Chereads / The Adventures of Eloise / Chapter 26 - Chapter 26

Chapter 26 - Chapter 26

I now saw why Maurice was reticent in telling me his story.

Strangely enough, however, when I heard of his love for this girl who had a name so similar to mine, it wasn't jealousy that I felt, but only more affection for Maurice. He struck me as a generous and caring man, and I could not but admire his devotion to Louise.

I therefore asked him what happened after that first encounter, and how he came to find himself working in the small shop in Rennes.

Maurice therefore told me that that was not the last encounter he and Louise had. The two kept seeing each other, and, slowly, Louise began to show some tenderness towards Maurice.

Sometimes, she could be cruel and vain: to her, Maurice was nothing but a peasant; why couldn't she stop desiring him? Why did he attract her so?

Other times, she kissed him and called him her little pet. She brought him little presents because she had been thinking about him for days, and she hadn't been able to sleep, such was her attraction to this man.

Louis still only allowed Maurice to copulate with her through the rear, while barring entry to her front. This saddened Maurice, who believed that love had its natural nest in that place devoted to reproduction, where he could have embraced and kissed his lover. But Louise was immovable:

'I will need to approach the altar a virgin on my wedding day.'

'But,' Maurice demanded one day, 'what difference does it make? I will not care about it once we marry!'

Louise didn't answer him, but that question enraged her, and she left in a fury.

Maurice kept pressing the point, until, one day, Lousie laughed bitterly at this line of reasoning:

'I will never marry a pauper. I am my father's daughter. Don't you see you're only a pastime?'

This shouldn't have come as a surprise to Maurice. How could he aspire to such a precious gift? Between he and the object of his love was such a vast gulf that only a great fortune could bridge.

Maurice had an uncle and an aunt. His parents had told him about them. They worked in a city of the North. They had a little shop and no children to leave it to.

'If I stay, I will mind goats all my life.'

So, that night, he spoke to his parents and told them he wanted to try his luck. He would leave in the morning and find his way to Rennes. He would work as hard as any man had ever worked before. He would make money and return to marry Louise.

And so he did.

Maurice had been living with his relatives, salting pork meat, selling pickled eggs and veal stews, for a year now.

'My uncle said he will leave me the shop once he dies.'

'Will it be enough to convince Louise to marry you?' I asked.

Maurice sighed:

'I doubt it. Money is such a beast! When you have some, you desire more. I don't know that I will ever make enough to satisfy Louise. I cry every night, as I am more and more convinced that I will never see her again… But, tell me, Eloise, do you have any money?'

I happily informed him I had very little, and I was probably going to be destitute very soon.

'I am glad,' he said honestly for there was nothing that could part us.

*

My mother, as I said, had been busy meeting all the gentlemen she knew, and I was busy following her. When I wasn't out with her, I was with Maurice.

I now regret not paying attention to my brother's activities. While, on their first day, they appeared self-assured and counting on gaining meaningful employment shortly, as the week progressed, they appeared more dejected every day.

Every morning, they left the house to meet with this office or that guild, to pursue once again a certain gentleman who had made vague promised or to sit in an antechamber awaiting an opportunity to speak with somebody.

They never boasted anymore. In fact, they rarely spoke.

I believe my mother was keeping a close watch on them, and she may have been worried about their situation, but she also was concerned about her own future, and she never asked them about their progress.

Finally, the day of the party at Mr Aumont's arrived.

'Where are you going, Mother?' Blaise asked.

My mother was dressed in an expensive ball gown. This had been commissioned by a famous tailor in Rue de la Paix in Paris. It was spending in its mixture of colours and textures. With its darker tones, it reminded you of the sun setting over fields of flowers: all the hues that each blossom had was still visible, and yet everything was combined in an elegant carpet in the dusky air. The only bright accents came from her jewellery that adorned her neck and bosom, her wrists and ears. Even her blonde hair was made even more resplendent from the pearls and garnets that were woven through its curls.

The effect was spending, and her skin, which appeared even more pale and delicate from the contrast with the dress, was redolent of many fragrances that turned this summer night into autumnal sensuality.

