VII

Pillerault, Monsieur and Madame Ragon, and Monsieur Roguin were

playing at boston, and Cesarine was embroidering a handkerchief, when

the judge and Anselme arrived. Roguin, placed opposite to Madame

Ragon, near whom Cesarine was sitting, noticed the pleasure of the

young girl when she saw Anselme enter, and he made Crottat a sign to

observe that she turned as rosy as a pomegranate.

"This is to be a day of deeds, then?" said the perfumer, when the

greetings were over and the judge told him the purpose of the visit.

Cesar, Anselme, and the judge went up to the perfumer's temporary

bedroom on the second floor to discuss the lease and the deed of

partnership drawn up by the magistrate. A lease of eighteen years was

agreed upon, so that it might run the same length of time as the lease

of the shop in the Rue des Cinq-Diamants,--an insignificant

circumstance apparently, but one which did Birotteau good service in

after days. When Cesar and the judge returned to the /entresol/, the

latter, surprised at the general upset of the household, and the

presence of workmen on a Sunday in the house of a man so religious as

Birotteau, asked the meaning of it,--a question which Cesar had been

eagerly expecting.

"Though you care very little for the world, monsieur," he said, "you

will see no harm in celebrating the deliverance of our territory.

That, however, is not all. We are about to assemble a few friends to

commemorate my promotion to the order of the Legion of honor."

"Ah!" exclaimed the judge, who was not decorated.

"Possibly I showed myself worthy of that signal and royal favor by my

services on the Bench--oh! of commerce,--and by fighting for the

Bourbons on the steps--"

"True," said the judge.

"--of Saint-Roch on the 13th Vendemiaire, where I was wounded by

Napoleon. May I not hope that you and Madame Popinot will do us the

honor of being present?"

"Willingly," said the judge. "If my wife is well enough I will bring

her."

"Xandrot," said Roguin to his clerk, as they left the house, "give up

all thoughts of marrying Cesarine; six weeks hence you will thank me

for that advice."

"Why?" asked Crottat.

"My dear fellow, Birotteau is going to spend a hundred thousand francs

on his ball, and he is involving his whole fortune, against my advice,

in that speculation in lands. Six weeks hence he and his family won't

have bread to eat. Marry Mademoiselle Lourdois, the daughter of the

house-painter. She has three hundred thousand francs /dot/. I threw

out that anchor to windward for you. If you will pay me a hundred

thousand francs down for my practice, you may have it to-morrow."

The splendors of the approaching ball were announced by the newspapers

to all Europe, and were also made known to the world of commerce by

rumors to which the preparations, carried on night and day, had given

rise. Some said that Cesar had hired three houses, and that he was

gilding his salons; others that the supper would furnish dishes

invented for the occasion. On one hand it was reported that no

merchants would be invited, the fete being given to the members of the

government; on the other hand, Cesar was severely blamed for his

ambition, and laughed at for his political pretensions: some people

even went so far as to deny his wound. The ball gave rise to more than

one intrigue in the second arrondissement. The friends of the family

were easy in their minds, but the demands of mere acquaintances were

enormous. Honors bring sycophants; and there was a goodly number of

people whose invitations cost them more than one application. The

Birotteaus were fairly frightened at the number of friends whom they

did not know they had. These eager attentions alarmed Madame

Birotteau, and day by day her face grew sadder as the great solemnity

drew near.

In the first place, as she owned to Cesar, she should never learn the

right demeanor; next, she was terrified by the innumerable details of

such a fete: where should she find the plate, the glass-ware, the

refreshments, the china, the servants? Who would superintend it all?

She entreated Birotteau to stand at the door of the appartement and

let no one enter but invited guests; she had heard strange stories of

people who came to bourgeois balls, claiming friends whose names they

did not know. When, a week before the fateful day, Braschon, Grindot,

Lourdois, and Chaffaroux, the builder, assured Cesar positively that

the rooms would be ready for the famous Sunday of December the 17th,

an amusing conference took place, in the evening after dinner, between

Cesar, his wife, and his daughter, for the purpose of making out the

list of guests and addressing the invitations,--which a stationer had

sent home that morning, printed on pink paper, in flowing English

writing, and in the formula of commonplace and puerile civility.

"Now we mustn't forget any body," said Birotteau.

"If we forget any one," said Constance, "they won't forget it. Madame

Derville, who never called before, sailed down upon me in all her

glory yesterday."

"She is very pretty," said Cesarine. "I liked her."

"And yet before her marriage she was even less than I was," said

Constance. "She did plain sewing in the Rue Montmartre; she made

shirts for your father."

"Well, now let us begin the list," said Birotteau, "with the upper-

crust people. Cesarine, write down Monsieur le Duc and Madame la

Duchesse de Lenoncourt--"

"Good heavens, Cesar!" said Constance, "don't send a single invitation

to people whom you only know as customers. Are you going to invite the

Princesse de Blamont-Chavry, who is more nearly related to your

godmother, the late Marquise d'Uxelles, than the Duc de Lenoncourt?

You surely don't mean to invite the two Messieurs de Vandenesse,

Monsieur de Marsay, Monsieur de Ronquerolles, Monsieur d'Aiglemont, in

short, all your customers? You are mad; your honors have turned your

head!"

"Well, but there's Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine and his family, hein?

