A Start in Life [53]
must take another course. I have three children,
and I ought to consider their future. At present I do not know
what to do; but I shall certainly endeavor to make the count aware
of what seventeen years of the life of a man like myself is worth.
Owning at the present moment about two hundred and fifty thousand
francs, I want to raise myself to a fortune which may some day
make me the equal of his Excellency. At this moment I feel within
me the power to move mountains and vanquish insurmountable
difficulties. What a lever is such a scene of bitter humiliation
as I have just passed through! Whose blood has Oscar in his veins?
His conduct has been that of a blockhead; up to this moment when I
write to you, he has not said a word nor answered, even by a sign,
the questions my wife and I have put to him. Will he become an
idiot? or is he one already? Dear friend, why did you not instruct
him as to his behavior before you sent him to me? How many
misfortunes you would have spared me, had you brought him here
yourself as I begged you to do. If Estelle alarmed you, you might
have stayed at Moisselles. However, the thing is done, and there
is no use talking about it.
Adieu; I shall see you soon.
Your devoted servant and friend,
Moreau
At eight o'clock that evening, Madame Clapart, just returned from a
walk she had taken with her husband, was knitting winter socks for
Oscar, by the light of a single candle. Monsieur Clapart was expecting
a friend named Poiret, who often came in to play dominoes, for never
did he allow himself to spend an evening at a cafe. In spite of the
prudent economy to which his small means forced him, Clapart would not
have answered for his temperance amid a luxury of food and in presence
of the usual guests of a cafe whose inquisitive observation would have
piqued him.
"I'm afraid Poiret came while we were out," said Clapart to his wife.
"Why, no, my friend; the portress would have told us so when we came
in," replied Madame Clapart.
"She may have forgotten it."
"What makes you think so?"
"It wouldn't be the first time she has forgotten things for us,--for
God knows how people without means are treated."
"Well," said the poor woman, to change the conversation and escape
Clapart's cavilling, "Oscar must be at Presles by this time. How he
will enjoy that fine house and the beautiful park."
"Oh! yes," snarled Clapart, "you expect fine things of him; but, mark
my words, there'll be squabbles wherever he goes."
"Will you never cease to find fault with that poor child?" said the
mother. "What has he done to you? If some day we should live at our
ease, we may owe it all to him; he has such a good heart--"
"Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow makes his way in the
world," cried Clapart. "You don't know your own child; he is
conceited, boastful, deceitful, lazy, incapable of--"
"Why don't you go to meet Poiret?" said the poor mother, struck to the
heart by the diatribe she had brought upon herself.
"A boy who has never won a prize at school!" continued Clapart.
To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes means the certainty
of a fine future for the fortunate child.
"Did you win any?" asked his wife. "Oscar stood second in philosophy."
This remark imposed silence for a moment on Clapart; but presently he
began again.
"Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, you know why. She'll
try to set her husband against him. Oscar to step into his shoes as
steward of Presles! Why he'd have to learn agriculture, and know how
to survey."
"He can learn."
"He--that pussy cat! I'll bet that if he does get a place down there,
it won't be a week before he does some doltish thing which will make
the count dismiss him."
"Good God! how can you be so bitter against a poor child who is full
of good
and I ought to consider their future. At present I do not know
what to do; but I shall certainly endeavor to make the count aware
of what seventeen years of the life of a man like myself is worth.
Owning at the present moment about two hundred and fifty thousand
francs, I want to raise myself to a fortune which may some day
make me the equal of his Excellency. At this moment I feel within
me the power to move mountains and vanquish insurmountable
difficulties. What a lever is such a scene of bitter humiliation
as I have just passed through! Whose blood has Oscar in his veins?
His conduct has been that of a blockhead; up to this moment when I
write to you, he has not said a word nor answered, even by a sign,
the questions my wife and I have put to him. Will he become an
idiot? or is he one already? Dear friend, why did you not instruct
him as to his behavior before you sent him to me? How many
misfortunes you would have spared me, had you brought him here
yourself as I begged you to do. If Estelle alarmed you, you might
have stayed at Moisselles. However, the thing is done, and there
is no use talking about it.
Adieu; I shall see you soon.
Your devoted servant and friend,
Moreau
At eight o'clock that evening, Madame Clapart, just returned from a
walk she had taken with her husband, was knitting winter socks for
Oscar, by the light of a single candle. Monsieur Clapart was expecting
a friend named Poiret, who often came in to play dominoes, for never
did he allow himself to spend an evening at a cafe. In spite of the
prudent economy to which his small means forced him, Clapart would not
have answered for his temperance amid a luxury of food and in presence
of the usual guests of a cafe whose inquisitive observation would have
piqued him.
"I'm afraid Poiret came while we were out," said Clapart to his wife.
"Why, no, my friend; the portress would have told us so when we came
in," replied Madame Clapart.
"She may have forgotten it."
"What makes you think so?"
"It wouldn't be the first time she has forgotten things for us,--for
God knows how people without means are treated."
"Well," said the poor woman, to change the conversation and escape
Clapart's cavilling, "Oscar must be at Presles by this time. How he
will enjoy that fine house and the beautiful park."
"Oh! yes," snarled Clapart, "you expect fine things of him; but, mark
my words, there'll be squabbles wherever he goes."
"Will you never cease to find fault with that poor child?" said the
mother. "What has he done to you? If some day we should live at our
ease, we may owe it all to him; he has such a good heart--"
"Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow makes his way in the
world," cried Clapart. "You don't know your own child; he is
conceited, boastful, deceitful, lazy, incapable of--"
"Why don't you go to meet Poiret?" said the poor mother, struck to the
heart by the diatribe she had brought upon herself.
"A boy who has never won a prize at school!" continued Clapart.
To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes means the certainty
of a fine future for the fortunate child.
"Did you win any?" asked his wife. "Oscar stood second in philosophy."
This remark imposed silence for a moment on Clapart; but presently he
began again.
"Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, you know why. She'll
try to set her husband against him. Oscar to step into his shoes as
steward of Presles! Why he'd have to learn agriculture, and know how
to survey."
"He can learn."
"He--that pussy cat! I'll bet that if he does get a place down there,
it won't be a week before he does some doltish thing which will make
the count dismiss him."
"Good God! how can you be so bitter against a poor child who is full
of good