'Your sister and I have an engagement this evening,' my mother said simply.

I had been instructed to attire myself in a similar fashion, although I doubt I could achieve the same breathtaking effect that she had so expertly concocted.

Now, my brothers were looking at me, taking in the effect. There was something in our show of our past wealth that clearly indisposed Armand and Blaise. They raised their eyebrows, as if the same thought had sprung simultaneously in their minds.

Armand, always so bold, said what troubled him:

'I see that, while my brother and I wear out the soles of our shoes, walking the boulevards all days, knocking on doors, looking for ways to sustain the family, the women of the house have spent the days making themselves pretty and have only the next quadrille in mind.'

My mother gave him a look of such disdain that I feared what she might say, but soon that emotion that had appeared so suddenly, prompted by the words of my brother, vanished. Instead, she smiled at him. Then, she asked him:

'Doesn't it look so, my dear Armand?'

Those words, that tone, her unconcerned expression seemed to enrage Armand, for they said: you're but a child, and she couldn't be mad at him.

'Mother, I believe you are behaving disgracefully,' he said.

My mother turned to me and informed me we were late. Certainly, the carriage was already waiting for us.

I marvelled at the fact she had called for a cab, but I could see that she wanted to make the greatest impression on the other guests who were also attending the ball that evening.

When Mother and I were finally seated inside the carriage, and the horses were trotting at a good pace, she spoke:

'Dear Eloise, you have lived a sheltered life so far. The diversions of the country are so much simpler and more innocent than what passes even in the most modest house in a big town. Everything is more elaborate. Everything needs to be new and never seen before. Everything needs to make a big effect, so that we can all talk about it for days and weeks. Do not be alarmed by what you might see: observe and learn, instead. Live as they all live, and, if you can, be more elegant, more extravagant, and more daring than everyone else. And, above all, condone what is excused and criticise all that is scorned.'

These words worried me, so that I held my mother's hand tightly.

She allowed me this, but, after a moment, she took back her hand:

'Eloise, shyness is the virtue of the stupid. If you cannot find strength in yourself, if you still need your mother's comfort, God protect you.' Then, with a smile, she added: 'Courage, my girl! An evening ball has never killed anybody.'

We arrived at large building where Mr Aumont lived. A line of carriages cluttered the road; the façade was brightly lit by many gas lamps; and various people in dinner jackets and elegant gowns lingered before the large entry door.

We walked in, and Mother dragged me through the crowd.

'Let's look for our host,' she said.

Mr Aumont was surrounded by people: everybody seemed to be waiting for a to speak and be noticed, and each word Mr Aumont said caused great hilarity among his audience. When this gentleman saw my mother, he exclaimed:

'My dear Countess!'

Everybody turned.

Some men bowed. The ladies whispered.

'And your charming daughter,' Mr Aumont added.

We were then introduced to various people. There was a great confusion: people were chatting, there were games of cards being played at the tables, the glasses filled with wines of all colours were clinking, some musicians were playing, and various people were dancing.

A lady took Mother under her arm, and the two began chatting.

I tried to keep up, but the guests were pushing in all directions, laughing, and talking loudly, until I lost track of my mother.

'I see you came,' a cold voice said.

I turned and saw Juliette, Mr Aumont's daughter.

I wondered if she implied any surprise that I had come after all, or if she was happy to see someone her age.

Juliette took my arm, and we began walking through the rooms.

'That is Mr Laurent. He has made a fortune with the Coulisse. He has a pretty wife, but he beats her, on account of him being a homosexual.' Then, she turned towards me and asked: 'Do you have homosexuals in the country?'

I was quite confused by this question, as I had never heard it before.

'I believe you have much to learn,' she continued, rejoicing in my ignorance. 'You see, it is quite natural for two women to be attracted to one another: I myself have collected quite a few, and this hasn't precluded me from pursuing men with equal desire. But, when a man loves another man, this attraction weakens his character. Mr Laurent keeps a young man in a place a few doors down from his own house, but he's forced to keep appearances and to sleep in the same bed with his wife, to share meals with her, and to be seen in public with her. The poor man has even had five children with her! He must have been quite disgusted by the whole process: he probably regards her as some hideous beast, and what he does with her must have been the most revolting act. And so, he beats the poor woman, such is his hatred for what he has to do with her.'