--the one that always went by the name of GRAND-JACQUES,--and the

YOUNG SCAMP, who was the Marquis de Montauran, and Monsieur de la

Billardiere, who was called the NANTAIS at 'The Queen of Roses' before

the 13th Vendemiaire. In those days it was all hand-shaking, and

'Birotteau, take courage; let yourself be killed, like us, for the

good cause.' Why, we are all comrades in conspiracy."

"Very good, put them down," said Constance. "If Monsieur de la

Billardiere comes he will want somebody to speak to."

"Cesarine, write," said Birotteau. "/Primo/, Monsieur the prefect of

the Seine; he'll come or he won't come, but any way he commands the

municipality,--honor to whom honor is due. Monsieur de la Billardiere

and his son, the mayor. Put the number of the guests after their

names. My colleague, Monsieur Granet, deputy-mayor, and his wife. She

is very ugly, but never mind, we can't dispense with her. Monsieur

Curel, the jeweller, colonel of the National Guard, his wife, and two

daughters. Those are what I call the authorities. Now come the big

wigs,--Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse de Fontaine, and their

daughter, Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine."

"An insolent girl, who makes me leave the shop and speak to her at the

door of the carriage, no matter what the weather is," said Madame

Cesar. "If she comes, it will only be to ridicule me."

"Then she'll be sure to come," said Cesar, bent on getting everybody.

"Go on, Cesarine. Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse de

Grandville, my landlord,--the longest head at the royal court, so

Derville says. Ah ca! Monsieur de la Billardiere is to present me as a

chevalier to-morrow to Monsieur le Comte de Lacepede himself, high

chancellor of the Legion of honor. It is only proper that I should

send him an invitation for the ball, and also to the dinner. Monsieur

Vauquelin; put him down for ball and dinner both, Cesarine. And (so as

not to forget them) put down all the Chiffrevilles and the Protez;

Monsieur and Madame Popinot, judge of the Lower Court of the Seine;

Monsieur and Madame Thirion, gentleman-usher of the bedchamber to the

king, friends of Ragon, and their daughter, who, they tell me, is to

marry the son of Monsieur Camusot by his first wife."

"Cesar, don't forget that little Horace Bianchon, the nephew of

Monsieur Popinot, and cousin of Anselme," said Constance.

"Whew! Cesarine has written a four after the name of Popinot. Monsieur

and Madame Rabourdin, one of the under-secretaries in Monsieur de la

Billardiere's division; Monsieur Cochin, same division, his wife and

son, sleeping-partners of Matifat, and Monsieur, Madame, and

Mademoiselle Matifat themselves."

"The Matifats," said Cesarine, "are fishing for invitations for

Monsieur and Madame Colleville, and Monsieur and Madame Thuillier,

friends of theirs."

"We will see about that," said Cesar. "Put down my broker, Monsieur

and Madame Jules Desmarets."

"She will be the loveliest woman in the room," said Cesarine. "I like

her--oh! better than any one else."

"Derville and his wife."

"Put down Monsieur and Madame Coquelin, the successors to my uncle

Pillerault," said Constance. "They are so sure of an invitation that

the poor little woman has ordered my dressmaker to make her a superb

ball-dress, a skirt of white satin, and a tulle robe with succory

flowers embroidered all over it. A little more and she would have

ordered a court-dress of gold brocade. If you leave them out we shall

make bitter enemies."

"Put them down, Cesarine; all honor to commerce, for we belong to it!

Monsieur and Madame Roguin."

"Mamma, Madame Roguin will wear her diamond fillet and all her other

diamonds, and her dress trimmed with Mechlin."

"Monsieur and Madame Lebas," said Cesar; "also Monsieur le president

of the Court of Commerce,--I forgot him among the authorities,--his

wife, and two daughters; Monsieur and Madame Lourdois and their

daughter; Monsieur Claparon, banker; Monsieur du Tillet; Monsieur

Grindot; Monsieur Molineux; Pillerault and his landlord; Monsieur and

Madame Camusot, the rich silk-merchants, and all their children, the

one at the Ecole Polytechnique, and the lawyer; he is to be made a

judge because of his marriage to Mademoiselle Thirion."

"A provincial judge," remarked Constance.

"Monsieur Cardot, father-in-law of Camusot, and all the Cardot

children. Bless me, and the Guillaumes, Rue du Colombier, the father-

in-law of Lebas--old people, but they'll sit in a corner; Alexandre

Crottat; Celestin--"

"Papa, don't forget Monsieur Andoche Finot and Monsieur Gaudissart,

two young men who are very useful to Monsieur Anselme."

"Gaudissart? he was once in the hands of justice. But never mind, he

is going to travel for our oil and starts in a few days; put him down.

As to the Sieur Andoche Finot, what is he to us?"

"Monsieur Anselme says he will be a great man; he has a mind like

Voltaire."

"An author? all atheists."

"Let's put him down, papa; we want more dancers. Besides, he wrote the

beautiful prospectus for the oil."

"He believes in my oil?" said Cesar, "then put him down, dear child."

"I have put down all my proteges," said Cesarine.

"Put Monsieur Mitral, my bailiff; Monsieur Haudry, our doctor, as a

matter of form,--he won't come."

"Yes, he will, for his game of cards."

"Now, Cesar, I do hope you mean to invite the Abbe Loraux to the

dinner," said Constance.

"I have already written to him," said Cesar.

