MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICE PORTER IN THE ANTCHAMBER
Great festivities last Saturday in the Place Vendome. In honour ofhis election, M. Bernard Jansoulet, the new deputy for Corsica, gavea magnificent evening party, with municipal guards at the door,illumination of the entire mansion, and two thousand invitations sentout to fashionable Paris.
I owed to the distinction of my manners, to the sonority of my vocalorgan, which the chairman of the board had had occasion to notice at themeetings at the Territorial Bank, the opportunity of taking part inthis sumptuous entertainment, at which, for three hours, standing in thevestibule, amid the flowers and hangings, clad in scarlet and gold, withthat majesty peculiar to persons who are rather generously built, andwith my calves exposed for the first time in my life, I launched, likea cannon-ball, through the five communicating drawing-rooms, the nameof each guest, which a glittering beadle saluted every time with the"_bing_" of his halberd on the floor.
How many the curious observations which that evening again I was ableto make; how many the pleasant sallies, the high-toned jests exchangedamong the servants upon all that world as it passed by! Not withthe vine-dressers of Montbars in any case should I have heard suchdrolleries. I should remark that the worthy M. Barreau, to begin with,had caused to be served to us all in his pantry, filled to the ceilingwith iced drinks and provisions, a solid lunch well washed down, whichput each of us in a good humour that was maintained during the eveningby the glasses of punch and champagne pilfered from the trays whendessert was served.
The masters, indeed, seemed in less joyous mood than we. So early asnine o'clock, when I arrived at my post, I was struck by the uneasynervousness apparent on the face of the Nabob, whom I saw walking withM. de Gery through the lighted and empty drawing-rooms, talking quicklyand making large gestures.
"I will kill him!" he said; "I will kill him!"
The other endeavoured to soothe him; then madame came in, and thesubject of their conversation was changed.
A mighty fine woman, this Levantine, twice as stout as I am, dazzling tolook at with her tiara of diamonds, the jewels with which her hugewhite shoulders were laden, her back as round as her bosom, her waistcompressed within a cuirass of green gold, which was continued in longbraids down the whole length of her stiff skirt. I have never seenanything so imposing, so rich. She suggested one of those beautifulwhite elephants that carry towers on their backs, of which we read inbooks of travel. When she walked, supporting herself with difficultyby means of clinging to the furniture, her whole body quivered, herornaments clattered like a lot of old iron. Added to this, a small,very piercing voice, and a fine red face which a little negro boykept cooling for her all the time with a white feather fan as big as apeacock's tail.
It was the first time that this indolent and retiring person had showedherself to Parisian society, and M. Jansoulet seemed very happy andproud that she had been willing to preside over his party; whichundertaking, for that matter, did not cost the lady much trouble, for,leaving her husband to receive the guests in the first drawing-room,she went and lay down on the divan of the small Japanese room, wedgedbetween two piles of cushions, motionless, so that you could see herfrom a distance right in the background, looking like an idol, beneaththe great fan which her negro waved regularly like a piece of clockwork.These foreign women possess an assurance!
All the same, the Nabob's irritation had struck me, and seeing the_valet de chambre_ go by, descending the staircase four steps at a time,I caught him on the wing and whispered in his ear:
"What's the matter, then, with your governor, M. Noel?"
"It is the article in the _Messenger_," was his reply, and I had togive up the idea of learning anything further for the moment, theloud ringing of a bell announcing that the first carriage had arrived,followed soon by a crowd of others.
Wholly absorbed in my occupation, careful to utter clearly the nameswhich were given to me, and to make them echo from salon to salon, Ihad no longer a thought for anything besides. It is no easy business toannounce in a proper manner persons who are always under the impressionthat their name must be known, whisper it under their breath as theypass, and then are surprised to hear you murder it with the finestaccent, and are almost angry with you on account of those entranceswhich, missing fire and greeted with little smiles, follow upon anill-made announcement. At M. Jansoulet's, what made the work stillmore difficult for me was the number of foreigners--Turks, Egyptians,Persians, Tunisians. I say nothing of the Corsicans, who were verynumerous that day, because during my four years at the Territorial Ihave become accustomed to the pronunciation of those high-sounding,interminable names, always followed by that of the locality: "Paganettide Porto Vecchio, Bastelica di Bonifacio, Paianatchi de Barbicaglia."
It was always a pleasure to me to modulate these Italian syllables, togive them all their sonority, and I saw clearly, from the bewilderedairs of these worthy islanders, how charmed and surprised they were tobe introduced in such a manner into the high society of the Continent.But with the Turks, these pashas, beys, and effendis, I had muchmore trouble, and I must have happened often to fall on a wrongpronunciation; for M. Jansoulet, on two separate occasions, sent wordto me to pay more attention to the names that were given to me, andespecially to announce in a more natural manner. This remark, utteredaloud before the whole vestibule with a certain roughness, annoyed megreatly, and prevented me--shall I confess it?--from pitying this rich_parvenu_ when I learned, in the course of the evening, what cruelthorns lay concealed in his bed of roses.
