Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (45 page)

“How handsome he is!”

Madame Dambreuse turned round towards him.

“Please give me my fan which is on that table over there. No, not that one! ’tis the other!”

She arose, and when he came across to her, they met in the middle of the drawing-room face to face. She addressed a few sharp words to him, no doubt of a reproachful character, judging by the haughty expression of her face. Martinon tried to smile; then he went to join the circle in which solemn-looking men were holding discussions. Madame Dambreuse resumed her seat, and, bending over the arm of her chair, said to Frédéric:

“I saw somebody the day before yesterday who was speaking to me about you—Monsieur de Cisy. You know him, don’t you?”

“Yes, slightly.”

Suddenly Madame Dambreuse uttered an exclamation:

“Oh! Duchesse, what a pleasure to see you!”

And she advanced towards the door to meet a little old lady in a brown taffeta gown and a lace cap with long ribbons. The daughter of a companion in exile of the Comte d’Artois
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, and the widow of a marshal of the Empire, who had been created a peer of France in 1830, she had connections to the old court as well as to the new court, and possessed sufficient influence to procure many things. Those who stood talking stepped aside, and then resumed their conversation.

It had now centered on extreme poverty, of which, according to these gentlemen, all the descriptions that had been given were grossly exaggerated.

“However,” urged Martinon, “let us confess that there is such a thing as poverty! But the remedy depends neither on science nor on power. It is purely an individual question. When the lower classes are willing to get rid of their vices, they will free themselves from their necessities. Let the people be more moral, and they will be less poor!”

According to M. Dambreuse, no good could be attained without a superabundance of capital. Therefore, the only practical method was to entrust, “as the Saint-Simonians proposed (good heavens! there was some merit in their views—let us be just to everybody)—to entrust, I say, the cause of progress to those who can increase the public wealth.” Imperceptibly the conversation moved on to the great industrial undertakings—the railways, the coal-mines. And M. Dambreuse, addressing Frédéric, said to him in a low whisper:

“You have not come about that business of ours?”

Frédéric pleaded illness; but, feeling that this excuse was too absurd:

“Besides, I need my money.”

“Is it to buy a carriage?” asked Madame Dambreuse, who was brushing past him with a cup of tea in her hand, and for a minute she watched his face with her head tilted slightly to the side.

She believed that he was Rosanette’s lover—the allusion was obvious. It seemed even to Frédéric that all the ladies were staring at him from a distance and whispering to one another.

In order to get a better idea as to what they were thinking about, he once more approached them. On the opposite side of the table, Martinon, seated near Mademoiselle Cécile, was turning the pages of an album. It contained lithographs of Spanish costumes. He read the descriptive titles aloud: “A Lady of Seville,” “A Valencia Gardener,” “An Andalusian Picador”; and once, going down to the bottom of the page, he continued all in one breath:

“Jacques Arnoux, publisher. One of your friends, eh?”

“That is true,” said Frédéric, hurt by his tone.

Madame Dambreuse added:

“In fact, you came here one morning—about a house, I believe—a house belonging to his wife.” (This meant: “She is your mistress.”)

He reddened up to his ears; and M. Dambreuse, who joined them at the same moment, made this additional remark:

“You appear to be deeply interested in them.”

These last words had the effect of completely embarrassing Frédéric. His confusion, which, he could not help feeling, was evident to them, was on the point of confirming their suspicions, when M. Dambreuse drew close to him, and, in a tone of great seriousness, said:

“I suppose you don’t do business together?”

He protested by repeated shakes of the head, without realising the exact meaning of the capitalist, who wished to give him advice.

He felt a desire to leave. The fear of appearing faint-hearted restrained him. A servant carried away the teacups. Madame Dambreuse was talking to a diplomat in a blue coat. Two young girls, their heads close together, showed each other their jewellery. The others, seated in a semicircle on armchairs, kept moving their white faces crowned with black or fair hair. Nobody, in fact, was paying any attention to them. Frédéric turned on his heels; and, by a succession of long zigzags, he had almost reached the door, when, passing close to a table, he remarked, on the top of it, between a china vase and the panelling, a journal folded up in two. He drew it out a little, and read these words
—The Flambard.