"Oh! and don't forget the sister-in-law of Monsieur Lebas, Madame

Augustine Sommervieux," said Cesarine. "Poor little woman, she is so

delicate; she is dying of grief, so Monsieur Lebas says."

"That's what it is to marry artists!" cried her father. "Look! there's

your mother asleep," he whispered. "La! la! a very good night to you,

Madame Cesar--Now, then," he added, "about your mother's ball-dress?"

"Yes, papa, it will be all ready. Mamma thinks she will wear her

china-crape like mine. The dressmaker is sure there is no need of

trying it on."

"How many people have you got down," said Cesar aloud, seeing that

Constance opened her eyes.

"One hundred and nine, with the clerks."

"Where shall we ever put them all?" said Madame Birotteau. "But,

anyhow, after that Sunday," she added naively, "there will come a

Monday."

*****

Nothing can be done simply and naturally by people who are stepping

from one social level to another. Not a soul--not Madame Birotteau,

nor Cesar himself--was allowed to put foot into the new appartement on

the first floor. Cesar had promised Raguet, the shop-boy, a new suit

of clothes for the day of the ball, if he mounted guard faithfully and

let no one enter. Birotteau, like the Emperor Napoleon at Compiegne,

when the chateau was re-decorated for his marriage with Maria Louisa

of Austria, was determined to see nothing piecemeal; he wished to

enjoy the surprise of seeing it as a whole. Thus the two antagonists

met once more, all unknown to themselves, not on the field of battle,

but on the peaceful ground of bourgeois vanity. It was arranged that

Monsieur Grindot was to take Cesar by the hand and show him the

appartement when finished,--just as a guide shows a gallery to a

sight-seer. Every member of the family had provided his, or her,

private "surprise." Cesarine, dear child, had spent all her little

hoard, a hundred louis, on buying books for her father. Monsieur

Grindot confided to her one morning that there were two book-cases in

Cesar's room, which enclosed an alcove,--an architectural surprise to

her father. Cesarine flung all her girlish savings upon the counter of

a bookseller's shop, and obtained in return, Bossuet, Racine,

Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Montesquieu, Moliere, Buffon,

Fenelon, Delille, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, La Fontaine, Corneille,

Pascal, La Harpe,--in short, the whole array of matter-of-course

libraries to be found everywhere and which assuredly her father would

never read. A terrible bill for binding was in the background. The

celebrated and dilatory binder, Thouvenin, had promised to deliver the

volumes at twelve o'clock in the morning of the 16th. Cesarine

confided her anxiety to her uncle Pillerault, and he had promised to

pay the bill. The "surprise" of Cesar to his wife was the gown of

cherry-colored velvet, trimmed with lace, of which he spoke to his

accomplice, Cesarine. The "surprise" of Madame Birotteau to the new

chevalier was a pair of gold shoe-buckles, and a diamond pin. For the

whole family there was the surprise of the new appartement, and, a

fortnight later, the still greater surprise of the bills when they

came in.

Cesar carefully weighed the question as to which invitations should be

given in person, and which should be sent by Raguet. He ordered a

coach and took his wife--much disfigured by a bonnet with feathers,

and his last gift, a shawl which she had coveted for fifteen years--on

a round of civilities. In their best array, these worthy people paid

twenty-two visits in the course of one morning.

Cesar excused his wife from the labor and difficulty of preparing at

home the various viands demanded by the splendor of the entertainment.

A diplomatic treaty was arranged between the famous Chevet and the

perfumer. Chevet furnished superb silver plate (which brought him an

income equal to that of land); he supplied the dinner, the wines, and

the waiters, under the orders of a major-domo of dignified aspect, who

was responsible for the proper management of everything. Chevet

exacted that the kitchen, and the dining-room on the /entresol/,

should be given up to him as headquarters; a dinner for twenty people

was to be served at six o'clock, a superb supper at one in the

morning. Birotteau arranged with the cafe Foy for ices in the shape of

fruits, to be served in pretty saucers, with gilt spoons, on silver

trays. Tanrade, another illustrious purveyor, furnished the

refreshments.

"Don't be worried," said Cesar to his wife, observing her uneasiness

on the day before the great event, "Chevet, Tanrade, and the cafe Foy

will occupy the /entresol/, Virginie will take charge of the second

floor, the shop will be closed; all we shall have to do is to enshrine

ourselves on the first floor."

At two o'clock, on the 16th, the mayor, Monsieur de la Billardiere,

came to take Cesar to the Chancellerie of the Legion of honor, where

he was to be received by Monsieur le Comte de Lacepede, and about a

dozen chevaliers of the order. Tears were in his eyes when he met the

mayor; Constance had just given him the "surprise" of the gold buckles

and diamond pin.

"It is very sweet to be so loved," he said, getting into the coach in

presence of the assembled clerks, and Cesarine, and Constance. They,

one and all, gazed at Cesar, attired in black silk knee-breeches, silk

stockings, and the new bottle-blue coat, on which was about to gleam

the ribbon that, according to Molineux, was dyed in blood. When Cesar

came home to dinner, he was pale with joy; he looked at his cross in

all the mirrors, for in the first moments of exultation he was not

satisfied with the ribbon,--he wore the cross, and was glorious

without false shame.

"My wife," he said, "Monsieur the high chancellor is a charming man.

