My Neighbor Raymond Part 20

Everybody laughed at the episode; Monsieur Pattier alone was furious over the mistake, for which Vauvert was responsible, and which resulted in preventing the performance of the quartette. He rushed up to the master of the house, who had just seated himself in a corner of the salon beside a young brunette on whom he was bestowing meaning glances.

"How's this, Monsieur Vauvert? You tell me that you have brought the score that was missing, and you give me the ba.s.s of a Mozart quartette when we are to play one of Pleyel's!"

"I thought I heard you mention Mozart."

"You thought! a man doesn't make such mistakes as that!"

"Well! I'll go and change it."

"No, no, it's no use; almost eleven o'clock; a pretty time to go out after music! I shan't forget this trick."

Pere Pattier went away, muttering savagely; n.o.body paid any attention to him. Madame Vauvert scolded her husband for his blunder, and the company congratulated themselves on their escape from the quartette; while the tenor, who was determined not to be squelched, persisted in trying the brilliant pa.s.sages of his part. Neighbor Raymond had just arrived, with his favorite piece under his arm. I noticed several new faces, and I was looking about for Madame Bertin and her daughters, who seldom came to Monsieur Vauvert's, whose decidedly mixed society was ill suited to well-bred young ladies, when I heard the confused murmur that announces the arrival of a new personage.

I looked toward the door of the salon. A very stylishly dressed lady was being escorted into the room by Vauvert, on whose arm she leaned, and whose soiled linen, snuffy nose, and awkward manner were in striking contrast to the grace, the refinement, and the elegant manners of the lady, for whom he tried to find a seat in his salon, where vacant chairs were as scarce as at Tivoli. I spied one by the fireplace, upon which a huge cat lay asleep; I threw the cat to the floor, and presented the chair to the newcomer, who thanked me as she accepted it. Thereupon I examined her more closely, and recognized the lady whom I had seen at the theatre two nights before, and whose carriage I had made a vain attempt to follow. I was fully convinced that it was she when I saw in the doorway the man who accompanied her on that occasion.

Decidedly that Sat.u.r.day evening was destined to mark an epoch in my life; for chance had thrown in my way all the persons who had then attracted my attention. I was Nicette's friend, I hoped to be Caroline's lover, and as for this other lady, whose name I did not know as yet, I was ready to bet that we should become better acquainted.

Neighbor Raymond, who lost no time when he hoped to win applause, had already approached the piano and was looking about for someone to accompany him. But Monsieur Gripaille, seeing that no one asked him to sing, or paid any attention to him, ran and seized the guitar, seated himself in the centre of the salon, and prepared to begin. Singing is always the most popular part of a concert, especially a concert of amateurs, where those who play upon any instrument are rarely good enough players or good enough musicians to give pleasure to their audience. A quartette entertains none but those who take part in it; a sonata on the piano makes people yawn; airs with variations for the harp are always twice too long, and pieces for the guitar always fall flat after other instruments. Only for singing, therefore, does the audience at such affairs care to cease its conversation; a pleasant voice never wearies the attention or the ears.

But Monsieur Gripaille had not a pleasant voice--far from it; it was a continual medley of falsetto, shrill notes, and transitions of an octave, the whole accompanied by the thrumming of his thumb on the ba.s.s chord of the guitar, while he shook his head from side to side to add to his personal charms. However, the airs he sang were sometimes tuneful, the words amusing, and his performance diverted the company for a moment. But as he always sang the same things, we knew them by heart; and when he once had the guitar in his hands, it was impossible to make him put it down; after the ballad came a rondeau, after the rondeau a comic song, after the comic song another ballad, and so on. I was not bored, because I was talking with the new arrival, who seemed vastly astonished at all that she saw, and very glad to find me there; for she recognized me, and I saw that my presence was not disagreeable to her.

But soon I heard neighbor Raymond and the man with spectacles objurgating Gripaille because he did not stop singing.

"It's horrible! it's murderous! it's enough to put you to sleep!" said Raymond; "he'll never stop!"

