Friend Patience
“Do you know what ever became of Leremy?”
“He is captain in the Sixth Dragoons.”
“And Pinson?”
“He’s a Subprefect.”
“And Racollet?”
“Dead.”
We were trying to remember other names which would remind us of youthful faces under the caps of young officers. Later in life we had met some of these old comrades, bearded, bald, married, fathers of several children, and the realization of these changes had given us an unpleasant shudder, reminding us how short life is, how everything passes away, how everything changes. My friend asked me:
“And Patience, fat Patience?”
I almost howled:
“Oh! as for him, just listen to this. Four or five years ago I was in Limoges, on a tour of inspection, and I was waiting for dinner time. I was seated before the big café in the Place du Théâtre, bored to tears. The tradespeople were coming by twos, threes or fours, to take their absinthe or vermouth, talking all the time of their own or other people’s business, laughing loudly, or lowering their voices in order to impart some important or delicate piece of news.
“I was saying to myself: ‘What am I going to do after dinner?’ And I thought of the long evening in this provincial town, of the slow, uninteresting walk through unknown streets, of the overwhelming sadness inspired in the solitary traveller by the people who pass, strangers in all things, the cut of their provincial coats, their hats, their trousers, their customs, local accent, their houses, shops, and carriages of singular shape. And then the ordinary sounds to which one is not accustomed; the harassing sadness which makes you hasten your step gradually, until you feel as if you were lost in a dangerous country, which oppresses you and you wish yourself back at the hotel, the hideous hotel, where your room preserves a thousand suspicious odours, where the bed makes one hesitate, and the basin has a hair stuck in the dirt at the bottom.
“I thought about all this as I watched them light the gas, feeling my isolated distress increase as the shadows fell. What was I going to do after dinner? I was alone, entirely alone, and lamentably lonesome.
“A big man came in, seated himself at a neighbouring table, and commanded in a formidable voice:
“ ‘Waiter, my bitters.’
“The ‘my’ in the phrase sounded like the report of a cannon. I understood immediately that everything in existence was his, belonged to him and not to any other, that he had his character, and, by Jove! his appetite, his trousers, his no matter what, after his own fashion, absolutely, and more completely than anybody else in the world. He looked about him with a satisfied air. They brought him his bitters and he called:
“ ‘My paper.’
“I asked myself: ‘Which is his paper, I wonder?’ The name of that would certainly reveal to me his opinions, his theories, his hobbies, and his nature.
“The waiter brought the Temps. I was surprised. Why the Temps, a grave, dull, doctrinal, heavy paper? I thought:
“ ‘So he is a wise man, of serious ways, regular habits, in short, a good citizen.’
“He placed his gold eyeglasses on his nose, turned around and, before commencing to read, cast another glance all around the room. He noticed me and immediately began to look at me in a persistent, uneasy fashion. I was on the point of asking him the reason for his attention, when he cried out from where he sat:
“ ‘By Jove, if it is not Gontran Lardois!’
“I answered: ‘Yes, sir, you are not mistaken.’
“Then he got up brusquely and came towards me with outstretched hands.
“ ‘Ah! my old friend, how are you?’ asked he.
“My greeting was constrained, as I did not recognize him at all. Finally I stammered:
“ ‘Why—very well—and you?’
“He began to laugh: ‘I bet you do not know me.’
“ ‘No, not quite—It seems to me—however—’
“He tapped me on the shoulder:
“ ‘There, there! Don’t try to fool me. I am Patience, Robert Patience, your chum, your comrade.’
“I recognized him. Yes, Robert Patience, my comrade at college. It was he. I pressed the hand he extended to me and said:
“ ‘Everything going well with you?’
“ ‘With me? Like a charm.’
“His laugh rang with triumph. He inquired:
“ ‘What has brought you here?’
“I explained to him that I was an inspector of finances, making the rounds.
“He replied, observing my badge: ‘Then you are successful?’
“I replied: ‘Yes, rather; and you?’
“ ‘Oh! I? Very, very!’
“ ‘What are you doing now?’
“ ‘I am in business.’
“ ‘Then you are making money?’
“ ‘Lots of it. I am rich. But, come to lunch with me tomorrow at noon, No. 17 Rue du Coqqui-chante; then you will see my place.’
“He appeared to hesitate a second, then continued:
“ ‘You are still the good pal you used to be?’
“ ‘Yes—I hope so.’
“ ‘Not married?’
“ ‘No.’
“ ‘So much the better. And you are still fond of a little beer and skittles?’
“I commenced to find him deplorably commonplace. I answered, nevertheless: ‘Yes.’
“ ‘And pretty girls?’
“ ‘Yes, certainly.’
