Volume 11 — XXXI I MARRY

The great day arrived when I was to utter that solemn yes which would bind me forever. Forever is a very long time—it is very short when one is happy!

At times melancholy thoughts oppressed me. I was not in love with the woman I was about to marry, and I felt that it was the absence of love that made us walk so carelessly toward the altar. Love, who charms the present and embellishes the future, is a god whose presence is most essential on the wedding day; he ought always to preside on such occasions. However, I proposed to do without him; indeed, I must, for whom could I love now? I should have ceased to think of her, but I still thought of her. She did not love me; and if she had loved me, could I have married her? It would have been madness; but is the madness which makes one happy so very blameworthy?

I felt tears in my eyes. Was that the proper way to begin that day? It was my last thought of her. Henceforth I would never think of the past. I must try to be light-hearted, to be amiable with Pélagie. Amiable! she would not notice it! But, no matter; I must forget myself.

My sister was the first who entered my room. I fancy that she noticed my depression; she kissed me and embraced me, and assured me that I should be very happy.

“God grant it!” I thought. “Thus far I have not been happy in love; perhaps I shall be in marriage.”

I overcame my weakness and was myself once more. Poor Amélie! she was so pleased when she saw me smile!

By the way, where were my wife and I to live? I had not given that matter a thought; but I was not at all disturbed, for my sister had undertaken to look out for everything, and she was not the woman to forget anything so important. However, I felt that I should be very glad to know where I was to take my better half that night.

“You haven’t told me yet, sister, where I am to live.”

“That goes without saying, my dear.”

“Nevertheless, you will have to tell me, for I can’t guess.”

“Has not Madame de Pontchartrain a magnificent house, of which she occupies only one-half? You are to live there with your wife.”

“At her aunt’s? I don’t like that very much.”

“Don’t be disturbed; your suite is by itself, and a long way from hers; you need have nothing to say to each other, except when you please. I knew, of course, that you would like to be by yourself, and I have had everything arranged with that end in view.”

“All right.—By the way, has Pélagie received all the usual gifts?”

“Yes, my dear; have you forgotten that I showed them to you yesterday and told you Déneterre had spent three thousand francs out of the money you gave him?”

“True; it had gone out of my head.”

“Pélagie will be enchanted, I assure you. There’s a beautiful set of jewelry—and shawls—and dress materials.”

“Very good; so, then, there’s nothing for me to do to-day but to get married?”

“Mon Dieu! that’s all, my dear.”

“So much the better. What time is it to be?”

“At eleven o’clock you are to call for your wife and take her to the mayor’s office. We shall have two carriages; I have ordered them.”

“Two carriages! it seems to me that’s very few.”

“There are no more to be had in town.”

“That makes a difference.”

“But this evening we shall have several sedan chairs and Bath chairs.”

“Aha! so they have those things here?”

“To be sure; they are very convenient and much less dangerous than your horse vehicles, which always frighten me.”

“It is true that in a Bath chair the steed doesn’t take the bit in his teeth. And from the mayor’s office we go to the church?”

“Yes; at one o’clock.”

“And then?”

“Then we come back here, and chat until three.”

“Where is the wedding feast to be?”

“Here, my dear. At first Madame de Pontchartrain insisted on having it at her house, but I finally carried the day. We shall be much more free here, you know. We can laugh and sing and frolic.”

“I confess that I shall be delighted to be allowed to frolic. And the ball is to be here also, I suppose?”

“Oh! no, my dear; the ball is to be at Madame de Pontchartrain’s; she has a superb salon, where three sets can dance a quadrille at once. Besides, it’s more proper at night to be where the bride can conveniently be put to bed!”

“What’s that? put the bride to bed? I fancy that that’s my business.”

“No, my dear; don’t you know that it’s the custom for the bride’s near relations to take her to the nuptial chamber and undress her and put her to bed?”

“You will do me the kindness to abridge all that ceremonial, which I consider utterly ridiculous, as much as you possibly can. It seems to me to be the bridegroom’s place to undress his wife and put her to bed—or to postpone putting her to bed if he and she please. They are entirely at liberty to suit themselves.”