Who had brought it there? Cisy. Obviously no one else. What did it matter, however? They would believe—already, perhaps, everyone believed—in the article. What was the cause of this vindictiveness? He was enveloped by ironic silence. He felt like one lost in a desert. But suddenly he heard Martinon’s voice:

“Talking of Arnoux, I saw in the newspapers, amongst the names of those accused of preparing incendiary bombs, that of one of his
employés,
Sénécal. Is that our Sénécal?”

“The very same!”

Martinon repeated several times in a very loud tone:

“What? our Sénécal! our Sénécal!”

Then questions were asked him about the conspiracy. It was assumed that his connection with the prosecutor’s office ought to furnish him with some information on the subject.

He declared that he had none. However, he knew very little about this individual, having seen him only two or three times. He positively regarded him as a scoundrel. Frédéric exclaimed indignantly:

“Not at all! he is a very honest fellow”

“All the same, Monsieur,” said a landowner, “no conspirator can be an honest man.”

Most of the men assembled there had served at least four governments; and they would have sold France or the human race in order to preserve their own incomes, to save themselves from any discomfort or embarrassment, or even through sheer baseness, through worship of strength. They all maintained that political crimes were inexcusable. It would be more desirable to pardon those which were provoked by want. And they did not fail to put forward the eternal illustration of the father of a family stealing the eternal loaf of bread from the eternal baker.

A gentleman occupying an administrative office even went so far as to exclaim:

“For my part, Monsieur, if I were told that my brother were a conspirator I would denounce him!”

Frédéric invoked the right of resistance, and recalling some phrases that Deslauriers had used in their conversations, he referred to Delosmes, Blackstone, the English Bill of Rights, and Article 2 of the Constitution of ’91.
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It was even by virtue of this law that the fall of Napoleon had been proclaimed. It had been recognised in 1830, and inscribed at the head of the Charter.
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Besides, when the sovereign fails to fulfil the contract, justice requires that he should be overthrown.

“Why, this is abominable!” exclaimed a prefect’s wife.

All the rest remained silent, filled with vague terror, as if they had heard the noise of bullets. Madame Dambreuse rocked herself in her chair, and smiled as she listened to him.

A manufacturer, who had formerly been a member of the Carbonari, tried to show that the Orléans family possessed good qualities.
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No doubt there were some abuses.

“Well, then?”

“But we should not talk about them, my dear Monsieur! If you knew how all these clamourings of the Opposition harm business!”

“What do I care about business?” said Frédéric.

He was exasperated by the corruption of these old men; and, carried away by the recklessness which sometimes takes possession of even the most timid, he attacked the financiers, the representatives, the government, the king, took up the defence of the Arabs, and said many foolish things. A few of those around him encouraged him in a spirit of irony:

“Go on, pray! continue!” whilst others muttered:

“My word! what enthusiasm!” At last he thought the right thing to do was to withdraw; and, as he was going, M. Dambreuse said to him, alluding to the post of secretary:

“No definite arrangement has been yet arrived at; but hurry up!”

And Madame Dambreuse:

“You’ll call again soon, will you not?”

Frédéric considered their parting salutation a final mockery. He had resolved never to come back to this house, or to visit any of these people again. He imagined that he had offended them, not realising what vast reserves of indifference society possesses. These women especially excited his indignation. Not a single one of them had backed him up even with a look of sympathy. He felt angry with them for not having been moved by his words. As for Madame Dambreuse, he found in her something at the same time languid and cold, which prevented him from defining her character with a label. Had she a lover? and, if so, who was her lover? Was it the diplomat or some other? Perhaps it was Martinon? Impossible! Nevertheless, he experienced a sort of jealousy toward Martinon, and an unaccountable ill-will against her.

