Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau

The journalist showed the empty lining of his pockets. Popinot saw the gesture, and slipped his twenty-franc piece into the palm of the author of the prospectus.

The judge had a coach at the end of the street, in which he carried off his nephew to the Birotteaus.

VII

Pillerault, Monsieur and Madame Ragon, and Monsieur Roguin were playing at boston, and Cesarine was embroidering a handkerchief, when the judge and Anselme arrived. Roguin, placed opposite to Madame Ragon, near whom Cesarine was sitting, noticed the pleasure of the young girl when she saw Anselme enter, and he made Crottat a sign to observe that she turned as rosy as a pomegranate.

“This is to be a day of deeds, then?” said the perfumer, when the greetings were over and the judge told him the purpose of the visit.

Cesar, Anselme, and the judge went up to the perfumer’s temporary bedroom on the second floor to discuss the lease and the deed of partnership drawn up by the magistrate. A lease of eighteen years was agreed upon, so that it might run the same length of time as the lease of the shop in the Rue des Cinq-Diamants, – an insignificant circumstance apparently, but one which did Birotteau good service in after days. When Cesar and the judge returned to the entresol, the latter, surprised at the general upset of the household, and the presence of workmen on a Sunday in the house of a man so religious as Birotteau, asked the meaning of it, – a question which Cesar had been eagerly expecting.

“Though you care very little for the world, monsieur,” he said, “you will see no harm in celebrating the deliverance of our territory. That, however, is not all. We are about to assemble a few friends to commemorate my promotion to the order of the Legion of honor.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the judge, who was not decorated.

“Possibly I showed myself worthy of that signal and royal favor by my services on the Bench – oh! of commerce, – and by fighting for the Bourbons on the steps – ”

“True,” said the judge.

“ – of Saint-Roch on the 13th Vendemiaire, where I was wounded by Napoleon. May I not hope that you and Madame Popinot will do us the honor of being present?”

“Willingly,” said the judge. “If my wife is well enough I will bring her.”

“Xandrot,” said Roguin to his clerk, as they left the house, “give up all thoughts of marrying Cesarine; six weeks hence you will thank me for that advice.”

“Why?” asked Crottat.

“My dear fellow, Birotteau is going to spend a hundred thousand francs on his ball, and he is involving his whole fortune, against my advice, in that speculation in lands. Six weeks hence he and his family won’t have bread to eat. Marry Mademoiselle Lourdois, the daughter of the house-painter. She has three hundred thousand francs dot. I threw out that anchor to windward for you. If you will pay me a hundred thousand francs down for my practice, you may have it to-morrow.”

The splendors of the approaching ball were announced by the newspapers to all Europe, and were also made known to the world of commerce by rumors to which the preparations, carried on night and day, had given rise. Some said that Cesar had hired three houses, and that he was gilding his salons; others that the supper would furnish dishes invented for the occasion. On one hand it was reported that no merchants would be invited, the fete being given to the members of the government; on the other hand, Cesar was severely blamed for his ambition, and laughed at for his political pretensions: some people even went so far as to deny his wound. The ball gave rise to more than one intrigue in the second arrondissement. The friends of the family were easy in their minds, but the demands of mere acquaintances were enormous. Honors bring sycophants; and there was a goodly number of people whose invitations cost them more than one application. The Birotteaus were fairly frightened at the number of friends whom they did not know they had. These eager attentions alarmed Madame Birotteau, and day by day her face grew sadder as the great solemnity drew near.

In the first place, as she owned to Cesar, she should never learn the right demeanor; next, she was terrified by the innumerable details of such a fete: where should she find the plate, the glass-ware, the refreshments, the china, the servants? Who would superintend it all? She entreated Birotteau to stand at the door of the appartement and let no one enter but invited guests; she had heard strange stories of people who came to bourgeois balls, claiming friends whose names they did not know. When, a week before the fateful day, Braschon, Grindot, Lourdois, and Chaffaroux, the builder, assured Cesar positively that the rooms would be ready for the famous Sunday of December the 17th, an amusing conference took place, in the evening after dinner, between Cesar, his wife, and his daughter, for the purpose of making out the list of guests and addressing the invitations, – which a stationer had sent home that morning, printed on pink paper, in flowing English writing, and in the formula of commonplace and puerile civility.

“Now we mustn’t forget any body,” said Birotteau.

“If we forget any one,” said Constance, “they won’t forget it. Madame Derville, who never called before, sailed down upon me in all her glory yesterday.”

“She is very pretty,” said Cesarine. “I liked her.”

“And yet before her marriage she was even less than I was,” said Constance. “She did plain sewing in the Rue Montmartre; she made shirts for your father.”

“Well, now let us begin the list,” said Birotteau, “with the upper-crust people. Cesarine, write down Monsieur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Lenoncourt – ”

“Good heavens, Cesar!” said Constance, “don’t send a single invitation to people whom you only know as customers. Are you going to invite the Princesse de Blamont-Chavry, who is more nearly related to your godmother, the late Marquise d’Uxelles, than the Duc de Lenoncourt? You surely don’t mean to invite the two Messieurs de Vandenesse, Monsieur de Marsay, Monsieur de Ronquerolles, Monsieur d’Aiglemont, in short, all your customers? You are mad; your honors have turned your head!”