I nodded, indicating I understood this point.

Juliette was pleased that her explanation had made an impression on me. She continued therefore to impose her knowledge of the society of Rennes.

'That is the Prince of ***. He comes from Italy. I doubt he is a price, but he has the confidence of many of the ladies of the city, and he can always find an invitation to events like this. I have heard great tales of his prowess, and I'm not sure why our paths haven't crossed yet. He's penniless, of course. I believe he can be bought for very little.'

She proceeded to indicate a man of thirty, dark of visage, with a stern look in his eyes. He was conversing with a woman of no less than five-and-sixty, who seemed very captivated by him. She was stroking the buttons on his jacket. He appeared quite uninterested, bored in fact, but allowed her to continue.

'And there is Mr Laurent,' she continued with a tone that signalled more disgust than she normally had for the general public. 'Not his real surname, of course: he dropped Bloch and bought Laurent. This was convenient for him, and for everyone, Father included, who wished to have closer dealings with that… gentleman.'

I gathered from her tone she didn't much approve of Mr Laurent, probably on account of his religion. Remembering that the gentleman she was speaking of had the same faith as my deceased father, I felt even more antagonistic towards Juliette. I also felt some pity for Mr Laurent, as it appeared to me that he could not make anybody enough money for these people to regard him as one of them.

Juliette then whispered, as her final assault to this gentleman's character:

'He won't fool anyone though: his three sons are all circumcised. I had to check myself: one, two, three… no hood to keep their soldiers warm!'

She continued in this fashion, disparaging everybody and commenting on their secret vices, until it was time to sit down for dinner.

We were then led to a very large greenhouse at the back of the house. Inside, was a long table that sat probably as many as a hundred guests. The smell of the tropical plants was overpowering and made one dizzy, so that I felt my appetite wane.

Juliette had me sitting next to her. I was surprised to see I was the only girl her age at the table: this odious girl, for all her money, didn't have many friends to sit with, and she certainly didn't have anyone else but me to listen to her incessant gossip.

'Who is that lady?' I asked her, pointing towards a showy woman who was sitting next to Mr Aumont.

'That's Madame Vasilieva, the famous soprano. You must have heard of her!'

Mr Aumont was smiling towards this woman and, with a finger, was playing with her necklace, occasionally running it on the surface of her large breasts.

'I think he's been sleeping with her for a year, now,' Juliette said, without any particular tone.

This confession, and the casual way in which it was delivered, shocked me, and I couldn't help but ask:

'And your mother?'

Juliette smiled at my innocence:

'There!'

Sitting on the other side next to Mr Aumont, was another woman, who seemed quite unconcerned about her husband's confidence with the famous soprano.

'She'll probably retire early. I can see Father is getting a little tipsy, and Mother gets bored with it.'

I then remembered my mother's advice to watch and learn without criticising, so I made a great show of smiling and pretending I found nothing extraordinary about this arrangement. After all, I also had to remind myself that the same had happened in my family, although my parents took great care of hiding these activities from plain view.

But those were the provincial ways of the country.

In the high society of the city, it appeared, secrecy was not necessary. In fact, it was probably fashionable to appear tolerant of one's partner's proclivities.

'Isn't Madame Vasilieva remarkable?' Juliette asked me. 'I like her very much.'

I said indeed she was: this woman was tall, with a long square face; her eyes were wide and blue, and her hair was voluminous and mostly grey, with only a few blonde streaks. She made no attempt to conceal her age and, in fact, accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes with dark and smoky makeup. Not at all what one would expect an older gentleman to choose as his mistress, but hadn't Mr Aumont told my mother of his preference for mature ladies who showed their age?

'I don't believe your mother has many chances with Father,' Juliette told me.

The girl obviously knew what had passed between my mother and her father. This made me blush deeply, even though I was certain Juliette found this to be quite natural.