From half past ten until midnight the bell was constantly ringing,carriages rolling up under the portico, guests succeeding one another,deputies, senators, councillors of state, municipal councillors,who looked much rather as though they were attending a meeting ofshareholders than an evening-party of society people. What could accountfor this? I had not succeeded in finding an explanation, but a remark ofthe beadle Nicklauss opened my eyes.
"Do you notice, M. Passajon," said that worthy henchman, as he stoodopposite me, halberd in hand, "do you notice how few ladies we have?"
That was it, egad! Nor were we the only two to observe the fact. As eachnew arrival made his entry I could hear the Nabob, who was standing nearthe door, exclaim, with consternation in his thick voice like that of aMarseillais with a cold in his head:
"What! all alone?"
The guest would murmur his excuses. "Mn-mn-mn--his wife a trifleindisposed. Certainly very sorry." Then another would arrive, and thesame question call forth the same reply.
By its constant repetition this phrase "All alone?" had eventuallybecome a jest in the vestibule; lackeys and footmen threw it at eachother whenever there entered a new guest "all alone!" And we laughedand were put in good-humour by it. But M. Nicklauss, with his greatexperience of the world, deemed this almost general abstention of thefair sex unnatural.
"It must be the article in the _Messenger_," said he.
Everybody was talking about it, this rascally article, and before themirror garlanded with flowers, at which each guest gave a finishingtouch to his attire before entering, I surprised fragments of whisperedconversation such as this:
"You have read it?"
"It is horrible!"
"Do you think the thing possible?"
"I have no idea. In any case, I preferred not to bring my wife."
"I have done the same. A man can go everywhere without compromisinghimself."
"Certainly. While a woman----"
Then they would go in, opera hat under arm, with that conquering air ofmarried men when they are unaccompanied by their wives.
What, then, could there be in this newspaper, this terrible article, tomenace to this degree the influence of so wealthy a man? Unfortunately,my duties took up the whole of my time. I could go down neither to thepantry nor to the cloak-room to obtain information, to chat with thecoachmen and valets and lackeys whom I could see standing at the footof the staircase, amusing themselves by jests upon the people who weregoing up. W
hat will you? Masters give themselves great airs also. Hownot laugh to see go by with an insolent manner and an empty stomach theMarquis and the Marquise de Bois l'Hery, after all that we have beentold about the traffickings of Monsieur and the toilettes of Madame? Andthe Jenkins couple, so tender, so united, the doctor carefully puttinga lace shawl over his lady's shoulders for fear she should take coldon the staircase; she herself smiling and in full dress, all in velvet,with a great long train, leaning on her husband's arm with an air thatseems to say, "How happy I am!" when I happened to know that, in fact,since the death of the Irishwoman, his real, legitimate wife, the doctoris thinking of getting rid of the old woman who clings to him, in orderto be able to marry a chit of a girl, and that the old woman passes hernights in lamentation, and in spoiling with tears whatever beauty shehas left.
The humorous thing is that not one of these people had the leastsuspicion of the rich jests and jeers that were spat over their backsas they passed, not a notion of the filth which those long trains drewafter them as they crossed the carpet of the antechamber, and they allwould look at you so disdainfully that it was enough to make you die oflaughing.
The two ladies whom I have just named, the wife of the governor, alittle Corsican, to whom her bushy eyebrows, her white teeth, and hershining cheeks, dark beneath the skin, give the appearance of a woman ofAuvergne with a washed face, a good sort, for the rest, and laughing allthe time except when her husband is looking at other women; in addition,a few Levantines with tiaras of gold or pearls, less perfect specimensof the type than our own, but still in a similar style, wives ofupholsterers, jewellers, regular tradesmen of the establishment, withshoulders as large as shop-fronts, and expensive toilettes; finally,sundry ladies, wives of officials of the Territorial, in sorry, badlycreased dresses; these constituted the sole representation of the fairsex in the assembly, some thirty ladies lost among a thousand blackcoats--that is to say, practically none at all. From time to timeCassagne, Laporte, Grandvarlet, who were serving the refreshments intrays, stopped to inform us of what was passing in the drawing-rooms.
"Ah, my boys, if you could see it! it has a gloom, a melancholy. The mendon't stir from the buffets. The ladies are all at the back, seated in acircle, fanning themselves and saying nothing. The fat old lady doesnot speak to a soul. I fancy she is sulking. You should see the look onMonsieur! Come, _pere_ Passajon, a glass of Chateau-Larose; it will pickyou up a bit."