Dussardier, having called this evening as usual, was awaiting him. Frédéric’s heart swelled with bitterness; he unburdened it, and his grievances, though vague and hard to understand, saddened the honest shop-assistant. He even complained of his isolation. Dussardier, after a little hesitation, suggested that they ought to call on Deslauriers.

Frédéric, at the mention of the lawyer’s name, was seized with a longing to see him once more. He was now living in the midst of profound intellectual solitude, and found Dussardier’s company quite insufficient. In reply to the latter’s question, Frédéric told him to arrange matters any way he liked.

Deslauriers had likewise, since their quarrel, felt a void in his life. He yielded without much reluctance to the cordial advances which were made to him. The pair embraced each other, then began chatting about matters of no consequence.

Frédéric’s heart was touched by Deslauriers’ display of reserve, and in order to make him a sort of reparation, he told the other next day how he had lost fifteen thousand francs without mentioning that these fifteen thousand francs had been originally intended for him. The lawyer, nevertheless, had a shrewd suspicion of the truth; and this misfortune, which justified, in his own mind, his prejudices against Arnoux, entirely disarmed his bitterness; and he did not again refer to the promise made by his friend on a former occasion.

Frédéric, misled by his silence, thought he had forgotten all about it. A few days afterwards, he asked Deslauriers whether there was any way in which he could get back his money.

They might raise the point that the prior mortgage was fraudulent, and might take proceedings against the wife personally.

“No! no! not against her!” exclaimed Frédéric, and, yielding to the ex-law-clerk’s questions, he confessed the truth. Deslauriers was convinced that Frédéric had not told him the entire truth, no doubt as a matter of fact. He was hurt by this lack of trust.

They were, however, on the same intimate terms as before, and they even found so much pleasure in each other’s society that Dussardier’s presence got in the way. Under the pretence that they had appointments, they managed gradually to get rid of him.

There are some men whose only mission amongst their fellow-men is to serve as go-betweens; people use them in the same way as if they were bridges, by stepping over them and going on further.

Frédéric concealed nothing from his old friend. He told him about the coal-mine speculation and M. Dambreuse’s proposal. The lawyer grew thoughtful.

“That’s strange! For such a post a man with a good knowledge of law would be required!”

“But you could assist me,” returned Frédéric.

“Yes!—hold on! faith, yes! certainly.”

During the same week Frédéric showed Dussardier a letter from his mother.

Madame Moreau accused herself of having misjudged M. Roque, who had given a satisfactory explanation of his conduct. Then she spoke of his fortune, and of the possibility, later, of a marriage with Louise.

“That would not be a bad match,” said Deslauriers.

Frédéric said it was entirely out of the question. Besides, Père Roque was an old swindler. That in no way affected the matter, in the lawyer’s opinion.

At the end of July, an inexplicable drop in value made the Northern shares fall. Frédéric had not sold his. He lost sixty thousand francs in one day. His income was considerably reduced. He would have to curtail his expenditure, or take up some profession, or make a brilliant catch in the matrimonial market.

Then Deslauriers spoke to him about Mademoiselle Roque. There was nothing to prevent him from going to see things for himself. Frédéric was rather tired of city life. Provincial existence and the maternal roof would be a sort of respite for him.

The sight of the streets of Nogent, as he passed through them in the moonlight, brought back old memories; and he experienced a kind of pang, like those who have just returned home after a long period of travel.

At his mother’s house, all the country visitors had assembled as in former days—MM. Gamblin, Heudras, and Chambrion, the Lebrun family, “those young ladies, the Augers,” and, in addition, Père Roque, and, sitting opposite to Madame Moreau at a card-table, Mademoiselle Louise. She was now a woman. She sprang to her feet with a cry of delight. They were all in a flutter of excitement. She remained standing motionless, and the paleness of her face was intensified by the light issuing from four silver candle-sticks.