On a hint from La Billardiere he accepted my invitation. He is coming

with Monsieur Vauquelin. Monsieur de Lacepede is a great man,--yes, as

great as Monsieur Vauquelin; he has continued the work of Buffon in

forty volumes; he is an author, peer of France! Don't forget to

address him as, Your Excellence, or, Monsieur le comte."

"Do eat something," said his wife. "Your father is worse than a

child," added Constance to Cesarine.

"How well it looks in your button-hole," said Cesarine. "When we walk

out together, won't they present arms?"

"Yes, wherever there are sentries they will present arms."

Just at this moment Grindot was coming downstairs with Braschon. It

had been arranged that after dinner, monsieur, madame, and

mademoiselle were to enjoy a first sight of the new appartement;

Braschon's foreman was now nailing up the last brackets, and three men

were lighting the rooms.

"It takes a hundred and twenty wax-candles," said Braschon.

"A bill of two hundred francs at Trudon's," said Madame Cesar, whose

murmurs were checked by a glance from the chevalier Birotteau.

"Your ball will be magnificent, Monsieur le chevalier," said Braschon.

Birotteau whispered to himself, "Flatterers already! The Abbe Loraux

urged me not to fall into that net, but to keep myself humble. I shall

try to remember my origin."

Cesar did not perceive the meaning of the rich upholsterer's speech.

Braschon made a dozen useless attempts to get invitations for himself,

his wife, daughter, mother-in-law, and aunt. He called the perfumer

Monsieur le chevalier to the door-way, and then he departed his enemy.

The rehearsal began. Cesar, his wife, and Cesarine went out by the

shop-door and re-entered the house from the street. The entrance had

been remodelled in the grand style, with double doors, divided into

square panels, in the centre of which were architectural ornaments in

cast-iron, painted. This style of door, since become common in Paris,

was then a novelty. At the further end of the vestibule the staircase

went up in two straight flights, and between them was the space which

had given Cesar some uneasiness, and which was now converted into a

species of box, where it was possible to seat an old woman. The

vestibule, paved in black and white marble, with its walls painted to

resemble marble, was lighted by an antique lamp with four jets. The

architect had combined richness with simplicity. A narrow red carpet

relieved the whiteness of the stairs, which were polished with pumice-

stone. The first landing gave an entrance to the /entresol/; the doors

to each appartement were of the same character as the street-door, but

of finer work by a cabinet-maker.

The family reached the first floor and entered an ante-chamber in

excellent taste, spacious, parquetted, and simply decorated. Next came

a salon, with three windows on the street, in white and red, with

cornices of an elegant design which had nothing gaudy about them. On a

chimney-piece of white marble supported by columns were a number of

mantel ornaments chosen with taste; they suggested nothing to

ridicule, and were in keeping with the other details. A soft harmony

prevailed throughout the room, a harmony which artists alone know how

to attain by carrying uniformity of decoration into the minutest

particulars,--an art of which the bourgeois mind is ignorant, though

it is much taken with its results. A glass chandelier, with twenty-

four wax-candles, brought out the color of the red silk draperies; the

polished floor had an enticing look, which tempted Cesarine to dance.

"How charming!" she said; "and yet there is nothing to seize the eye."

"Exactly, mademoiselle," said the architect; "the charm comes from the

harmony which reigns between the wainscots, walls, cornices, and the

decorations; I have gilded nothing, the colors are sober, and not

extravagant in tone."

"It is a science," said Cesarine.

A boudoir in green and white led into Cesar's study.

"Here I have put a bed," said Grindot, opening the doors of an alcove

cleverly hidden between the two bookcases. "If you or madame should

chance to be ill, each can have your own room."

"But this bookcase full of books, all bound! Oh! my wife, my wife!"

cried Cesar.

"No; that is Cesarine's surprise."

"Pardon the feelings of a father," said Cesar to the architect, as he

kissed his daughter.

"Oh! of course, of course, monsieur," said Grindot; "you are in your

own home."

Brown was the prevailing color in the study, relieved here and there

with green, for a thread of harmony led through all the rooms and

allied them with one another. Thus the color which was the leading

tone of one room became the relieving tint of another. The engraving

of Hero and Leander shone on one of the panels of Cesar's study.

"Ah! /thou/ wilt pay for all this," said Birotteau, looking gaily at

it.

"That beautiful engraving is given to you by Monsieur Anselme," said

Cesarine.

(Anselme, too, had allowed himself a "surprise.")

"Poor boy! he has done just as I did for Monsieur Vauquelin."

The bedroom of Madame Birotteau came next. The architect had there

displayed a magnificence well calculated to please the worthy people

whom he was anxious to snare; he had really kept his word and

/studied/ this decoration. The room was hung in blue silk, with white

ornaments; the furniture was in white cassimere touched with blue. On

the chimney-piece, of white marble, stood a clock representing Venus

crouching, on a fine block of marble; a moquette carpet, of Turkish

design, harmonized this room with that of Cesarine, which opened out

of it, and was coquettishly hung with Persian chintz. A piano, a

pretty wardrobe with a mirror door, a chaste little bed with simple

curtains, and all the little trifles that young girls like, completed

the arrangements of the room. The dining-room was behind the bedroom

of Cesar and his wife, and was entered from the staircase; it was

treated in the style called Louis XIV., with a clock in buhl, buffets

of the same, inlaid with brass and tortoise-shell; the walls were hung

with purple stuff, fastened down by gilt nails. The happiness of these

three persons is not to be described, more especially when,

re-entering her room, Madame Birotteau found upon her bed (where

Virginie had just carried it, on tiptoe) the robe of cherry-colored

velvet, with lace trimmings, which was her husband's "surprise."

