The Lesser Bourgeoisie - Honore de Balzac (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📗
- Author: Honore de Balzac
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only obeying the law of self-interest. Our friend Thuillier is in
despair at being a nobody; he has taken it into his head that he wants
to become a personage in this arrondissement--"
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Minard.
"Oh! nothing very exalted; he wants to be elected to the municipal
council. Now, I know that Phellion, seeing the influence such a
service would have on his family interests, intends to propose your
poor friend as candidate. Well, perhaps you might think it wise, in
your own interests, to be beforehand with him. Thuillier's nomination
could only be favorable for you--I mean agreeable; and he'll fill his
place in the council very well; there are some there who are not as
strong as he. Besides, owing to his place to your support, he will see
with your eyes; he already looks to you as one of the lights of the
town."
"My dear fellow, I thank you very much," replied Minard. "You are
doing me a service I cannot sufficiently acknowledge, and which proves
to me--"
"That I don't like those Phellions," said la Peyrade, taking advantage
of a slight hesitation on the part of the mayor, who feared to express
an idea in which the lawyer might see contempt. "I hate people who
make capital out of their honesty and coin money from fine
sentiments."
"You know them well," said Minard; "they are sycophants. That man's
whole life for the last ten years is explained by this bit of red
ribbon," added the mayor, pointing to his own buttonhole.
"Take care!" said the lawyer, "his son is in love with Celeste, and
he's fairly in the heart of the family."
"Yes, but my son has twelve thousand a year in his own right."
"Oh!" said Theodose, with a start, "Mademoiselle Brigitte was saying
the other day that she wanted at least as much as that in Celeste's
suitor. Moreover, six months hence you'll probably hear that Thuillier
has a property worth forty thousand francs a year."
"The devil! well, I thought as much. Yes, certainly, he shall be made
a member of the municipal council."
"In any case, don't say anything about me to him," said the advocate
of the poor, who now hastened away to speak to Madame Phellion. "Well,
my fair lady," he said, when he reached her, "have you succeeded?"
"I waited till four o'clock, and then that worthy and excellent man
would not let me finish what I had to say. He is much to busy to
accept such an office, and he sent a letter which Monsieur Phellion
has read, saying that he, Doctor Bianchon, thanked him for his good
intentions, and assured him that his own candidate was Monsieur
Thuillier. He said that he should use all his influence in his favor,
and begged my husband to do the same."
"And what did your excellent husband say?"
"'I have done my duty,' he said. 'I have not been false to my
conscience, and now I am all for Thuillier.'"
"Well, then, the thing is settled," said la Peyrade. "Ignore my visit,
and take all the credit of the idea to yourselves."
Then he went to Madame Colleville, composing himself in the attitude
and manner of the deepest respect.
"Madame," he said, "have the goodness to send out to me here that
kindly papa Colleville. A surprise is to be given to Monsieur
Thuillier, and I want Monsieur Colleville to be in the secret."
While la Peyrade played the part of man of the world with Colleville,
and allowed himself various witty sarcasms when explaining to him
Thuillier's candidacy, telling him he ought to support it, if only to
exhibit his incapacity, Flavie was listening in the salon to the
following conversation, which bewildered her for the moment and made
her ears ring.
"I should like to know what Monsieur Colleville and Monsieur de la
Peyrade can be saying to each other to make them laugh like that,"
said Madame Thuillier, foolishly, looking out of the window.
"A lot of improper things, as men always do when they talk together,"
replied Mademoiselle Thuillier, who often attacked men with the sort
of instinct natural to old maids.
"No, they are incapable of that," said Phellion, gravely. "Monsieur de
la Peyrade is one of the most virtuous young men I have ever met.
People know what I think of Felix; well, I put the two on the same
line; indeed, I wish my son had a little more of Monsieur de la
Peyrade's beautiful piety."
"You are right; he is a man of great merit, who is sure to succeed,"
said Minard. "As for me, my suffrages--for I really ought not to say
protection--are his."
"He pays more for oil than for bread," said Dutocq. "I know that."
"His mother, if he has the happiness to still possess her, must be
proud of him," remarked Madame Thuillier, sententiously.
"He is a real treasure for us," said Thuillier. "If you only knew how
modest he is! He doesn't do himself justice."
"I can answer for one thing," added Dutocq; "no young man ever
maintained a nobler attitude in poverty; he triumphed over it; but he
suffered--it is easy to see that."
"Poor young man!" cried Zelie. "Such things make my heart ache!"
"Any one could safely trust both secrets and fortune to him," said
Thuillier; "and in these days that is the finest thing that can be
said of a man."
"It is Colleville who is making him laugh," cried Dutocq.
Just then Colleville and la Peyrade returned from the garden the very
best friends in the world.
"Messieurs," said Brigitte, "the soup and the King must never be kept
waiting; give your hand to the ladies."
Five minutes after this little pleasantry (issuing from the lodge of
her father the porter) Brigitte had the satisfaction of seeing her
table surrounded by the principal personages of this drama; the rest,
with the one exception of the odious Cerizet, arrived later.
The portrait of the former maker of canvas money-bags would be
incomplete if we omitted to give a description of one of her best
dinners. The physiognomy of the bourgeois cook of 1840 is, moreover,
one of those details essentially necessary to a history of manners and
customs, and clever housewives may find some lessons in it. A woman
doesn't make empty bags for twenty years without looking out for the
means to fill a few of them. Now Brigitte had one peculiar
characteristic. She united the economy to which she owed her fortune
with a full understanding of necessary expenses. Her relative
prodigality, when it concerned her brother or Celeste, was the
antipodes of avarice. In fact, she often bemoaned herself that she
couldn't be miserly. At her last dinner she had related how, after
struggling ten minute and enduring martyrdom, she had ended by giving
ten francs to a poor workwoman whom she knew, positively, had been
without food for two days.