They were charmingly kind to me, all these young people, and took amischievous pleasure in doing me the honours of the cellar so often andso copiously, that my tongue commenced to become heavy, uncertain, andas the young folk said to me, in their somewhat free language. "Uncle,you are babbling." Happily the last of the effendis had just arrived,and there was nobody else to announce; for it was in vain that I soughtto shake off the impression, every time I advanced between the curtainsto send a name hurtling through the air at random, I saw the chandeliersof the drawing-rooms revolving with hundreds of dazzling lights, and thefloors slipping away with sharp and perpendicular slopes like Russianmountains. I was bound to get my speech mixed, it is certain.
The cool night-air, sundry ablutions at the pump in the court-yard,quickly got the better of this small discomfort, and when I entered thecloak-room nothing of it was any longer apparent. I found a numerous andgay company collected round a _marquise au champagne_, of which allmy nieces, wearing their best dresses, with their hair puffed outand cravats of pink ribbon, took their full share notwithstandingexclamations and bewitching little grimaces that deceived nobody.Naturally, the conversation turned on the famous article, an article byMoessard, it appears, full of frightful occupations which the Nabob wasalleged to have followed fifteen or twenty years ago, at the time of hisfirst sojourn in Paris.
It was the third attack of the kind which the _Messenger_ had publishedin the course of the last week, and that rogue of a Moessard had thespite to send the number each time done up in a packet to the PlaceVendome.
M. Jansoulet received it in the morning with his chocolate; and at thesame hour his friends and his enemies--for a man like the Nabob couldbe regarded with indifference by none--would be reading, commenting,tracing for themselves the relation to him a line of conduct designed tosave them from becoming compromised. Today's article must be supposed tohave struck hard all the same; for Jansoulet, the coachman, recountedto us a few hours ago, in the Bois, his master had not exchanged tengreetings in the course of ten drives round the lake, while ordinarilyhis hat is as rarely on his head as a sovereign's when he takes the air.Then, when they got back, there was another trouble. The three boys hadjust arrived at the house, all in tears and dismay, brought home fromthe College Bourdaloue by a worthy father in the interest of the poorlittle fellows themselves, who had received a temporary leave of absencein order to spare them from hearing in the parlour or the playgroundany unkind story or painful allusion. Thereupon the Nabob flew into aterrible passion, which caused him to destroy a service of porcelain,and it appears that, had it not been for M. de Gery, he would haverushed off at once to punch Moessard's head.
"And he would have done very well," remarked M. Noel, entering at theselast words, very much excited. "There is not a line of truth in thatrascal's article. My master had never been in Paris before last year.From Tunis to Marseilles, from Marseilles to Tunis, those were his onlyjourneys. But this knave of a journalist is taking his revenge becausewe refused him twenty thousand francs."
"There you acted very unwisely," observed M. Francis uponthis--Monpavon's Francis, Monpavon the old beau whose solitary toothshakes about in the centre of his mouth at every word he says, but whomthe young ladies regard with a favourable eye all the same on account ofhis fine manners. "Yes, you were unwise. One must know how to conciliatepeople, so long as they are in a position to be useful to us or toinjure us. Your Nabob has turned his back too quickly upon his friendsafter his success; and between you and me, _mon cher_, he is notsufficiently firmly established to be able to disregard attacks of thiskind."
I thought myself able here to put in a word in my turn:
"That is true enough, M. Noel, your governor is no longer the same sincehis election. He has adopted a tone and manners which I can hardly butdescribe as reprehensible. The day before yesterday, at the Territorial,he raised a commotion which you can hardly imagine. He was heard toexclaim before the whole board: 'You have lied to me; you have robbedme, and made me a robber as much as yourselves. Show me your books, youset of rogues!' If he has treated Moessard in the same sort of fashion,I am not surprised any longer that the latter should be taking hisrevenge in his newspaper."
"But what does this article say?" asked M. Barreau. "Who is present thathas read it?"
Nobody answered. Several had tried to buy it, but in Paris scandal sellslike bread. At ten o'clock in the morning there was not a single copyof the _Messenger_ left in the office. Then it occurred to one of mynieces--a sharp girl, if ever there was one--to look in the pocket ofone of the numerous overcoats in the cloak-room, folded carefully inlarge pigeon-holes. At the first which she examined:
"Here it is!" exclaimed the charming child with an air of triumph, asshe drew out a _Messenger_ crumpled in the folding like a paper that hasjust been read.
"Here is another!" cried Tom Bois l'Hery, who was making a search on hisown account. A third overcoat, a third _Messenger_. And in every one thesame thing: pushed down to the bottom of a pocket, or with its titlepageprotruding, the newspaper was everywhere, just as its article musthave been in every memory; and one could imagine the Nabob up aboveexchanging polite phrases with his guests, while they could have reeledoff by heart the atrocious things that had been printed about him. Weall laughed much at this idea; but we were anxious to make acquaintancein our own turn with this curious article.
