A Start in Life [78]
was incorrigible.
"Make him a barrister," said Desroches. "He has only his last
examination to pass. In that line, his defects might prove virtues,
for self-love and vanity give tongues to half the attorneys."
At this time Clapart, who was ill, was being nursed by his wife,--a
painful task, a duty without reward. The sick man tormented the poor
creature, who was now doomed to learn what venomous and spiteful
teasing a half-imbecile man, whom poverty had rendered craftily
savage, could be capable of in the weary tete-a-tete of each endless
day. Delighted to turn a sharpened arrow in the sensitive heart of the
mother, he had, in a measure, studied the fears that Oscar's behavior
and defects inspired in the poor woman. When a mother receives from
her child a shock like that of the affair at Presles, she continues in
a state of constant fear, and, by the manner in which his wife boasted
of Oscar every time he obtained the slightest success, Clapart knew
the extent of her secret uneasiness, and he took pains to rouse it on
every occasion.
"Well, Madame," Clapart would say, "Oscar is doing better than I even
hoped. That journey to Presles was only a heedlessness of youth. Where
can you find young lads who do not commit just such faults? Poor
child! he bears his privations heroically! If his father had lived, he
would never have had any. God grant he may know how to control his
passions!" etc., etc.
While all these catastrophes were happening in the rue de Vendome and
the rue de Bethisy, Clapart, sitting in the chimney corner, wrapped in
an old dressing-gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire
in their bedroom in simultaneously making the family broth, Clapart's
"tisane," and her own breakfast.
"Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yesterday ended. Oscar was
to breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and spend the evening with a
marquise--"
"Don't trouble yourself! Sooner or later you'll find out about your
swan," said her husband. "Do you really believe in that marquise?
Pooh! A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like
Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush--if he pays for them.
Some fine morning you'll find yourself with a load of debt on your
back."
"You are always trying to put me in despair!" cried Madame Clapart.
"You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he
cost you a penny. For two years you haven't had the slightest cause of
complaint against him; here he is second clerk, his uncle and Monsieur
Moreau pay all expenses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight
hundred francs. If we have bread to eat in our old age we may owe it
all to that dear boy. You are really too unjust--"
"You call my foresight unjust, do you?" replied the invalid, crossly.
Just then the bell rang loudly. Madame Clapart ran to open the door,
and remained in the outer room with Moreau, who had come to soften the
blow which Oscar's new folly would deal to the heart of his poor
mother.
"What! he gambled with the money of the office?" she cried, bursting
into tears.
"Didn't I tell you so, hey?" said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at
the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him.
"Oh! what shall we do with him?" said Madame Clapart, whose grief made
her impervious to Clapart's taunt.
"If he bore my name," replied Moreau, "I should wait composedly till
he draws for the conscription, and if he gets a fatal number I should
not provide him with a substitute. This is the second time your son
has committed a folly out of sheer vanity. Well, vanity may inspire
fine deeds in war and may advance him in the career of a soldier.
Besides, six years of military service will put some lead into his
head; and as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it won't
be much ill-luck for him if he doesn't become a lawyer till he is
twenty-six; that is,
"Make him a barrister," said Desroches. "He has only his last
examination to pass. In that line, his defects might prove virtues,
for self-love and vanity give tongues to half the attorneys."
At this time Clapart, who was ill, was being nursed by his wife,--a
painful task, a duty without reward. The sick man tormented the poor
creature, who was now doomed to learn what venomous and spiteful
teasing a half-imbecile man, whom poverty had rendered craftily
savage, could be capable of in the weary tete-a-tete of each endless
day. Delighted to turn a sharpened arrow in the sensitive heart of the
mother, he had, in a measure, studied the fears that Oscar's behavior
and defects inspired in the poor woman. When a mother receives from
her child a shock like that of the affair at Presles, she continues in
a state of constant fear, and, by the manner in which his wife boasted
of Oscar every time he obtained the slightest success, Clapart knew
the extent of her secret uneasiness, and he took pains to rouse it on
every occasion.
"Well, Madame," Clapart would say, "Oscar is doing better than I even
hoped. That journey to Presles was only a heedlessness of youth. Where
can you find young lads who do not commit just such faults? Poor
child! he bears his privations heroically! If his father had lived, he
would never have had any. God grant he may know how to control his
passions!" etc., etc.
While all these catastrophes were happening in the rue de Vendome and
the rue de Bethisy, Clapart, sitting in the chimney corner, wrapped in
an old dressing-gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire
in their bedroom in simultaneously making the family broth, Clapart's
"tisane," and her own breakfast.
"Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yesterday ended. Oscar was
to breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and spend the evening with a
marquise--"
"Don't trouble yourself! Sooner or later you'll find out about your
swan," said her husband. "Do you really believe in that marquise?
Pooh! A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like
Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush--if he pays for them.
Some fine morning you'll find yourself with a load of debt on your
back."
"You are always trying to put me in despair!" cried Madame Clapart.
"You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he
cost you a penny. For two years you haven't had the slightest cause of
complaint against him; here he is second clerk, his uncle and Monsieur
Moreau pay all expenses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight
hundred francs. If we have bread to eat in our old age we may owe it
all to that dear boy. You are really too unjust--"
"You call my foresight unjust, do you?" replied the invalid, crossly.
Just then the bell rang loudly. Madame Clapart ran to open the door,
and remained in the outer room with Moreau, who had come to soften the
blow which Oscar's new folly would deal to the heart of his poor
mother.
"What! he gambled with the money of the office?" she cried, bursting
into tears.
"Didn't I tell you so, hey?" said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at
the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him.
"Oh! what shall we do with him?" said Madame Clapart, whose grief made
her impervious to Clapart's taunt.
"If he bore my name," replied Moreau, "I should wait composedly till
he draws for the conscription, and if he gets a fatal number I should
not provide him with a substitute. This is the second time your son
has committed a folly out of sheer vanity. Well, vanity may inspire
fine deeds in war and may advance him in the career of a soldier.
Besides, six years of military service will put some lead into his
head; and as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it won't
be much ill-luck for him if he doesn't become a lawyer till he is
twenty-six; that is,