Chapter IV: Two Well-Known Young Men

Two young men had, in fact, stopped in front of the pretty flower girl’s booth; each of them was from twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age; their eccentric costumes marked them out as dandies, or at least as persons who strove to appear to be such.

Especially the shorter one, who wore plaid trousers of very bright colors, each plaid being so large that a single one extended from the thigh to the calf; his light sack coat hardly came below his waist, and when he bent forward a little, disclosed the whole seat of his trousers. He wore on his head a broad-brimmed gray hat with a long nap; and he had stuck in one eye a small bit of glass, set in tortoise shell, which, when not in use, hung down over his waistcoat of buff piqué, at the end of a black ribbon. He was, for all this dandified equipment, a very good-looking youth, with black eyes, a shapely aquiline nose, a small mouth with red lips, fine teeth, a pretty pink and white complexion, a little dimple in his chin, very light whiskers, a pointed beard, and with all that, a stupid expression which was not in the least misleading.

This young man had been a clerk in a business house with a salary of eight hundred francs, and a slight bonus at the end of the year; at that time, as may be imagined, his dress was much less elegant, and it was difficult for him to follow the fashions. But a distant relative died, and unexpectedly left him sixty thousand francs in cash. This unhoped-for fortune, which enabled him to gratify his dearest wishes, his fondest hopes, had almost turned his brain.

First of all, he began by correcting his certificates of baptism; his name was Benoît Canard, a name which struck the ear unpleasantly, and had nothing romantic or refined about it; he adopted the name of Alfred de Saint-Arthur, which was certain to attract the attention of the ladies. When a man’s name is Alfred de Saint-Arthur, he must inevitably belong to the _haute_, as the lorettes of the Bréda quarter say.

Next, Alfred soon resigned his place, hired a dainty apartment, purchased a cabriolet and a horse, and patronized one of the first tailors in Paris; he affected the society of actresses, choosing those who were most talked about, and who had led their lovers into the most follies; for, although Monsieur Alfred de Saint-Arthur had some inclination for that life of dissipation, of parade and extravagances which some favorites of fortune lead, and which is excusable only in those who really have the means to support it, the thing that especially delighted the young man was to show himself, to put himself in evidence with a fashionable woman, to display himself in the proscenium box of a theatre, or in a calèche in the Bois du Boulogne; to make a great noise when he entered a restaurant, to declare all the private rooms inconvenient, to shout at the waiters, to find fault with everything, always to talk very loud, so that everybody might hear him, to smoke only eight sou cigars, and to see everybody turn to look at him when he was out driving.

In a word, what Alfred desired was to create a sensation; the same pleasures, enjoyed in private, without show, without witnesses, or in curtained boxes at the theatre, would have seemed to him tasteless, insipid and of no account; but to attract attention, to cause a sensation, to be noticed on entering a theatre or a concert hall, was to him supreme happiness. He did not suspect that many people said when they saw him:

“They say that he has already run through thirty thousand francs with her!”

“I believe him to be quite enough of a fool for that! Indeed, he looks it!”

“What an utterly absurd costume!”

And it was to procure this reputation that young Alfred had run through more than thirty thousand francs in one year; that was more than half of the fortune he had inherited. If he continued to live in the same way, he had not enough for another year; but once started on the path of folly, some people keep on, not knowing how to stop. The crash which awaits them, and in which they will involve some too confiding friends, is there before them, inevitable, if they persist in following the same road; they know it, and still they go on. Are they fools or knaves? they necessarily deserve both titles.

The other individual was not so good-looking as Monsieur Alfred de Saint-Arthur, but he had not his stupid look; indeed, there was in his eyes a shrewd expression which sometimes turned to mockery. Neither his trousers nor his coat were so exaggerated as his friend’s, but all the world did not turn to look at him; he had no fashionable mistress upon whom he squandered money, but he strove to be on the best terms with the mistresses of his friends; he did not waste his fortune, because he had none, and he had not left his place, because he had never had any.

However, as one must needs try, in society, to have some talent, some profession, or some rank, in default of fortune, Jéricourt had become an author. He had not stopped to consider whether he had the necessary vocation and intellect for that; he had said to himself: “I propose to be an author;” and as one ordinarily effects his purpose by dint of perseverance and unbounded self-assurance, Jéricourt, by persistently frequenting the café where the young men who write for the stage ordinarily gather, had insinuated himself among them, playing billiards with one, dominoes with another; he had become one of their intimates, and then had begun to talk of plays, of plots, of original ideas which he claimed to have had; and when someone would say to him:

“That is old, that subject has already been treated fifty times!” he would exclaim:

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be treated fifty-one times! A thing that has succeeded so often will succeed again. It is mere folly to try to do something new; one risks failure; whereas, by following roads already marked out, one is certain to arrive without hindrance.”

Jéricourt found people of his opinion; and thus it was that he became an author by revamping what others had done before him. And he ended by believing himself to be an inventor, a man of genius, and by making idiots of the type of his friend Saint-Arthur believe it also. The number of fools is infinite!