“Oh! brother, think of what decency demands!”

“My dear girl, some people are so decent that they end by being indecent; just as some people are so bright that they end by making fools of themselves. Extremes meet; too great strictness breeds debauchery, just as extreme rigidity of morals often ends in their entire subversion. Summum jus, summa injuria. The savages who live in countries where they are not ruled by civilized man should have pure morals, since they follow the inspiration of nature; and yet that extreme purity which leads them to go naked and to conceal nothing from one another resembles a refinement of libertinage among us. Diogenes, who wanted to be a wise man, was nothing better than a fool; and Crates, who considered himself a philosopher, was simply disgusting; and how many writers there are who, by dint of trying to rise to the sublime, fall into bathos! and scholars who, while striving to be profound, are simply ludicrous! and actors who, in their efforts to be natural, appear absurd! and dancers who fall to the ground because they try to jump too high! The moral of all this is that we should seek a happy medium in everything, and that when a husband and wife have complied with the behests of the law and of religion they should be allowed to go to bed without having somebody else place them solemnly between two sheets; which, in my opinion, is better adapted to offend decency than to gratify it.”

“I am very sorry, my dear, but the custom——”

“I tell you, if I were in love with my wife, I would make short work of this custom! but let us say no more about it; I will submit to whatever you say.”

“Very well; dress yourself and come to breakfast.”

I felt that I must dress myself with care; the least one can do is to try to make himself presentable on his wedding day. Although Pélagie had said that she would have married me just the same if I had been old and ugly, I liked to think that she would notice the difference. I was soon ready; unless he is a conceited fop, a man cannot spend much time over his toilet, and I did not, like Raymond, reflect for a quarter of an hour where I should place a pin or how I should arrange the ends of my cravat. Speaking of my neighbor, I regretted that he was not at Melun; he would have assumed the duties of best man, and would certainly have invented something new; but it would probably have resulted to my disadvantage, so perhaps it was as well that he was not there.

My nephews came jumping and prancing into my room, to tell me that breakfast was waiting; they were already in their gala costumes, and were so wild with delight that we could not hear ourselves talk. Happy age, when the least novelty, the slightest change in the daily habits, the idea of a party, a wedding, a grand dinner—of anything, in fact, that suggests confusion and disorder—causes intoxicating delight! We ought to retain longer the characteristics of childhood.

I found Déneterre in full dress. He came to me, embraced me, pressed my hand with a satisfied air, and said to me in a half solemn, half comical tone:

“Well! you’re one of us now!”

I looked at him with a smile, and stifled a sigh which would have been a rude answer to his congratulations.

“Come, let’s eat, and eat heartily!” said my brother-in-law, taking his seat at the table. “You need to lay in some strength to-day, my dear boy.”

So the chapter of jests had begun; but it was likely to be brief in a small place, where remarks with a double meaning were frowned upon. At all events, they might say what they pleased; I was determined to accept everything with a good grace. But I thought it well to follow Déneterre’s advice and eat heartily; that was the best thing for me to do until night.

“Let us hurry,” said Amélie; “it’s almost eleven; we mustn’t keep your wife waiting, dear Eugène.”

“Of course not; that would not be polite; I am ready to start.”

“Come, Déneterre, have you finished?”

“For heaven’s sake, give me time to swallow!”

“Oh! how long it takes you to do anything! Do put on the children’s hats!”

“What! are you going to take them to the mayor’s office?”

“Certainly.”

“That’s all folly; it won’t amuse them, and they’ll crowd the carriage; it’s much better not to take them till we go to the church.”

“But I insist on their going now! Do you suppose that I dressed them up just to leave them at home?”

“But I tell you we can come back and get them in a little while.”

“And I tell you that I propose to take them now.”

“There won’t be any room for them.”

“You can hold them on your knees.”

“So that they can kick me and soil the ladies’ dresses!”

“They’ll keep quiet.”

“It would be something new!”

