The White House Part 1

The White House.

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

I

THREE YOUNG MEN

It was mid-July in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five. The clock on the Treasury building had just struck four, and the clerks, hastily closing the drawers of their desks, replacing doc.u.ments in their respective boxes and pens on their racks, lost no time in taking their hats and laying aside the work of the State, to give all their attention to private business or pleasure.

Amid the mult.i.tude of persons of all ages who thronged the long corridors, a gentleman of some twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, after arranging his knives, his pencils and his eraser much more methodically than young men are accustomed to do, and after carefully brushing his hat and coat, placed under his arm a large green portfolio, which at a little distance might have been mistaken for that of the head of a department, and a.s.suming an affable, smiling expression, he joined the crowd that was hurrying toward the door, saluting to right and left those of his colleagues who, as they pa.s.sed him, said:

"Bonjour, Robineau!"

Monsieur Robineau--we know his name now--when he was a hundred yards or more from the department, suddenly adopted an altogether different demeanor; he seemed to swell up in his coat, raised his head and ostentatiously quickened his pace; the amiable smile was replaced by a busy, preoccupied air; he held the great portfolio more closely to his side and glanced with a patronizing expression at the persons who pa.s.sed him. His manner was no longer that of a simple clerk at fifteen hundred francs; it was that of a chief of bureau at least.

However, despite his haughty bearing, Robineau bent his steps toward a modest restaurant, where a dinner was served for thirty-two sous, which he considered delicious, because his means did not allow him to procure a better one. Herein, at all events, Robineau displayed great prudence; to be able to content oneself with what one has, is the best way to be happy; and since we hear the rich complain every day, the poor must needs appear to be satisfied.

But as he crossed the Palais-Royal garden on the way to his restaurant, Robineau was halted by two very fashionably dressed young men who laughingly barred his path. One, who seemed to be about twenty-four years of age, was tall and thin and stooped slightly, as tall men who are not in the military service are likely to do. Despite this trifling defect in his figure he bore himself gracefully; there was in his manners and in his slightest movements an _abandon_ instinct with frankness, and a fascinating vivacity. His attractive face, his large blue eyes, and his golden hair, which fell gracefully about his high, aristocratic forehead, combined to make of this young man a most comely cavalier; but his pallor, the strongly marked lines under his eyes, and the customary expression of his features, denoted a young man who had taken a great deal out of life and who was already old in the matter of sensations and pleasures.

His companion was shorter and his features were less regular, but he would have been called perhaps a comelier youth. His hair was black, his eyes, albeit very dark brown, had an attractively sweet expression, and his voice and his smile finished what his eyes had begun. There was less joviality, less vivacity in his manners than in his friend's; but he did not appear, like him, to be already sated with all the enjoyments that life offers.

At sight of the two young men, the clerk's face became amiable once more; he eagerly grasped the hand that the taller, fair-haired one offered him, and cried:

"Ah! it is Alfred de Marcey! Delighted to meet you.--And Monsieur Edouard! You are both well, I see.--You are going to dine, doubtless; and so am I."

That one of the two young men whose hand Robineau continued to shake, and whose n.o.ble and intelligent face denoted none the less a slight tendency to raillery, looked at our clerk with a smile; and there was in that smile a lurking expression of mischief at which a very sensitive person might have taken offence, had it not been that he instantly exclaimed in a cordial, merry tone:

"Dear Robineau!--Where on earth have you been of late?--My friend, such high-crowned hats are not worn now. Fie! that is last year's style; but I suppose you wear it to add to your height, eh? And those coat-tails!--Ha! ha! You look like a _n.o.ble father_. Who in the devil makes your clothes? Do you know that you are half a century behind the times?"

Robineau took all these jesting remarks in very good part; and, releasing the young man's hand at last, he rejoined good-humoredly:

"It's a very easy matter for you gentlemen, rich as you are, with your fifty, or a hundred thousand francs a year, to follow all the fashions, to be on the watch for the slightest change in the cut of a coat or the shape of a hat; but a simple government clerk, who has only his salary of a hundred louis!--However, I must be promoted soon.--You can see that one must be orderly and economical, if one doesn't want to run into debt. And then, I never paid much attention to my dress! I am not coquettish myself. Mon Dieu! so long as a man is dressed decently, what does it matter, after all, that a coat is a little longer or shorter?"

"Ah! you play the philosopher, Robineau! But what about those most symmetrical curls which you arrange so carefully on each side of your face?"

"Oh! those are natural! I never touch them."

"Nonsense! I'll wager that you never go to bed without rolling your hair in curl-papers!"

"Well! upon my word!"

"Oh! I know you--with your a.s.sumption of indifference! It's just as it used to be at school: it made little difference to you what you had for dinner; but the next day you would play sick in order to get soup."

As he spoke, the tall young man turned toward his friend, who could not help smiling; while Robineau, to change the subject, hastily addressed the latter.

"Well, Monsieur Edouard, how goes the literary career, the drama?

Successful as always, of course? You are used to that."

Edouard made a faint grimace, and Alfred roared with laughter, crying:

"Ah! you were well-advised to talk to him of success! You have no idea what chord you have touched!--What, Robineau! have you not divined from that long face, that frowning brow, a poet who has met with an _accident_? who has been victimized by a _cabal_? That, in a word, you are looking upon a fallen author?"

"The deuce! is it so?--What! Monsieur Edouard, have you had a fall?"

"Yes, monsieur," Edouard replied, with a faint sigh.

"Ah! that is amusing!"

"You consider it amusing, do you?"

"I meant to say, extraordinary--for you have sometimes succeeded.--Was it very bad then?--that is to say, didn't it take?"

"It seems not, as it was hissed."

"Faith! I don't know what sort of a play yours was, but I am sure that it couldn't be any worse than the one I saw the day before yesterday at Feydeau. Fancy! a perfect rigmarole! all entrances and exits; in fact, it was so stupid, that I, who almost never hiss, could not help doing as the others did. I hissed like a rattlesnake."

Alfred, who for several minutes had been restraining a fresh inclination to laugh, dropped his friend's arm and gave full vent to his hilarity, while Edouard said to Robineau, with an expression which he strove to render resigned:

"I thank you, monsieur, for having helped to bury my work."

"What? can it be that it was yours?" said Robineau, opening his little black eyes as wide as possible.

"Yes, indeed!" said Alfred, "it was his play that you hissed like a rattlesnake."

"Oh! mon Dieu! how sorry I am! If I could have guessed! But it's your own fault too; if you had sent me a ticket, it would not have happened.

I remember now that there were some very clever _mots_--some pretty scenes. I am really distressed, Monsieur Edouard."

"And I a.s.sure you that I am not in the least offended. What do a few hisses more or less matter?--And in my opinion, a good hard fall is better than to drag along through two or three performances."

"Then you bear me no grudge?"

"Why, no," said Alfred, "you have proved your friendship! he who loves well, chastises soundly! Moreover, the best general sometimes loses a battle. Isn't that so, Edouard?--Look you, I'll wager that that has been said to you at least fifty times since the night before last."

Edouard smiled--but this time with a good heart; and he once more took his friend's arm, who looked at Robineau again, while a mocking smile played about his lips.

"You are still very busy, Robineau?"

"Oh, yes! always! We have an infernal amount of work to do. My chief relies on me; he knows that in moments of stress I am always on hand."

"What have you in that big portfolio that you hold so tight under your arm? Are you to play the part of a notary to-night?"

"Oh! it has nothing to do with acting; it's work I am taking home."

"The devil!"

"Very important work. I sometimes spend a good part of the night on it.