"

"And Michel, too, my dear Valentine. Yes, we have worked night and day at all sorts of avocations for several years. I had six thousand francs left out of the ten thousand I had asked for when I married. A friend of Michel's undertook to straighten out his affairs, and managed to save fifteen thousand francs out of the wreck. Both amounts were carefully invested, as we were resolved not to touch a penny of either princ.i.p.al or interest, so we might gain the forty thousand francs needed to secure our paradise the sooner."

"To think that you and Michel should be capable of anything like this!"

"What, it surprises you?"

"Of course it does."

"But you must remember how terribly indolent Michel and I are!"

"That is the very reason it astonishes me so much."

"But that is the very reason it should not."

"Should not?"

"Certainly. Think what a powerful incentive, what a sharp spur, our indolence was!"

"Your indolence?"

"Yes; think what courage and energy and ardour it must excite in your breast, when you say to yourself at the close of each day, however hara.s.sed one may have been, and whatever privations one may have had to endure: 'I am one step nearer liberty, independence, rest, and the bliss of doing nothing.' Yes, Valentine, yes; and the more fatigued one feels, the more eagerly he looks forward to the ineffable happiness he hopes to enjoy some day. We are told, you know, that celestial happiness must be gained by trials and tribulations here below. The same rule holds good in this case, only,--strictly _entre nous_ of course,--I would rather enjoy my little paradise here on earth than wait for the other."

Madame d'Infreville was so astonished at what she had heard, and she gazed at her friend with such a bewildered air, that Florence, wishing to give her time to recover from her surprise, paused for a moment.

CHAPTER XIX.

PAST STRUGGLES.

Recovering from her amazement at last, Madame d'Infreville said:

"Really, Florence, I hardly know whether I am awake or dreaming. Once more, I ask, is it possible that a person as indolent and fond of ease as you have always been could evince such wonderful courage and energy?"

"Ah, I shall be obliged to go into particulars, I see. Have you any idea of the kind of life we have led for the last four years,--Michel and I, I mean?"

"I was told that you both went out every morning before light, and did not return until late at night."

"Oh, dear!" cried Florence, with a merry laugh, "when I remember all these things now, how amusing they seem, but there wasn't much fun in them then, I a.s.sure you. I'll give you the order of exercises of one of the last days of my purgatory, as I call it. You can form a pretty correct idea of the others from that. I got up at three o'clock in the morning, and devoted an hour either to copying music or colouring some large lithograph. You ought not to be very much surprised at this last exhibition of talent on my part, for you know that, at the convent, colouring engravings of the saints and copying music were almost the only things I did at all creditably."

"Yes, and it was very clever in you to think of putting these accomplishments to some practical use."

"I think so myself, particularly as I often made, in that way, four or five francs a day, or rather a night, over and above my other earnings."

"Your other earnings, and what were they, pray?"

"Well, to resume the account of my day: At four o'clock, I started for the market."

"Great Heavens! for the market? You? And what took you there, pray?"

"I tended the stall of a dairywoman, who was too fine a lady to get up so early. Can you imagine anything more pastoral than a traffic in cream and b.u.t.ter and eggs? I received a small commission on my sales, in addition to my regular salary, so every year I derived an income of two hundred francs, more or less, from this source."

"You, Florence, the Marquise de Luceval, in such a role?"

"But how about Michel?"

"Michel? What did he do?"

"Oh, he had all sorts of avocations, one of them being the office of inspector of goods at the market. In return for his services, he received a salary of fifteen hundred francs, and the profound respect and consideration of all the market women and hucksters. His duties were over at nine o'clock, after which he went to his office, and I to my store."

"Your store?"

"Yes, on the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec, at the sign of the Corbeille d'Or, I was forewoman in that large and well-known lingerie establishment, and as I can, with reason, boast of both taste and skill in such matters, and haven't a peer in the confection of dressing sacks, bathing suits, peignoirs, etc., I demanded a good price for my services,--it is never well to undervalue oneself,--fifteen hundred francs a year, and found,--'you can take me or not, as you please, at that figure.' It was also understood that I was never to enter the salesroom. I was afraid, you see, of being recognised by some customer, and that might have prevented me from securing employment for the rest of the day."

"What! wasn't your day's work ended when you left the store?"

"Ended at eight o'clock in the evening! What are you thinking of?--for I had stipulated that I was to be free at eight o'clock so I could utilise the rest of the time. For a year I worked at home in the evening, on tapestry work or on my water-colours, or copying music, but after that a friend of Michel's recommended me to a very aristocratic, but rather misanthropical, blind lady, who, being unable to go into society, preferred to pa.s.s her evenings in listening to reading; so, for three years, I acted as reader for her at a salary of eight hundred francs a year. I went to her house at nine o'clock, I read to her awhile, and then we talked and drank tea by turn. This lady lived on the Rue de Tournon, so Michel could call for me about midnight, on his return from his theatre."

"From his theatre?"

"Yes, from the Odeon."

"Good Heavens! has he turned actor?"

"You are mad!" cried Florence, laughing heartily. "Nothing of the sort.

I told you that we both did anything we could find to do, and Michel was controller at the Odeon, performing his duties there after he had left his desk, where he earned two thousand four hundred francs a year as an entry clerk."

"Michel, who was so indolent that he would not pay the slightest attention to his own business affairs, in years gone by!"

"And take notice that, after he returned home at night, he used to post books and straighten up people's accounts, thus adding considerably to his earnings in the course of a year. In this fashion, my dear Valentine, and by living with the most rigid economy, going without a fire in winter, waiting on ourselves, and even working on Sunday, we acc.u.mulated the amount we needed in four years. Well, was I wrong when I boasted of the wonders indolence could accomplish?"

"I can't get over my astonishment. This seems incredible."

"Ah, but Valentine, as Michel says, 'A love of idleness is often the real cause of some of the most laborious lives. Why do so many persons, who are neither ambitious nor avaricious, toil with such untiring ardour? In order that they may cease work as soon as possible, is it not?'"

"You are right, perhaps. At least, I see now that the love of idleness may impart wonderful energy to one's efforts, at least for a time. But tell me, Florence, why were your rooms and Michel's so close together and yet separated?"

"Oh, that arrangement was convincing proof of the most sublime and heroic wisdom on our part!" exclaimed Florence, triumphantly. We said to ourselves, 'What is our object? To acc.u.mulate as quickly as possible the amount of money needed to enable us to lead an idle life. That being the case, time is money, so the less time we waste the more money we shall earn, and the surest way of losing a great deal of time is for us to be together. Nor is this all. We used, it is true, to hold in holy horror all love that caused one trouble and pain; but now that we are free, and there would be no cause for anxiety or self-reproach in our love, who knows,--the devil is very cunning, and we might succ.u.mb. Then what would become of our good resolutions, and all the work we are planning to do?

All that time, that is to say all that money, lost! For how could we hope to muster up the necessary courage to tear ourselves from indolence, and from love as well? No, no, we must be inexorable towards ourselves, so as not to imperil our future, and swear, in the name of Indolence, our divinity, not to speak a word, a single word, to each other until our little fortune has been made.'"

"What, during these four years--"

"We have kept our oath."