“Well, but there’s Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine and his family, hein? – the one that always went by the name of GRAND-JACQUES, – and the YOUNG SCAMP, who was the Marquis de Montauran, and Monsieur de la Billardiere, who was called the NANTAIS at ‘The Queen of Roses’ before the 13th Vendemiaire. In those days it was all hand-shaking, and ‘Birotteau, take courage; let yourself be killed, like us, for the good cause.’ Why, we are all comrades in conspiracy.”

“Very good, put them down,” said Constance. “If Monsieur de la Billardiere comes he will want somebody to speak to.”

“Cesarine, write,” said Birotteau. “Primo, Monsieur the prefect of the Seine; he’ll come or he won’t come, but any way he commands the municipality, – honor to whom honor is due. Monsieur de la Billardiere and his son, the mayor. Put the number of the guests after their names. My colleague, Monsieur Granet, deputy-mayor, and his wife. She is very ugly, but never mind, we can’t dispense with her. Monsieur Curel, the jeweller, colonel of the National Guard, his wife, and two daughters. Those are what I call the authorities. Now come the big wigs, – Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse de Fontaine, and their daughter, Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine.”

“An insolent girl, who makes me leave the shop and speak to her at the door of the carriage, no matter what the weather is,” said Madame Cesar. “If she comes, it will only be to ridicule me.”

“Then she’ll be sure to come,” said Cesar, bent on getting everybody. “Go on, Cesarine. Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse de Grandville, my landlord, – the longest head at the royal court, so Derville says. Ah ca! Monsieur de la Billardiere is to present me as a chevalier to-morrow to Monsieur le Comte de Lacepede himself, high chancellor of the Legion of honor. It is only proper that I should send him an invitation for the ball, and also to the dinner. Monsieur Vauquelin; put him down for ball and dinner both, Cesarine. And (so as not to forget them) put down all the Chiffrevilles and the Protez; Monsieur and Madame Popinot, judge of the Lower Court of the Seine; Monsieur and Madame Thirion, gentleman-usher of the bedchamber to the king, friends of Ragon, and their daughter, who, they tell me, is to marry the son of Monsieur Camusot by his first wife.”

“Cesar, don’t forget that little Horace Bianchon, the nephew of Monsieur Popinot, and cousin of Anselme,” said Constance.

“Whew! Cesarine has written a four after the name of Popinot. Monsieur and Madame Rabourdin, one of the under-secretaries in Monsieur de la Billardiere’s division; Monsieur Cochin, same division, his wife and son, sleeping-partners of Matifat, and Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle Matifat themselves.”

“The Matifats,” said Cesarine, “are fishing for invitations for Monsieur and Madame Colleville, and Monsieur and Madame Thuillier, friends of theirs.”

“We will see about that,” said Cesar. “Put down my broker, Monsieur and Madame Jules Desmarets.”

“She will be the loveliest woman in the room,” said Cesarine. “I like her – oh! better than any one else.”

“Derville and his wife.”

“Put down Monsieur and Madame Coquelin, the successors to my uncle Pillerault,” said Constance. “They are so sure of an invitation that the poor little woman has ordered my dressmaker to make her a superb ball-dress, a skirt of white satin, and a tulle robe with succory flowers embroidered all over it. A little more and she would have ordered a court-dress of gold brocade. If you leave them out we shall make bitter enemies.”

“Put them down, Cesarine; all honor to commerce, for we belong to it! Monsieur and Madame Roguin.”

“Mamma, Madame Roguin will wear her diamond fillet and all her other diamonds, and her dress trimmed with Mechlin.”

“Monsieur and Madame Lebas,” said Cesar; “also Monsieur le president of the Court of Commerce, – I forgot him among the authorities, – his wife, and two daughters; Monsieur and Madame Lourdois and their daughter; Monsieur Claparon, banker; Monsieur du Tillet; Monsieur Grindot; Monsieur Molineux; Pillerault and his landlord; Monsieur and Madame Camusot, the rich silk-merchants, and all their children, the one at the Ecole Polytechnique, and the lawyer; he is to be made a judge because of his marriage to Mademoiselle Thirion.”

“A provincial judge,” remarked Constance.

“Monsieur Cardot, father-in-law of Camusot, and all the Cardot children. Bless me, and the Guillaumes, Rue du Colombier, the father-in-law of Lebas – old people, but they’ll sit in a corner; Alexandre Crottat; Celestin – ”

“Papa, don’t forget Monsieur Andoche Finot and Monsieur Gaudissart, two young men who are very useful to Monsieur Anselme.”

“Gaudissart? he was once in the hands of justice. But never mind, he is going to travel for our oil and starts in a few days; put him down. As to the Sieur Andoche Finot, what is he to us?”

“Monsieur Anselme says he will be a great man; he has a mind like Voltaire.”

“An author? all atheists.”

“Let’s put him down, papa; we want more dancers. Besides, he wrote the beautiful prospectus for the oil.”

“He believes in my oil?” said Cesar, “then put him down, dear child.”

“I have put down all my proteges,” said Cesarine.

“Put Monsieur Mitral, my bailiff; Monsieur Haudry, our doctor, as a matter of form, – he won’t come.”

“Yes, he will, for his game of cards.”

“Now, Cesar, I do hope you mean to invite the Abbe Loraux to the dinner,” said Constance.