“Well, my pretty flower girl, I must have a wonderful, a stupendous bouquet!” said Alfred, halting in front of Violette; “it’s for a lady who knows what’s what, and who has already had the most beautiful bouquets that are made in Paris,--isn’t that so, Jéricourt?--_Sapristi!_ I haven’t a cigar; Jéricourt, my dear fellow, make me a cigarette, will you?”

“You don’t like them.”

“Ah! it is true that I have become so accustomed to panatelas--I say! look at that little woman yonder! She turned around to look at me. If I weren’t in such a hurry, I’d follow her.”

“Aha! would you be unfaithful to Zizi Dutaillis?”

“Oh! pardieu! a little amourette of a moment.--Make me a cigarette.--Well, flower girl! you don’t show me anything.”

“Why, monsieur, you see what I have; choose for yourself.”

“Choose for myself! why, all this stuff is horrible! these bouquets are good for nobody but circus riders! I don’t want any of these. I told you that I wanted something wonderful, such a bouquet as never yet was seen.”

“I will make you up one!”

“All right! but hurry. Zizi is waiting for me, and she doesn’t like to wait; her nerves are all upset when I am late.”

“Here’s your cigarette.”

“Thanks, my boy. Have you fire?”

“Always, when I am before this fascinating flower girl. Pray look at those eyes! did you ever see anything more alluring?”

“True! for a flower girl’s eyes, they are very fair.”

“And that nose, that mouth, and that cruel air, which would be so becoming to her if it were not genuine!”

“Ah! mademoiselle is cruel, is she?”

“Alas! yes, my dear Alfred.--Would you believe that for nearly a month I have been sighing at her feet, and without making any progress?”

“The deuce, my boy, you don’t know how to go about it! You tempt me to try my hand with the flower girl. If I should undertake it, I will wager that the affair would go faster,--eh, my girl?”

As he spoke, Alfred tried to take Violette’s arm; but she struck him across the fingers with a bunch of roses and lilacs that she held; and as there were some thorns in the bunch, the young dandy made a wry face as he withdrew his hand.

“_Bigre!_ she has scratched my fingers! Is this flower girl a Lucretia?”

“I told you that she resisted me, and yet you choose to meddle!”

“She plays the prude; but if I had time! I am terribly afraid of being late. Zizi will be angry; she plays to-night, and she is much more nervous when she plays! You are coming to dine with us, Jéricourt, are you not?”

“Impossible.”

“Bah! why impossible?”

“Because I dine with this lovely girl, with the flower girl.--Isn’t it true, Violette, that you will dine with me to-day?”

“Monsieur, I thought that I answered you the other day in such a way that you would not give me any more such invitations.”

“My dear love, you are too fascinating to remain virtuous long; why shouldn’t you give me the preference? I will give you your own apartment, pretty furniture, pretty dresses; the theatre every evening; that’s the life that awaits you!”

“I prefer to sell my bouquets, monsieur.”

“That’s absurd! Unless you have some passion that closes your heart to me, you ought to yield to me.”

“No, monsieur, I feel no sort of obligation to you.”

“Ha! ha! ha! poor Jéricourt! he fails in his suit to a flower girl! That will make Zizi laugh! I’ll tell her at dinner.--I say, my pretty girl, don’t make my bouquet all white, please. The other day I offered one like that to Zizi, and she declared that it looked like a cauliflower.”

“There, monsieur, how is this? Do you like it?”

“Why, yes, it isn’t bad; it has some style! I think that it will produce an effect.--Come,--Jéricourt, as Mademoiselle Violette refuses to dine with you, it seems to me that you can accept my invitation. If I don’t bring you, Zizi will be sulky; she is much livelier when you are there; that is easily understood, for you make her laugh, you make puns, and she declares that there is no such thing as a good dinner without puns.”

“I tell you again, Alfred, that Mademoiselle Violette will not be inexorable; why, I propose to launch her in society, to make her the fashion, for I have all the small newspapers at my disposal.”

“He is telling you the truth, my girl, and the small newspapers are the only ones that are read nowadays, for they are much more amusing than the large ones. For my part, I know nothing better than the _Tintamarre_! Dieu! the _Tintamarre_; there’s a newspaper that always drives away the blues! I learn puns from it and I repeat them to Zizi; but unfortunately I don’t remember them very well, so that she doesn’t understand them.--Ah! what a beautiful bouquet!--Well, my dear fellow, will you come?”

And the pretty young man with the light whiskers, holding his enormous bouquet in one hand, tried with the other to lead away his friend, who, half leaning over the flower girl’s counter, was gazing at her with his face close to hers, although she did her utmost to move away from him.

It was at this moment that Chicotin Patatras, who had spied one of his cronies a few steps from Violette’s booth, ran to him and tripped him up,--a method of beginning a conversation decidedly fashionable among street urchins. The friend, taken by surprise, fell upon the sidewalk, and as he rose, saw Chicotin laughing and making fun of him, and apparently challenging him to retaliate. He immediately started to run after him, which was what young Patatras hoped that he would do. When he saw that his comrade was about to overtake him, he jumped back in such a way as to collide with the persons who stood in front of Violette’s booth.