"Oh! when he once has his guitar, we are lost! there's nothing to do but let him sing."

"And he doesn't want anyone to make a sound, either; not even to speak.

See! he's glancing angrily in this direction now, because we're talking."

"I don't care if he is; it's altogether too much; tunes that he's sung to us twenty times!"

"He says that he wrote them."

"He lies; I've seen them printed under another name."

"Great G.o.d! I believe he's beginning another one. That fellow ought to be forbidden to enter a salon."

"Faith, yes! let's call Vauvert, and tell him to make him shut up."

"He wouldn't dare."

"I'll tell you; we must have some young lady escorted to the piano; perhaps that will compel Gripaille to give up his place."

The two men ran after Vauvert, who was in the utmost perplexity, for he did not know how to request his friend Gripaille to cease to entertain the company. At last, a tall, stout young woman consented to sing; young Martin arrived to play the accompaniments, and they were escorted to the piano. Gripaille pretended not to see what was going on, and played the prelude to his sixth comic song; but the noise in the dressing room, where a party of young men had a.s.sembled who could not find room in the salon, forced the guitarist to abandon the contest; he rose very ill-humoredly, despite the faint forced applause, and for lack of something better to do sat down in front of the little old woman, who had been partly in a trance and partly in heaven throughout his singing.

"Come," she said to Gripaille, as he approached, "come, let me embrace you! You have enchanted me--exalted me to the skies--that is the word!

Come, I entreat you!"

The wretched guitarist was compelled to submit; he embraced the old lady with a good grace; admirers are rare, and one has to pay dear for them.

My neighbor spied me and came to me with outstretched hand; but he halted in front of my fair unknown, to whom he made a sweeping bow. The devil of a fellow seemed to know everybody. I listened to their conversation.

"Whom do I see? Madame de Marsan! by what chance? Really, this is a happiness I did not expect! To what are we indebted for this pleasant surprise?"

"Monsieur de Marsan meets Monsieur Vauvert sometimes at the department, and Monsieur Vauvert has been urging him for a long time to come to his concerts; so to-day we decided to come;--but I confess," she said, turning to me, "that I did not expect all that I see."

"We will try, madame, to give you so much pleasure that you will not regret your evening."

Thereupon my neighbor ran to the piano, doubtless to preempt the place next to the tall young lady. But the little chubby-faced man had antic.i.p.ated him, and I foresaw that we could not escape the _Princesse de Navarre_.

While the young woman was singing her air from _Montano et Stephanie_, being forced to give up my chair to a damsel who was looking about in vain for a seat, I went for a breath of air to the dressing room, where a number of young men had taken refuge, driven from the salon by the shrill cries of the singer. At that moment the doorbell rang; Vauvert opened the door, and little Friquet appeared. I expected a scene between the uncle and the nephew, and I waited to hear.

"Where have you been, you rascal?" demanded Vauvert, trying to a.s.sume an imposing air.

"Why, uncle, I have been--I have been at the office."

"At your office, until eleven o'clock at night!"

"Yes, uncle."

"You don't expect to make us believe that, I hope?"

"Why not, uncle?"

"Because I know that you leave it every night at nine o'clock."

"The head clerk gave me some errands to do, uncle; that is what made me so late."

"Errands! I know how you do errands! I've been hearing about you, young scoundrel that you are!"

"In the first place, uncle, I am not a scoundrel."

"Your head clerk told me that the day before yesterday morning, while they were waiting for a very urgent paper that they'd sent you to have signed, he found you sitting coolly under Pont des Arts, fis.h.i.+ng."

"Me, uncle, me! My word, what a lie!"

"He has the face to deny it, when I have proofs of the fact!"

"Proofs? what proofs?"

"Look, Monsieur Friquet, here's a package of hooks that I found in your coat pocket. Well! what do you say to that?"

"That doesn't prove anything, uncle; I didn't buy those hooks for myself."

"For whom did you buy them, then?"

"For my brother, who means to go fis.h.i.+ng in the Ca.n.a.l de l'Ourcq on Sunday."