“Oh! how you tire me with your arguments!”

“You are a most obstinate creature!”

The clock struck eleven, and I put an end to the discussion by announcing that I was going; my sister and her husband did the same, and we took the little boys. I was very sure that that would be the result.

The two carriages were in front of the house; the coachmen wore white gloves and had huge bouquets. All the neighbors were at their doors or windows; a wedding in a small town is such a momentous event! it furnishes a subject of conversation for more than a week.

We took five minutes to go about as far as the length of one of the shorter boulevards in Paris; the horses were not used to coaches, and their drivers drove very slowly in order that they might seem to be starting on a journey. We arrived at last and were shown into the large salon, where the intimate friends and the distinguished personages invited to the first ceremony were assembled. I did not see my bride, and started to go in search of her; but I was detained; I could not be allowed to enter her bedroom yet.

“She’s coming,” said Madame de Pontchartrain; “be patient, my dear Dorsan, you will soon see her.”

I had no difficulty in being patient; still, I wished that it was all over. I was beginning to be deathly tired of the compliments everyone paid me, to which I soon ceased to be able to reply, because everyone said the same thing.

At last Pélagie appeared, escorted by her aunt and my sister. Her dress was magnificent, and her face even prettier than usual. The compliments began anew. I listened to them now with more pleasure; the presence of a pretty woman always suggests compliments to me, and I was not displeased by the admiration my bride aroused.

I hastened forward to take her hand; she kept her eyes fixed on the floor and seemed to have resolved not to raise them during the day. I led her toward the door and to the carriage, heedless of the remonstrances of her aunt and my sister, who called after us:

“That isn’t right! wait! wait! It isn’t your place to take her hand! You’re disarranging the programme!”

I cared not a whit for the programme. Madame de Pontchartrain almost lost her temper; my sister calmed her by attributing my heedlessness to my excessive love. We entered the carriages, which process took nearly ten minutes, because, in the first place, no one would get in first, and then no one would take the rear seat. I had to hold myself hard to refrain from pushing them all into the carriages—the ceremonious idiots, who stood an hour on the steps! Poor lovers, who marry in the provinces, how your tempers are tried! At last we were all seated. Déneterre was compelled to walk with the children, who had already torn the trimming of three dresses and stained several white satin shoes with mud. Really, the little rascals were most amusing!

We arrived at the mayor’s office. As there is seldom a line of people waiting to be married in provincial towns, we were not obliged to wait an hour for our turn. The ceremony was performed quickly enough, and I was married according to law; there was no drawing back.

To reach the church we had to repeat the same nonsense with respect to the carriages; it took even longer to arrange the order of march, for several people had joined us at the mayor’s office, and the procession was swelled by three sedan chairs and two Bath chairs. My wedding had stirred the town to its centre; the church was filled with people, and we could scarcely force our way through the crowd. Those who were not of the wedding party had come to criticise, those who were, to admire; and the idlers, loiterers, working girls, matrons, and old women, to say their say concerning the bride and groom.

Everybody knows what a marriage is, for it is easy to procure the pleasures of marriage in Paris. I will not therefore go into the details of mine; it resembled others as to form, and several times I heard some such words as:

“That’s a pretty couple; they are both very good-looking.”

A body always likes to hear such remarks.

At last the fatal yes was pronounced. Pélagie said it so low that nobody could have heard her; for my part, I showed much firmness. We had a sermon preached to us—a little long, perhaps, but very touching and moving. How can one fail to be moved when one is pledging one’s self for life?—I glanced at Pélagie; she did not weep; her eyes were cast down, her manner was as reserved, her demeanor as modest as usual, and she showed no more than her ordinary emotion. That vexed me; it seemed to me that she should have wept.

At last all was over; I was married! We left the church between three rows of sightseers, and went to my sister’s; we spent three-quarters of an hour in going the distance of a gunshot; to be sure, our procession was increased by about half of the town, and we had to return salutes and courtesies at every step.

