My Neighbor Raymond Part 18

Mademoiselle Caroline walked with her eyes bent on the ground, and I remained at a respectful distance; but when we were a few steps from the shop, I put her into a cab, which took us to my domicile. She hesitated at first about entering the cab, but I urged her; she consented at last, and then she had no choice but to listen to all that love impelled me to say, if I may give the name of _love_ to the caprice that had occupied my thoughts since the preceding night.

But obstacles give added value to the most trifling fancy, and sometimes transform a simple caprice into a deep-rooted sentiment. The difficulty which I had encountered in obtaining an interview with Caroline caused me to find a greater charm in her company; my words had more fire, more eloquence; and so little is required to convince a girl whose heart is already half vanquished.

Everything, therefore, led me to hope for the most perfect success. In time the cab stopped, we alighted, and Mademoiselle Caroline handed me my box, refusing to go up to my rooms. In vain did I promise, aye, swear to be good; I was powerless to overcome the flowermaker's obstinacy; all that I could obtain was an appointment on the boulevard for the following evening.

She left me, and I entered the house alone. I could not help thinking of the difference between Mademoiselle Caroline's conduct and Nicette's.

The little flower girl, who had known me but a few minutes, herself proposed to come to my apartment at midnight; while the grisette, having an excuse for going there, was afraid to venture in broad daylight. What was I to conclude? That one realized the danger more fully than the other? No. Nicette realized it; but she simply did not think of it; she trusted me. That Caroline was more virtuous than Nicette was impossible; indeed, I feared the contrary, and that there might be the same difference in their respective morals as in the flowers they dealt in.

I must, in any event, wait until the time appointed for our meeting. I determined to go that evening to Madame Vauvert's; not to hear Raymond sing the _Joconde_ aria, but because there was generally a collection of original creatures there that amused me, to say nothing of the master and mistress of the house, who are well worth a chapter to themselves.

XIII

AN AMATEUR CONCERT

In Paris there are parties for all tastes, all social ranks, all professions, all shades of opinion; in a word, for all cla.s.ses.

A young man with tact and breeding may go everywhere; nothing is so easy as to obtain admission to the enormous parties, the gorgeous fetes and b.a.l.l.s, which are so popular that people go thither in crowds and do not see one another. The master and mistress of the house do not know the names of half the men who crowd their salons. In the best society it is customary for an invited guest to introduce whomsoever he may choose, without asking permission. The newcomer salutes the host and his wife; they exchange the conventional phrases, smiling at each other most amicably; that is all that is necessary; and one may then proceed to play cards, dance, and regale one's self, without paying any further attention to the master of the house.

It is not so easy to obtain admission to what are called _bourgeois_ parties. There the host, being a little more particular than the banker or marquis of the Chaussee d'Antin, likes to know the people who come to his house. When one young man introduces another to him, he inquires his name, his profession, and his character; indeed, there are some who carry their absurd prejudices so far as to turn a cold shoulder to young men whose too free and easy manners do not please them. But this extreme severity of morals is found only in the Marais or in the heart of Faubourg Saint-Germain.

Between the first society and the bourgeoisie, between etiquette and license, there are the delightful circles, distinguished by amiable freedom of manner, artless gayety, and a pleasant intimacy; these are generally to be found among artists. The arts go hand in hand; genuine talents are not jealous of one another; they esteem, seek out, and appreciate one another; that is why we find among them wit without malice, jesting without bitterness, rivalry without envy, merit without arrogance, and wealth without display.

Next come the strange, abnormal parties, which are made up from all the others. The people who give them do not know how to receive company; but they insist upon having company all the time, because it is good form to give soirees, and in these days no one is willing to lag behind his neighbor. For my part, I am in the habit of going only where I am invited by the host himself; I do not like to be introduced by another guest, unless it be at one of those crushes to which one goes as one would go to the theatre; and one may stay away from a second one without being taxed with discourtesy, because there is no danger of having been noticed at the first.

The function of Monsieur and Madame Vauvert may be placed in the last category. The master of the house fancied that he was a musician, but he had never in his life been able to beat a measure in three time, or to observe a minim rest or a crotchet rest, although he used his feet, his head, and his hands. He thrummed a little on the guitar; and when he had succeeded in accompanying some little ballad, without falling in with a minim rest or a crotchet one on the way, he was the happiest of men.

Add to this an enduring pa.s.sion for the fair s.e.x, to which he paid a.s.siduous court, despite his wife, a nose always smeared with snuff, soiled clothes and frills, strong breath and s.h.i.+fty eyes, a figure of medium height and a body that was always trembling, and you will have an idea of Monsieur Vauvert, who was a very good fellow in spite of his trifling faults, and whose greatest crime was not to be virtuous and orderly at forty-five. Gayety is of all ages, but libertinage is a different matter.