"Monsieur, this appartement will win you great distinction," said

Constance to Grindot. "We shall receive a hundred and more persons

to-morrow evening, and you will win praises from everybody."

"I shall recommend you," said Cesar. "You will meet the very /heads/

of commerce, and you will be better known through that one evening

than if you had built a hundred houses."

Constance, much moved, thought no longer of costs, nor of blaming her

husband; and for the following reason: That morning, when he brought

the engraving of Hero and Leander, Anselme Popinot, whom Constance

credited with much intelligence and practical ability, had assured her

of the inevitable success of Cephalic Oil, for which he was working

night and day with a fury that was almost unprecedented. The lover

promised that no matter what was the round sum of Birotteau's

extravagance, it should be covered in six months by Cesar's share in

the profits of the oil. After fearing and trembling for nineteen years

it was so sweet to give herself up to one day of unalloyed happiness,

that Constance promised her daughter not to poison her husband's

pleasure by any doubts or disapproval, but to share his happiness

heartily. When therefore, about eleven o'clock, Grindot left them, she

threw herself into her husband's arms and said to him with tears of

joy, "Cesar! ah, I am beside myself! You have made me very happy!"

"Provided it lasts, you mean?" said Cesar, smiling.

"It will last; I have no more fears," said Madame Birotteau.

"That's right," said the perfumer; "you appreciate me at last."

People who are sufficiently large-minded to perceive their own innate

weakness will admit that an orphan girl who eighteen years earlier was

saleswoman at the Petit-Matelot, Ile Saint-Louis, and a poor peasant

lad coming from Touraine to Paris with hob-nailed shoes and a cudgel

in his hand, might well be flattered and happy in giving such a fete

for such praiseworthy reasons.

"Bless my heart!" cried Cesar. "I'd give a hundred francs if someone

would only come in now and pay us a visit."

"Here is Monsieur l'Abbe Loraux," said Virginie.

The abbe entered. He was at that time vicar of Saint-Sulpice. The

power of the soul was never better manifested than in this saintly

priest, whose intercourse with others left upon the minds of all an

indelible impression. His grim face, so plain as to check confidence,

had grown sublime through the exercise of Catholic virtues; upon it

shone, as it were by anticipation, the celestial glories. Sincerity

and candor, infused into his very blood, gave harmony to his unsightly

features, and the fires of charity blended the discordant lines by a

phenomenon, the exact counterpart of that which in Claparon had

debased and brutalized the human being. Faith, Hope, and Charity, the

three noblest virtues of humanity, shed their charm among the abbe's

wrinkles; his speech was gentle, slow, and penetrating. His dress was

that of the priests of Paris, and he allowed himself to wear a brown

frock-coat. No ambition had ever crept into that pure heart, which the

angels would some day carry to God in all its pristine innocence. It

required the gentle firmness of the daughter of Louis XVI. to induce

him to accept a benefice in Paris, humble as it was. As he now entered

the room he glanced with an uneasy eye at the magnificence before him,

smiled at the three delighted people, and shook his gray head.

"My children," he said, "my part in life is not to share in gaieties,

but to visit the afflicted. I came to thank Monsieur Cesar for his

invitation, and to congratulate you. I shall come to only one fete

here,--the marriage of this dear child."

After the short visit the abbe went away without seeing the various

apartments, which the perfumer and his wife dared not show him. This

solemn apparition threw a few drops of cold water into the boiling

delight of Cesar's heart. Each of the party slept amid their new

luxury, taking possession of the good things and the pretty things

they had severally wished for. Cesarine undressed her mother before a

toilet-table of white marble with a long mirror. Cesar had given

himself a few superfluities, and longed to make use of them at once:

and they all went to sleep thinking of the joys of the morrow.

On that morrow Cesarine and her mother, having been to Mass, and

having read their vespers, dressed about four o'clock in the

afternoon, after resigning the /entresol/ to the secular arm of Chevet

and his people. No attire ever suited Madame Cesar better than this

cherry-colored velvet dress with lace trimmings, and short sleeves

made with jockeys: her beautiful arms, still fresh and youthful, her

bosom, sparklingly white, her throat and shoulders of a lovely shape,

were all heightened in effect by the rich material and the resplendent

color. The naive delight which every woman feels when she sees herself

in the plenitude of her power gave an inexpressible sweetness to the

Grecian profile of this charming woman, whose beauty had all the

delicacy of a cameo. Cesarine, dressed in white crape, wore a wreath

of white roses, a rose at her waist, and a scarf chastely covering her

shoulders and bust: Popinot was beside himself.

"These people crush us," said Madame Roguin to her husband as they

went through the appartement.

The notary's wife was furious at appearing less beautiful than Madame

Cesar; for every woman knows how to judge the superiority or the

inferiority of a rival.

"Bah!" whispered Roguin to his wife, "it won't last long; you will

soon bespatter her when you meet her a-foot in the streets, ruined."

Vauquelin showed perfect tact; he came with Monsieur de Lacepede, his

colleague of the Institute, who had called to fetch him in a carriage.