When we reached the house, it was only half-past one, and we did not dine till three. What were we to do in the interval? That was the most difficult part of the whole day. Some old women proposed a game of boston or whist, but Madame de Pontchartrain thought that it would be a breach of etiquette to play cards on a wedding day morning; it is good form to do nothing; it is amusement enough to talk, sitting very straight for fear of rumpling one’s gown.

Without asking our dear aunt’s opinion, I went down into the garden with my wife. I wanted to entice her into some solitary path; not that I proposed to exert my marital rights already; but I wanted to try to read Pélagie’s heart and find out what her present feelings were.—It was impossible to be alone; all the young women followed us; the inquisitive little hussies would not let us out of their sight. Two young married people afford so much food for thought! they are so pretty to look at—when they are pretty; and you know that we were.

I could do nothing more than take my wife’s hand; I squeezed it tenderly—very tenderly—and she looked at me and smiled.—“The deuce!” thought I; “can it be that she understands that language?”

“You hurt my fingers,” she remarked mildly, withdrawing her hand.

It was enough to drive one to despair! I had no further desire to walk with her alone.

Luckily, the hour for the feast arrived. We betook ourselves, with the utmost formality, as before, to the dining room; we took our seats in the order demanded by convention. I was at one end of the table, my wife at the other; that was the best way to encourage harmony between us; and then, everyone knew that we should come together at last.

The greatest tranquillity reigned during the early courses; we sat very straight, watched one another, passed the dishes, ate, and declared everything divine, exquisite, delicious: that was substantially the whole of the conversation. I had no desire to enliven it; I was sober, yes, pensive. Sometimes I glanced at my wife; her eyes were constantly fixed on her plate. Madame de Pontchartrain’s expressed the satisfaction she felt at the reserved demeanor of the bride and groom; we certainly could not be charged with acting like two madcaps.

Upon examining the guests, I found that I had at my right a pretty, vivacious young blonde, with whom I had several times laughed and joked when we met in society, so far as laughter was permitted in the circles that we frequented. I began to talk with her by way of distraction, but she replied with marked coldness, reserve, and brevity. What did that mean? Mon Dieu! I had forgotten that I was now a married man. I was still inclined to play the gallant with young ladies, but I had lost my title of bachelor, which was worth a hundred times more in their eyes than all the pretty speeches I could make them as a Benedick.

However, I was determined to amuse myself at any price. I tried to eat; but I was not hungry.

“I will drink, then,” I said to myself; “but I must take care; a bridegroom should keep his head clear.”

The dessert came at last; our appetites were a little appeased; the wits of the party began to shine, the jokers to hazard a bonmot or two or a very sly remark; the young men tried to laugh, and the women did their utmost to consider it all very amusing. My sister was in ecstasies; she did her best to encourage this well-intended merriment. As for Déneterre, he was so busily engaged in carving, and in looking after the small table at which his children were sitting with six other children, that he had no time to put in a word.

The dessert and liqueurs increased the general hilarity to the highest point, augmented as it was by divers little pranks on the part of my nephews, who knocked over two piles of plates, broke three glasses, overturned sauce on several ladies’ dresses, while coming to the large table to fetch for themselves things that were promised them but that did not arrive quickly enough to satisfy them. But they knew that on such a great day they had carte blanche, and they made the most of it. Everybody agreed that they were dear little fellows, even the ladies who would have to change their dresses. Their papa and mamma were enraptured, which was quite natural.

The signal was given, and we left the table.

“How is this?” I whispered to my sister; “no song?”

“You know very well that it isn’t good form nowadays, my dear. Is there singing at the great weddings in Paris?”

“No; but there is at those where the guests enjoy themselves.”

“We stick to custom.”

“And the garter?”

“Fie! fie! we have done away with that; it was indecent!”

“Oh! it was indecent, was it? I see that I must not do at my wedding party or to my wife anything that the most rigid rules of chastity do not permit. I trust, however, that you have not suppressed anything else.”

“Oh! no, brother! besides, I am sure that to-day you have no desire to——”

“To what?”