"Come, _pere_ Passajon, read it aloud to us."
It was the general desire, and I assented.
I don't know if you are like me, but when I read aloud I gargle mythroat with my voice; I int
roduce modulations and flourishes to such anextent that I understand nothing of what I am saying, like those singersto whom the sense of the words matters little, provided the notes betrue. The thing was entitled "The Boat of Flowers"--a sufficientlycomplicated story, with Chinese names, about a very rich mandarin, whohad at one time in the past kept a "boat of flowers" moored quite at thefar end of the town near a barrier frequented by the soldiers. At theend of the article we were not farther on than at the beginning. Wetried certainly to wink at each other, to pretend to be clever; but,frankly, we had no reason. A veritable puzzle without solution; and weshould still be stuck fast at it if old Francis, a regular rascal whoknows everything, had not explained to us that this meeting place ofthe soldiers must stand for the Military School, and that the "boat offlowers" did not bear so pretty a name as that in good French. And thisname, he said it aloud notwithstanding the presence of the ladies.There was an explosion of cries, of "Ah's!" and "Oh's!" some saying, "Isuspected it!" others, "It is impossible!"
"Pardon me," added Francis, formerly a trumpeter in the NinthLancers--the regiment of Mora and of Monpavon--"pardon me. Twenty yearsago, during the last half year of my service, I was in barracks in theMilitary School, and I remember very well that near the fortificationsthere was a dirty dancing-hall known as the Jansoulet Rooms, with alittle furnished flat above and bedrooms at twopence-halfpenny the hour,to which one could retire between two quadrilles."
"You are an infamous liar!" said M. Noel, beside himself with rage--"athief and a liar like your master. Jansoulet has never been in Parisbefore now."
Francis was seated a little outside our circle engaged in sippingsomething sweet, because champagne has a bad effect on his nerves andbecause, too, it is not a sufficiently distinguished beverage for him.He rose gravely, without putting down his glass, and, advancing towardsM. Noel, said to him very quietly:
"You are wanting in manners, _mon cher_. The other evening I foundyour tone coarse and unseemly. To insult people serves no good purpose,especially in this case, since I happen to have been an assistant to afencing-master, and, if matters were carried further between us, couldput a couple of inches of steel into whatever part of your body I mightchoose. But I am good-natured. Instead of a sword-thrust, I prefer togive you a piece of advice, which your master will do well to follow.This is what I should do in your place: I should go and find Moessard,and I should buy him, without quibbling about price. Hemerlingue hasgiven him twenty thousand francs to speak; I would offer him thirtythousand to hold his tongue."
"Never! never!" vociferated M. Noel. "I should rather go and knock therascally brigand's head off."
"You will do nothing of the kind. Whether the calumny be true or false,you have seen the effect of it this evening. This is a sample of thepleasures in store for you. What can you expect, _mon cher_? You havethrown away your crutches too soon, and thought to walk by yourselves.That is all very well when one is well set up and firm on the legs; butwhen one had not a very solid footing, and has also the misfortuneto feel Hemerlingue at his heels, it is a bad business. Besides, yourmaster is beginning to be short of money; he has given notes of hand toold Schwalbach--and don't talk to me of a Nabob who gives notes of hand.I know well that you have millions over yonder, but your election mustbe declared valid before you can touch them; a few more articles liketo-day's, and I answer for it that you will not secure that declaration.You set yourselves up to struggle against Paris, _mon bon_, but you arenot big enough for such a match; you know nothing about it. Here weare not in the East, and if we do not wring the necks of people whodisplease us, if we do not throw them into the water in a sack, we haveother methods of effecting their disappearance. Noel, let your mastertake care. One of these mornings Paris will swallow him as I swallowthis plum, without spitting out either the stone or skin."
He was terrible, this old man, and notwithstanding the paint on hisface, I felt a certain respect for him. While he was speaking, we couldhear the music upstairs, and the horses of the municipal guards shakingtheir curb-chains in the square. From without, our festivities must haveseemed very brilliant, all lighted up by their thousands of candles,and with the great portico illuminated. And when one reflected that ruinperhaps lay beneath it all! We sat there in the vestibule like rats thathold counsel with each other at the bottom of a ship's hold, when thevessel is beginning to leak and before the crew has found it out, and Isaw clearly that all the lackeys and chambermaids would not be long indecamping at the first note of alarm. Could such a catastrophe indeed bepossible? And in that case what would become of me, and the Territorial,and the money I had advanced, and the arrears due to me?
That Francis has left me with a cold shudder down my back.