On beholding the resplendent mistress of the fete they both launched

into scientific compliments.

"Ah, madame, you possess a secret of which science is ignorant," said

the chemist, "the recipe for remaining young and beautiful."

"You are, as I may say, partly at home here, Monsieur l'academicien,"

said Birotteau. "Yes, Monsieur le comte," he added, turning to the

high chancellor of the Legion of honor, "I owe my fortune to Monsieur

Vauquelin. I have the honor to present to your lordship Monsieur le

president of the Court of Commerce. This is Monsieur le Comte de

Lacepede, peer of France," he said to Joseph Lebas, who accompanied

the president.

The guests were punctual. The dinner, like all commercial dinners, was

extremely gay, full of good humor, and enlivened by the rough jests

which always raise a laugh. The excellence of the dishes and the

goodness of the wines were fully appreciated. It was half-past nine

o'clock when the company returned to the salons to take their coffee.

A few hackney-coaches had already brought the first impatient dancers.

An hour later the rooms were full, and the ball took the character of

a rout. Monsieur de Lacepede and Monsieur Vauquelin went away, much to

the grief of Cesar, who followed them to the staircase, vainly

entreating them to remain. He succeeded, however, in keeping Monsieur

Popinot the judge, and Monsieur de la Billardiere. With the exception

of three women who severally represented the aristocracy, finance, and

government circles,--namely, Mademoiselle de Fontaine, Madame Jules,

and Madame Rabourdin, whose beauty, dress, and manners were sharply

defined in this assemblage,--all the other women wore heavy, over-

loaded dresses, and offered to the eye that anomalous air of richness

which gives to the bourgeois masses their vulgar aspect, made cruelly

apparent on this occasion by the airy graces of the three other women.

The bourgeoisie of the Rue Saint-Denis displayed itself majestically

in the plenitude of its native powers of jocose silliness. It was a

fair specimen of that middle class which dresses its children like

lancers or national guards, buys the "Victoires et Conquetes," the

"Soldat-laboureur," admires the "Convoi du Pauvre," delights in

mounting guard, goes on Sunday to its own country-house, is anxious to

acquire the distinguished air, and dreams of municipal honors,--that

middle class which is jealous of all and of every one, and yet is

good, obliging, devoted, feeling, compassionate, ready to subscribe

for the children of General Foy, or for the Greeks, whose piracies it

knows nothing about, or the Exiles until none remained; duped through

its virtues and scouted for its defects by a social class that is not

worthy of it, for it has a heart precisely because it is ignorant of

social conventions,--that virtuous middle-class which brings up

ingenuous daughters to an honorable toil, giving them sterling

qualities which diminish as soon as they are brought in contact with

the superior world of social life; girls without mind, among whom the

worthy Chrysale would have chosen his wife,--in short, a middle-class

admirably represented by the Matifats, druggists in the Rue des

Lombards, whose firm had supplied "The Queen of Roses" for more than

sixty years.

Madame Matifat, wishing to give herself a dignified air, danced in a

turban and a heavy robe of scarlet shot with gold threads,--a toilet

which harmonized well with a self-important manner, a Roman nose, and

the splendors of a crimson complexion. Monsieur Matifat, superb at a

review of the National Guard, where his protuberant paunch could be

distinguished at fifty paces, and upon which glittered a gold chain

and a bunch of trinkets, was under the yoke of this Catherine II. of

commerce. Short and fat, harnessed with spectacles and a shirt-collar

worn above his ears, he was chiefly distinguished for his bass voice

and the richness of his vocabulary. He never said Corneille, but "the

sublime Corneille"; Racine was "the gentle Racine"; Voltaire, "Oh!

Voltaire, second in everything, with more wit than genius, but

nevertheless a man of genius"; Rousseau, "a gloomy mind, a man full of

pride, who hanged himself." He related in his prosy way vulgar

anecdotes of Piron, a poet who passes for a prodigy among the

bourgeoisie. Matifat, a passionate lover of the stage, had a slight

leaning to obscenity. It was even said that, in imitation of Cadot and

the rich Camusot, he kept a mistress. Sometimes Madame Matifat, seeing

him about to relate some questionable anecdote, would hasten to

interrupt him by screaming out: "Take care what you are saying, old

man!" She called him habitually her "old man." This voluminous queen

of drugs caused Mademoiselle de Fontaine to lose her aristocratic

countenance, for the impertinent girl could not help laughing as she

overheard her saying to her husband: "Don't fling yourself upon the

ices, old man, it is bad style."

It is more difficult to explain the nature of the difference between

the great world and the bourgeoisie than it is for the bourgeoisie to

obliterate it. These women, embarrassed by their fine clothes and very

conscious of them, displayed a naive pleasure which proved that a ball

was a rarity in their busy lives; while the three women, who each

represented a sphere in the great world, were then exactly what they

would be on the morrow. They had no appearance of having dressed

purposely for the ball, they paid no heed to the splendor of their

jewels, nor to the effect which they themselves produced; all had been

arranged when they stood before their mirrors and put the last touches

on their toilets. Their faces showed no excitement or excessive

interest, and they danced with the grace and ease which unknown genius

has given to certain statues of antiquity.