“Why, to——”

“To what, in heaven’s name? Finish.”

“Why, a desire to—with your wife—— Oh! you know what I mean.”

“The deuce! surely you are joking, my dear girl? Do people no longer marry for that here? is that suppressed, too?”

“No, my dear, no! but a man generally leaves his wife in peace the first day. The poor child has been so excited!”

“Yes; it is astounding how excited she looks!”

“You must give her time to recover herself.”

“Go to the deuce, my dear Amélie, with all your nonsense! What is the meaning of all this affectation? as if it must not come to that at last! I don’t like this prudery which denotes dissimulation pure and simple. I know by experience that those who cry scandal the loudest are the ones who in secret have the least virtue. The modesty of rakes and kept women is much more easily shocked than that of virtuous men and decent women. Fans hide more prostitutes than virgins, and veils are worn from coquetry, not from modesty; in short, those who make so much fuss and hang back at first are the ones who jump the highest afterward.”

“Well, you are free to do as you please, brother.”

“That is very fortunate!”

Poor Amélie! how she had changed since she had been living in that paltry town! So this was the banquet at which we were to laugh so loud and have so much sport! For my own part—and I have been to many weddings—I confess that the merriest are those of honest folk who are not afraid of violating etiquette and the proprieties every moment. Commend me to the poor people for real enjoyment! But I realized that on this occasion I must say with the song:

My wife disappeared. Ah, yes! to dress for the ball—that was it. I had nothing to say against that custom; in any event, I should have been careful not to say it; I should have had all the young women about my ears. Two dresses, sometimes three—that was one of the pretty customs of that day.

We returned to Madame de Pontchartrain’s for the ball. It was the first time that I had ever seen wedding festivities divided between two places; but I found that I learned many things at Melun.

We assembled in the salon, which was lighted by candelabra that must have done duty in the time of King Pepin le Bref. The guests invited for the ball arrived in a swarm; no one ever dreams of missing a fête in a small town. The bride appeared in her ball dress, which was in very good taste. I looked at her, but her eyes were still in statu quo. I ventured to say to her, under my breath:

“Do lift your eyes a little; you have such lovely eyes!”

“Aunt told me not to.”

That was all I could extort from her. I had nothing to say to that; it would have been ill-advised for me to play the master so soon.

The orchestra began to play; we had two violins and a clarinet; also a little fifer, to imitate Colinet; it was superb—at all events, it was the best that could be had in the town. They played contradances that I had never heard in Paris. I surmised that they were composed by the leader of the local orchestra; it was impossible to make the mistake of confusing them with those of Rubner, Weber, and Tolbecque.

There was plenty of dancing; and in that amusement the pleasure was not feigned, for youth loves to caper. The young men disputed with one another the privilege of dancing with the bride, who was always engaged for fourteen or fifteen quadrilles ahead. The groom’s turn never comes on such occasions; but on his wedding day he is easily consoled, and a thing that would have distressed him terribly the day before makes no difference to him when he is married. How a title changes one’s way of feeling and of looking at things!

I too danced; I was very glad to have that resource to occupy my time, and I was as persistent as my wife.

“Do take a little rest,” some young man would say to me; “you’ll tire yourself out.”

But I paid no heed, for I thought less than they did of what I still had to do.

Toward the end of the evening, however, I danced with Pélagie; the ball had warmed her up a little: her cheeks were flushed and her bosom rose and fell more rapidly; she was really very pretty, and I ought to have deemed myself very lucky to possess so many charms. I began to look at my watch and to think that the time passed very slowly.

But it was growing late, and many people had already taken leave. It was one o’clock in the morning! a big slice taken off the night. Madame de Pontchartrain made a sign to my sister, and they led my wife away. I divined the meaning of that, and I waited until I might be allowed to join Pélagie.

The ceremony seemed to me very long! Not until three-quarters of an hour had passed did Amélie return and motion to me that at last I was at liberty to go to my wife.

All the guests departed; I did the same; fleeing from the jests that bored me to death, I left the ballroom and bent my steps toward the wing which I was to occupy thenceforth.