“He began to laugh, with a good, hearty laugh:
“ ‘So much the better, so much the better,’ said he. ‘You recall our first night out at Bordeaux, when we had supper at Roupie’s? Ha! what a night!’
“I did remember that spree; and the memory of it amused me. Other facts were brought to mind, and still others. One would say:
“ ‘Do you remember the time we shut up the fawn in old Latoque’s cellar?’
“And he would laugh, striking his fist upon the table, repeating:
“ ‘Yes—yes—yes—and you remember the face of the professor of geography, M. Marin, when we sent off a cracker on the map of the world just as he was orating on the principal volcanoes of the earth?’
“Then suddenly, I asked him:
“ ‘And you, are you married?’
“He cried: ‘For ten years, my dear fellow, and I have four children, most astonishing kids; but you will see them and their mother.’
“We were talking loudly; the neighbours were looking around at us in astonishment. Suddenly my friend looked at his watch, a chronometer as large as a turnip, and cried out:
“ ‘Heavens! what a nuisance, but I shall have to leave you; I am not free this evening.’
“He rose, took both my hands and shook them as if he wished to break off my arms, and said: ‘Tomorrow at noon, you remember?’
“ ‘All right.’
“I passed the morning working at the General-Treasurer’s. He wished to keep me for luncheon, but I told him that I had an appointment with a friend. As he was going out, he accompanied me. I asked him:
“ ‘Do you know where the Rue du Coq-quichante is?’
“ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it is five minutes from here. As I have nothing to do, I will conduct you there.’
“And we set out. Soon, I noticed the street we were looking for. It was wide, pretty enough, on the extreme outskirts of the town. I looked at the houses and perceived number 17. It was a kind of hotel with a garden at the back. The front, ornamented with frescoes in the Italian fashion, appeared to me in bad taste. There were goddesses hanging to urns, and others whose secret beauties a cloud concealed. Two stone Cupids held up the number.
“I said to the Treasurer: ‘Here is where I am going.’
“And I extended my hand by way of leaving him. He made a brusque and singular gesture, but said nothing, pressing the hand I had held out to him. I rang. A maid appeared. I said:
“ ‘M. Patience, if you please. Is he at home?’
“She replied: ‘He is here, sir—Do you wish to speak with him?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“The vestibule was ornamented with paintings from the brush of some local artist. Paul and Virginia were embracing under some palms drowned in a rosy light. A hideous Oriental lantern hung from the ceiling. There were many doors, masked by showy hangings. But that which struck me particularly was the odour—a permeating, perfumed odour, recalling rice powder and the mouldiness of cellars—an indefinable odour in a heavy atmosphere, as overwhelming and as stifling as the furnaces in which human bodies are burned. Following the maid, I went up a marble staircase which was covered by a carpet of some Oriental kind, and was led into a sumptuous drawing room.
“On being left alone, I looked about me.
“The room was richly furnished, but with the pretension of an ill-bred parvenu. The engravings of the last century were pretty enough, representing women with high, powdered hair and half naked, surprised by gallant gentlemen in interesting postures. Another lady, lying on a huge disordered bed, was teasing with her foot a little dog buried in the sheets. Another resisted her lover complacently, as his hand strayed under her petticoat. One sketch showed four feet whose bodies could be divined, although concealed behind a curtain. The vast room, surrounded by soft divans, was entirely impregnated with this enervating odour, which had already taken hold of me. There was something suspicious about these walls, these stuffs, this exaggerated luxury, in short, the whole place.
“I approached the window to look into the garden, of which I could see but the trees. It was large, shady, superb. A broad path circled the lawn, where a fountain was playing in the air, flowed under some bushes, and reappeared some distance off. And suddenly three women appeared, down at the end of the garden, between two hedges of shrubs. They were walking slowly, arm in arm, clad in long, white tea-gowns covered with lace. Two were blondes and the other was dark-haired. Almost immediately they disappeared again behind the trees. I stood there entranced, delighted with this short and charming apparition, which brought to my mind a whole world of poetry. They had scarcely allowed themselves to be seen, in just the proper light, in that frame of foliage, in the midst of that mysterious, delightful park. It seemed to me that I had suddenly seen before me the great ladies of the last century, who were depicted in the engravings on the wall. And I began to think of these happy, joyous, witty and amorous times when manners were so graceful and lips so approachable.
“A deep voice made me jump. Patience had come in, beaming, and held out his hands to me.
“He looked into my eyes with the sly look which one takes when divulging secrets of love, and, with a Napoleonic gesture, he showed me his sumptuous parlour, his park, the three women, who had reappeared in the background. Then, in a triumphant voice, in which the note of pride was discernible, he said:
“And to think that I began with nothing—my wife and my sister-in-law!”