The others, on the contrary, stamped with the mark of toil, retained

their vulgar attitudes, and amused themselves too heartily; their eyes

were full of inconsiderate curiosity; their voices ranged above the

low murmur which gives inimitable piquancy to the conversations of a

ball-room; above all, they had none of that composed impertinence

which contains the germs of epigram, nor the tranquil attitude which

characterizes those who are accustomed to maintain empire over

themselves. Thus Madame Rabourdin, Madame Jules, and Mademoiselle de

Fontaine, who had expected much amusement from the ball of their

perfumer, were detached from the background of the bourgeoisie about

them by their soft and easy grace, by the exquisite taste of their

dress and bearing,--just as three leading singers at an opera stand

out in relief from the stolid array of their supernumeraries. They

were watched with jealous, wondering eyes. Madame Roguin, Constance,

and Cesarine formed, as it were, a link which united the three types

of feminine aristocracy to the commercial figures about them.

There came, as there does at all balls, a moment when the animation of

the scene, the torrents of light, the gaiety, the music, the

excitement of dancing brought on a species of intoxication which puts

out of sight these gradations in the /crescendo/ of the /tutti/. The

ball was beginning to be noisy, and Mademoiselle de Fontaine made a

movement to retire; but when she looked about for the arm of her

venerable Vendeen, Birotteau, his wife, and daughter made haste to

prevent such a desertion of the aristocracy.

"There is a perfume of good taste about this appartement which really

amazes me," remarked that impertinent young woman to the perfumer. "I

congratulate you."

Birotteau was so intoxicated by compliments that he did not comprehend

her meaning; but his wife colored, and was at a loss how to reply.

"This is a national fete which does you honor," said Camusot.

"I have seldom seen such a ball," said Monsieur de la Billardiere, to

whom an official falsehood was of no consequence.

Birotteau took all these compliments seriously.

"What an enchanting scene! What a fine orchestra! Will you often give

us a ball?" said Madame Lebas.

"What a charming appartement! Is this your own taste?" said Madame

Desmarets.

Birotteau ventured on a fib, and allowed her to suppose that he had

designed it.

Cesarine, who was asked, of course, for all the dances, understood

very well Anselme's delicacy in that matter.

"If I thought only of my own wishes," he had whispered as they left

the dinner-table, "I should beg you to grant me the favor of a

quadrille; but my happiness would be too costly to our mutual self-

love."

Cesarine, who thought all men walked ungracefully if they stood

straight on their legs, was resolved to open the ball with Popinot.

Popinot, emboldened by his aunt, who told him to dare all, ventured to

tell his love to the charming girl, during the pauses of the

quadrille, using, however, the roundabout terms of a timid lover.

"My fortune depends on you, mademoiselle."

"And how?"

"There is but one hope that can enable me to make it."

"Then hope."

"Do you know what you have said to me in those two words?" murmured

Popinot.

"Hope for fortune," said Cesarine, with an arch smile.

"Gaudissart! Gaudissart!" exclaimed Anselme, when the quadrille was

over, pressing the arm of his friend with Herculean force. "Succeed,

or I'll blow my brains out! Success, and I shall marry Cesarine! she

has told me so: see how lovely she is!"

"Yes, she is prettily tricked out," said Gaudissart, "and rich. We'll

fry her in oil."

The good understanding between Mademoiselle Lourdois and Alexandre

Crottat, the promised successor to Roguin, was noticed by Madame

Birotteau, who could not give up without a pang the hope of seeing her

daughter the wife of a notary of Paris.

Uncle Pillerault, who had exchanged bows with little Molineux, seated

himself in an armchair near the bookshelves. He looked at the card-

players, listened to the conversations, and went to the doorway every

now and then to watch the oscillating bouquet of flowers formed by the

circling heads of the dancers in the /moulinet/. The expression of his

face was that of a true philosopher. The men were dreadful,--all, that

is, except du Tillet, who had acquired the manners of the great world,

little La Billardiere, a budding fashionable, Monsieur Desmarets, and

the official personages. But among all the faces, more or less

comical, from which the assemblage took its character, there was one

that was particularly washed-out, like a five-franc piece of the

Republic, and whose owner's apparel rendered him a curiosity. We guess

at once the little tyrant of the Cour Batave, arrayed with linen

yellowed by lying by in a cupboard, and exhibiting to the eye a shirt-

frill of lace that had been an heirloom, fastened with a bluish cameo

set as a pin; he wore short black-silk breeches which revealed the

skinny legs on which he boldly stood. Cesar showed him, triumphantly,

the four rooms constructed by the architect out of the first floors of

the two houses.

"Hey! hey! Well, it is your affair, Monsieur Birotteau," said

Molineux. "My first floor thus improved will be worth more than three

thousand francs to me."

Birotteau answered with a jest; but he was pricked as if with a pin at

the tone in which the little old man had pronounced the words.

"I shall soon have my first floor back again; the man will ruin

himself." Such was the real meaning of the speech which Molineux

delivered like the scratch of a claw.

The sallow face and vindictive eye of the old man struck du Tillet,

whose attention had first been attracted by a watch-chain from which

hung a pound of jingling gew-gaws, and by a green coat with a collar

whimsically cocked up, which gave the old man the semblance of a

rattlesnake. The banker approached the usurer to find out how and why

he had thus bedizened himself.

"There, monsieur," said Molineux, planting one foot in the boudoir, "I

stand upon the property of Monsieur le Comte de Grandville; but here,"

he added, showing the other, "I stand upon my own. I am the owner of

this house."