I was directed to my bedroom; I had been careful to take a light, otherwise I should have broken my neck in some of the innumerable rooms of that old house, and the time would have been very ill chosen for an accident. I saw a light—that must be the place. I opened a door and entered a very handsome bedroom, furnished somewhat à l’antique, but provided with everything. Two wax candles were burning on the mantel; I recognized several articles of mine on a table, for my sister had taken pains to have all my wardrobe transported to my new abode. I was at home; so far, so good. To make sure of not being disturbed, I bolted the door, then walked toward the bed, the curtains of which were drawn—from bashfulness, of course.

I heard no sound. Could she be asleep already? or was she pretending to be? I drew the curtains aside, and I saw no one in the bed, which had not been disturbed.

What did that mean? I was certainly in my apartment—everything that I found there proved it. In that case, where could my wife be? Did it mean that we were to have a bedroom each? Why, of course; and that was why they hoped that I would leave my wife in peace. “The devil take them with their nonsensical customs!” thought I.—If I had only known it sooner! However, I wanted my wife; I was determined to have her, I must have her. I had not married a pretty doll who never opened her mouth and kept her eyes on the ground all day to be alone at night and occupy a separate bed; the least I could expect was some little compensation for the ennui I had suffered.—I would sleep with my wife—that was my resolution—even though I must turn the whole house upside down to attain that end.

I reflected first of all that my wife’s room could not be far from mine. I concluded to try to find it, and to avoid making a noise if possible; for that would cause scandal in the household of Madame de Pontchartrain, who thought perhaps that I had married her niece to obtain the right to make love to her at those innocent parlor games.

I looked about and discovered a door which I had not noticed at first. I took a candle, opened the door, and found myself in a fine salon. That was very well; I continued my inspection of my suite. There was a door facing me; where did that lead? Into a dining room. Another door opened into a passageway; I went on and found a toilet room freshly painted; all very pleasant, but not what I was looking for at that moment.

I returned to the salon. Whither did that other door lead? To my wife’s room, no doubt; since I had been prowling about the salon as if I were playing hide-and-seek, I must have passed it many times. I tried to open it by turning the knob, but it resisted; it was locked on the inside. No more doubt: my wife was there, and had been advised to lock herself in. Ah! what sly creatures they were in that country!

I knocked—no answer. I knocked again, louder.

“Who is there?” someone asked at last; and I recognized Pélagie’s voice.

“It’s I, my dear love.”

“Oh! is it you, monsieur my husband?”

“Yes, my dear; come, let me in quickly.”

“What for?”

“Parbleu! I’ll tell you in a minute. Open the door.”

“Oh! I can’t!”

“You can’t! what does that mean? that’s decidedly new!”

“My aunt told me not to.”

“Your aunt doesn’t know what she says. As she has been a widow thirty-three years, perhaps she has forgotten that husbands and wives sleep together.”

“Oh, yes! I know that you will sleep with me finally; but she told me that modesty requires me to postpone the time as long as possible.”

“And I tell you that we must sleep together at once; modesty has nothing more to do with our love; hymen has its rights, and you must listen to it now; the pleasures it permits should not alarm your modesty.”

“I don’t understand all that.”

“I will make you understand it when I am with you. Open the door, I beg you. I can’t begin to instruct you with this door between us.”

“I’m afraid that my aunt——”

“Look you, madame, I am your husband, after all; you swore this morning to be obedient and submissive to me, and you are violating your oaths already! Come, Pélagie, I beg you, let’s not begin with a quarrel; open the door at once; if you don’t, I’ll set the house on fire.”

“Oh! mon Dieu!”

She opened the door instantly; she was in her chemise and hurried back to hide herself in her bed; but it was easy for me to find her now. I still had a few obstacles to overcome; but they were not at all disagreeable; indeed, I should have been very much distressed if I had not encountered them! On this occasion the rose was not without thorns.

Let us draw the curtain over the mysteries of hymen, although they are one of Polichinelle’s secrets.