"Nature," she said naively, "is stronger than reason."
The soup was a rather pale bouillon; for, even on an occasion like
this, the cook had been enjoined to make a great deal of bouillon out
of the beef supplied. Then, as the said beef was to feed the family on
the next day and the day after that, the less juice it expended in the
bouillon, the more substantial were the subsequent dinners. The beef,
little cooked, was always taken away at the following speech from
Brigitte, uttered as soon as Thuillier put his knife into it:--
"I think it is rather tough; send it away, Thuillier, nobody will eat
it; we have other things."
The soup was, in fact, flanked by four viands mounted on old hot-water
chafing-dishes, with the plating worn off. At this particular dinner
(afterwards called that of the candidacy) the first course consisted
of a pair of ducks with olives, opposite to which was a large pie with
forcemeat balls, while a dish of eels "a la tartare" corresponded in
like manner with a fricandeau on chicory. The second course had for
its central dish a most dignified goose stuffed with chestnuts, a
salad of vegetables garnished with rounds of beetroot opposite to
custards in cups, while lower down a dish of turnips "au sucre" faced
a timbale of macaroni. This gala dinner of the concierge type cost, at
the utmost, twenty francs, and the remains of the feast provided the
household for a couple of days; nevertheless, Brigitte would say:--
"Pest! when one has to have company how the money goes! It is
fearful!"
The table was lighted by two hideous candlesticks of plated silver
with four branches each, in which shone eight of those thrifty
wax-candles that go by the name of Aurora. The linen was dazzling
in whiteness, and the silver, with beaded edges, was the fruit,
evidently, of some purchase made during the Revolution by Thuillier's
father. Thus the fare and the service were in keeping with the house,
the dining-room, and the Thuilliers themselves, who could never, under
any circumstances, get themselves above this style of living. The
Minards, Collevilles, and la Peyrade exchanged now and then a smile
which betrayed their mutually satirical but repressed thoughts. La
Peyrade, seated beside Flavie, whispered in her ear:--
"You must admit that they ought to be taught how to live. But those
Minards are no better in their way. What cupidity! they've come here
solely after Celeste. Your daughter will be lost to you if you let
them have her. These parvenus have all the vices of the great lords of
other days without their elegance. Minard's son, who has twelve
thousand francs a year of his own, could very well find a wife
elsewhere, instead of pushing his speculating rake in here. What fun
it would be to play upon those people as one would on a bass-viol or a
clarionet!"
While the dishes of the second course were being removed, Minard,
afraid that Phellion would precede him, said to Thuillier with a grave
air:--
"My dear Thuillier, in accepting your dinner, I did so for the purpose
of making an important communication, which does you so much honor
that all here present ought to be made participants in it."
Thuillier turned pale.
"Have you obtained the cross for me?" he cried, on receiving a glance
from Theodose, and wishing to prove that he was not without craft.
"You will doubtless receive it ere long," replied the mayor. "But the
matter now relates to something better than that. The cross is a favor
due to the good opinion of a minister, whereas the present question
concerns an election due to the consent of your fellow citizens. In a
word, a sufficiently large number of electors in your arrondissement
have cast their eyes upon you, and wish to honor you with their
confidence by making you the representative of this arrondissement in
the municipal council of Paris; which, as everybody knows, is the
Council-general of the Seine."
"Bravo!" cried Dutocq.
Phellion rose.
"Monsieur le maire has forestalled me," he said in an agitated voice,
"but it is so flattering for our friend to be the object of eagerness
on the part of all good citizens, and to obtain the public vote of
high and low, that I cannot complain of being obliged to come second
only; therefore, all honor to the initiatory authority!" (Here he
bowed respectfully to Minard.) "Yes, Monsieur Thuillier, many electors
think of giving you their votes in that portion of the arrondissement
where I keep my humble penates; and you have the special advantage of
being suggested to their minds by a distinguished man." (Sensation.)
"By a man in whose person we desired to honor one of the most virtuous
inhabitants of the arrondissement, who for twenty years, I may say,
was the father of it. I allude to the late Monsieur Popinot,
counsellor, during his lifetime, to the Royal court, and our delegate
in the municipal council of Paris. But his nephew, of whom I speak,
Doctor Bianchon, one of our glories, has, in view of his absorbing
duties, declined the responsibility with which we sought to invest
him. While thanking us for our compliment he has--take note of
this--indicated for our suffrages the candidate of Monsieur le maire
as being, in his opinion, capable, owing to the position he formerly
occupied, of exercising the magisterial functions of the aedileship."
And Phellion sat down amid approving murmurs.
"Thuillier, you can count on me, your old friend," said Colleville.
At this moment the guests were sincerely touched by the sight
presented of old Mademoiselle Brigitte and Madame Thuillier. Brigitte,
pale as though she were fainting, was letting the slow tears run,
unheeded, down her cheeks, tears of deepest joy; while Madame
Thuillier sat, as if struck by lightning, with her eyes fixed.
Suddenly the old maid darted into the kitchen, crying out to Josephine
the cook:--
"Come into the cellar my girl, we must get out the wine behind the
wood!"
"My friends," said Thuillier, in a shaking voice, "this is the finest
moment of my life, finer than even
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