Molineux was so ready to lend himself to any one who would listen to

him, and so delighted by du Tillet's attentive manner, that he gave a

sketch of his life, related his habits and customs, told the improper

conduct of the Sieur Gendrin, and, finally, explained all his

arrangements with the perfumer, without which, he said, the ball could

not have been given.

"Ah! Monsieur Cesar let you settle the lease?" said du Tillet. "It is

contrary to his habits."

"Oh! I asked it of him. I am good to my tenants."

"If Pere Birotteau fails," thought du Tillet, "this little imp would

make an excellent assignee. His sharpness is invaluable; when he is

alone he must amuse himself by catching flies, like Domitian."

Du Tillet went to the card-table, where Claparon was already

stationed, under orders; Ferdinand thought that under shelter of a

game of /bouillotte/ his counterfeit banker might escape notice. Their

demeanor to each other was that of two strangers, and the most

suspicious man could have detected nothing that betrayed an

understanding between them. Gaudissart, who knew the career of

Claparon, dared not approach him after receiving a solemnly frigid

glance from the promoted commercial traveller which warned him that

the upstart banker was not to be recognized by any former comrade. The

ball, like a brilliant rocket, was extinguished by five o'clock in the

morning. At that hour only some forty hackney-coaches remained, out of

the hundred or more which had crowded the Rue Saint-Honore. Within,

they were dancing the /boulangere/, which has since been dethroned by

the cotillon and the English galop. Du Tillet, Roguin, Cardot junior,

the Comte de Grandville, and Jules Desmarets were playing at

/bouillotte/. Du Tillet won three thousand francs. The day began to

dawn, the wax lights paled, the players joined the dancers for a last

quadrille. In such houses the final scenes of a ball never pass off

without some impropriety. The dignified personages have departed; the

intoxication of dancing, the heat of the atmosphere, the spirits

concealed in the most innocent drinks, have mellowed the angularities

of the old women, who good-naturedly join in the last quadrille and

lend themselves to the excitement of the moment; the men are heated,

their hair, lately curled, straggles down their faces, and gives them

a grotesque expression which excites laughter; the young women grow

volatile, and a few flowers drop from their garlands. The bourgeois

Momus appears, followed by his revellers. Laughs ring loudly; all

present surrender to the amusement of the moment, knowing that on the

morrow toil will resume its sway. Matifat danced with a woman's bonnet

on his head; Celestin called the figures of the interminable country

dance, and some of the women beat their hands together excitedly at

the words of command.

"How they do amuse themselves!" cried the happy Birotteau.

"I hope they won't break anything," said Constance to her uncle.

"You have given the most magnificent ball I have ever seen, and I have

seen many," said du Tillet, bowing to his old master.

Among the eight symphonies of Beethoven there is a theme, glorious as

a poem, which dominates the finale of the symphony in C minor. When,

after slow preparations by the sublime magician, so well understood by

Habeneck, the enthusiastic leader of an orchestra raises the rich veil

with a motion of his hand and calls forth the transcendent theme

towards which the powers of music have all converged, poets whose

hearts have throbbed at those sounds will understand how the ball of

Cesar Birotteau produced upon his simple being the same effect that

this fecund harmony wrought in theirs,--an effect to which the

symphony in C minor owes its supremacy over its glorious sisters. A

radiant fairy springs forward, lifting high her wand. We hear the

rustle of the violet silken curtains which the angels raise.

Sculptured golden doors, like those of the baptistery at Florence,

turn on their diamond hinges. The eye is lost in splendid vistas: it

sees a long perspective of rare palaces where beings of a loftier

nature glide. The incense of all prosperities sends up its smoke, the

altar of all joy flames, the perfumed air circulates! Beings with

divine smiles, robed in white tunics bordered with blue, flit lightly

before the eyes and show us visions of supernatural beauty, shapes of

an incomparable delicacy. The Loves hover in the air and waft the

flames of their torches! We feel ourselves beloved; we are happy as we

breathe a joy we understand not, as we bathe in the waves of a harmony

that flows for all, and pours out to all the ambrosia that each

desires. We are held in the grasp of our secret hopes which are

realized, for an instant, as we listen. When he has led us through the

skies, the great magician, with a deep mysterious transition of the

basses, flings us back into the marshes of cold reality, only to draw

us forth once more when, thirsting for his divine melodies, our souls

cry out, "Again! Again!" The psychical history of that rare moment in

the glorious finale of the C minor symphony is also that of the

emotions excited by this fete in the souls of Cesar and of Constance.

The flute of Collinet sounded the last notes of their commercial

symphony.

Weary, but happy, the Birotteaus fell asleep in the early morning amid

echoes of the fete,--which for building, repairs, furnishing, suppers,

toilets, and the library (repaid to Cesarine), cost not less, though

Cesar was little aware of it, than sixty thousand francs. Such was the

price of the fatal red ribbon fastened by the king to the buttonhole

of an honest perfumer. If misfortunes were to overtake Cesar

Birotteau, this mad extravagance would be sufficient to arraign him

before the criminal courts. A merchant is amenable to the laws if, in

the event of bankruptcy, he is shown to have been guilty of "excessive

expenditure." It is perhaps more dreadful to go before the lesser

courts charged with folly or blundering mistakes, than before the

Court of Assizes for an enormous fraud. In the eyes of some people, it

is better to be criminal than a fool.