Chicotin had hoped to fall on Jéricourt, but having failed to calculate the distance accurately, he collided violently with the young dandy, Alfred de Saint-Arthur. The shock was so sudden and so unexpected by Alfred, whose back was turned to the passers-by, that he fell forward with his face against the flower girl’s wares; and as the counter was not strong enough to hold the weight of his body, it collapsed under the young man.

Violette uttered a loud exclamation when she saw her flowers scattered over the concrete, and Monsieur de Saint-Arthur apparently trying to swim among them.

Jéricourt, taken by surprise by this unexpected mishap, also received a kick or two from Chicotin, for the latter, still pursued by his comrade, who finally overtook him, began with him a struggle which was all in jest, but in which, although they were merely fooling, the young men dealt each other blows so lustily applied that everybody who was near them received some.

“Will you stop, or go somewhere else and fight, you clowns?” cried Jéricourt. “Just look at what you have done! All of the girl’s flowers are on the ground!”

“Ah! it’s that good-for-nothing Patatras again!” said Violette; “he is always doing something of the kind; he must always be making trouble somewhere! It’s outrageous; I am going to complain to the inspector.”

“Oh, I beg pardon, excuse me, Mamzelle Violette,” said Chicotin, rising, “you must know that I didn’t fall against your stall on purpose. It’s Chopard’s fault; why did he chase me when I tried to get out of the way behind your customers?”

“Why did you come and trip me up when I wasn’t saying anything to you?”

“I’ll do it again when I choose, you long _bobêche_!”

“Oh, yes! just come and try! I’ll show you!”

“Sapristi! are you going to begin again, you scoundrels, instead of picking up these bouquets which you knocked down?”

“But your friend has fallen too, monsieur, and he doesn’t get up!--Help him! Perhaps he’s hurt himself!”

At these words from Violette, Jéricourt condescended at last to pay some attention to his companion; with the assistance of Chicotin, he succeeded, not without difficulty, in placing him on his feet; for Alfred was almost suffocated; two rosebuds had been forced into each nostril, and had entered far enough to close them hermetically; and as he had in addition a bunch of gilly-flowers over his mouth, he could not breathe at all, and was beginning to turn purple. Once upon his feet, he opened his mouth as if he proposed to swallow everything in his neighborhood, and shook his head to try to rid himself of the two rosebuds, whose thorny stems tickled the lower part of his face unpleasantly. But he could not succeed; Jéricourt had to pull one of the stems and Chicotin the other, to uncork his nose. This operation was not performed without a number of shrieks from Monsieur de Saint-Arthur, but his nose at last recovered its air current, and everybody’s mind was at ease.

When the young dandy recovered all his faculties, the thing that troubled him most was that he had broken one of his suspenders, and that his trousers on that side were not held in place.

“All sorts of misfortunes at once,” cried Alfred; “I have broken my left suspender. But who was it, then, who came down on me like a bomb and pushed me onto that counter?”

“Excuse me, master, my excellency, I did it by accident, and not on purpose, for I was fooling with Chopard.”

“What, you scoundrel, was it you?--Ah! I recognize you; I have employed you more than once.”

“Oh! I remember very well! You are one of those generous and distinguished gentlemen that a man doesn’t forget. I have often opened your carriage door, master, and you are always with such pretty ladies, ladies from the theatre, and so well dressed, that everybody looks at you. Shall I wait at Monsieur Bonvalet’s, master, to see if you want to send me to find out how far they’ve got in the play?”

“All right, all right, we’ll see. After all, as he didn’t do it on purpose--And my bouquet, what became of that in the scrimmage?”

“Here it is, monsieur,” said Violette; “luckily nothing happened to it.”

“It’s my broken suspender that worries me most; my trousers are all creased on that side! I’d give thirty francs for a pair of suspenders.”

“Would you like mine, master?”

“No, thanks! That would look nice!”

“I’ll go and buy you a pair at the druggist’s on Rue du Temple.”

“What does the idiot say?” muttered Jéricourt; “suspenders at a druggist’s! do you propose to buy them made of marshmallow paste?”

“At all events I can’t stop here any longer,” cried Alfred; “Zizi will make a horrible row; she will be in an infernal humor; and if she sees that my trousers are creased, it will be much worse! And she will see it, for she always looks at them first when I join her; she is so particular about dress; she said to me once: ‘A man who doesn’t have morocco straps to his boots shall never step foot inside my door!’--Well, Jéricourt, are you coming?”

Tall Jéricourt decided at last to go away with his friend; for the flower girl, busily engaged in picking up her flowers, did not seem disposed to laugh, and he saw that he must needs abandon the idea of being listened to for that day at least. So he walked away, arm-in-arm with Alfred de Saint-Arthur, who, as he walked, did his utmost to hold his trousers up. When he saw the two young men take their leave, Chicotin Patatras nodded his head to Georget, who was not very far away, and who answered with a smile. And Violette, as she tried to replace her flowers in order upon her counter, did not fail to notice that pantomime.