"If there's a time for folly, So there's a time for sense."

And I trust that at forty I shall be as virtuous as I now am the opposite. But let us come to Madame Vauvert.

She must once have been good-looking; the trouble was that she insisted upon continuing to be so. Her complexion was still fresh and ruddy, even when she was ill; which tempted unkind tongues to say that she made it herself. She was not familiar with the manners of good society, but by way of compensation she had a vast deal of curiosity and an extraordinary talent for setting people by the ears, while seeming never to speak ill of anyone; she also had a very p.r.o.nounced penchant for good-looking youths and for chocolate.

Still, Madame Vauvert's parties were very entertaining, because there was not the slightest restraint, everyone did what he chose, and one was certain of meeting a lot of original people and of seeing some new faces at every party. Most of those who appeared there simply pa.s.sed on and off, as in a magic lantern; those whose only aim was to be amused went again and again. I was one of the latter; so Vauvert had come to call me his dear friend, while his charming spouse always greeted me with a most gracious little smile.

As Monsieur Vauvert was only a government clerk, he did not live on the first floor; but on his reception evenings he caused candle ends to be placed along the staircase, so that the artists and amateurs might not break their noses before reaching the third floor above the entresol. He had no servant, but he had a nephew some fourteen or fifteen years old, who was junior clerk to a notary; a sly, mischievous youngster, whom his dear uncle tried to make useful on his festal days, which displeased the young man, who on those occasions always returned home later than usual from the notary's, in order not to be at the service of his uncle and aunt. It was nearly ten o'clock when I arrived at Monsieur Vauvert's; the company rarely a.s.sembled before that hour, for the petty bourgeois try to mimic the n.o.bility, and think it good form to arrive very late at a party. Musicians, whether amateurs or professionals, love to keep people waiting; and I believe that, in due time, evening parties will not begin until the next morning.

I rang. The door was opened by Madame Vauvert; whence I concluded that the young nephew had not yet returned.

"Ah! here you are, my little Dorsan; it's very good of you to come; we shall have a lot of people to-night."

"You _will_ have? Do you mean to say that your guests haven't arrived yet?"

"Some of them are late; but it's early yet."

"Not very."

"We have a tall young lady from the Conservatoire, who has a magnificent voice."

"The deuce!"

"And a lady who plays the 'cello."

"Great heaven! why, here it's as it is at Nicolet's: always worse and worse!"

"Ha! ha! what a funny fellow!"

"What music have you had already?"

"Nothing yet."

"What! nothing? and it's ten o'clock! For whom are you waiting to begin your concert?"

"Little Martin hasn't come yet, to play the piano accompaniments."

"Isn't his sister here?"

"Yes, but she won't play to-night; she's sick; she's having one of her nervous attacks."

"Ah, yes! that's quite natural. But where's your husband?"

"He's gone out to get a 'cello part and to borrow a second violin, so that we can have a quartette."

"It seems to me that it would have been well to set about it a little sooner."

"Why, the poor man's been running his legs off ever since dinner. He had to fetch Madame Rosemonde and her daughter, then go to the musical instrument maker's for a double ba.s.s, then send for Mademoiselle Luquet's harp, then go to make sure that Monsieur Crachini could come; in fact, there's no end to what he's had to do!"

"I can see that he has had his hands full."

"And that little rascal of a Friquet doesn't come home! I hope his uncle will give him a good trouncing to-night. But come in, my dear fellow."

Our conversation was held in a narrow pa.s.sage leading on one side to the dining room, which did duty as bedroom and dressing room, and on the other to the salon. I entered this last-named apartment, where the regular habitues and the newcomers were a.s.sembled. Everyone was wondering what the host and hostess could be doing, that no one had seen them; everyone was calling for them, and asking why the music could not begin; but not one of the singers was willing to sing first, and the instrumentalists seemed no better disposed.

"It seems to me that things aren't likely to go very well to-night,"

said a short, pockmarked man, who waddled up to me, smiling maliciously, whose nose was hidden by his bulging cheeks, and whose eyes one sought in vain behind his spectacles. "Almost ten o'clock, and nothing doing; you must agree that it's disrespectful to the company! Poor Vauvert!

pa.s.sing his evening scouring the neighborhood for instruments and scores! It's amusing enough! There are not two houses like this in Paris."

"That is just why it's so priceless. But aren't you going to sing to-night?"

"Yes; I've brought my song from _Jean de Paris_; it's called the _Princesse de Navarre_."

"I seem to remember that you sang that to us at the last reception."

"So I did; but I haven't had time to learn anything else; and then, you know, it's such a fine thing!--