The Closet
After dinner we were talking about women, for what else is there to talk about, among men? One of us said:
“By the way, I had a curious adventure of that kind.” And this is what he told us:
“One evening last winter, I was suddenly taken with one of those depressing, overwhelming fits of lassitude, which seize upon one, body and soul, from time to time. I was at home alone, and I knew well that if I remained there I should have a frightful attack of despondency, of the kind that leads to suicide when they return often.
“I put on my overcoat and went out, without knowing at all what I was going to do. Having descended to the Boulevard, I began to walk along past the cafés, nearly empty, for it was raining. One of those fine rains was falling that dampen the spirits as much as the clothes; not one of those good showers, striking one in a cascade and driving pedestrians into doorways out of breath, but a rain so fine that one does not feel the drops, a humid rain that unceasingly deposits upon you imperceptible droplets and covers your clothing with a cold, penetrating moisture.
“What should I do? I went up and down, seeking some place to spend a couple of hours, and discovering, for the first time, that there was not a place of amusement in all Paris in the evening. Finally, I decided to enter the Folies-Bergères, that amusing woman market.
“There were very few people in the huge auditorium. In the long, semicircular promenade there were only people of no importance, whose vulgarity was apparent in their walk, their clothing, the cut of their hair and beard, their hats, and their complexion. There was hardly one man who looked clean, perfectly clean, and whose clothes were not odd. As for the girls they are always the same, as you know, plain, weary, drooping, walking with that quick step and that air of imbecile disdain which they assume, I know not why.
“I said to myself that truly not one of these flagging creatures, greasy rather than fat, either bloated or very thin, with the paunch of a prelate and their long legs bowed, was worth the louis that they obtained with much difficulty after having demanded five.
“But suddenly I perceived one of them, a little one that looked nice; not very young, but fresh, droll, and provoking. I stopped her and, stupidly, without thinking, set my price for the night. I did not wish to return home alone, all alone; I preferred rather the company and embraces of this creature.
“And so I followed her. She lived in a big, big house in the Rue des Martyrs. The gas was already extinguished on the staircase. I mounted slowly, constantly lighting wax-matches, striking the steps with my feet, stumbling and ill at ease, following a petticoat, the rustle of which I heard before me.
“She stopped at the fourth story, and having shut again the outside door, she asked:
“ ‘And you wish to remain until tomorrow?’
“ ‘Yes. You know that was the agreement.’
“ ‘All right, my dear, I only wanted to know. Wait for me here a minute, I will return immediately.’
“And she left me in the darkness. I heard her close two doors, then it seemed to me she was speaking with somebody. I was surprised and disturbed. The idea of blackmail occurred to me. But I have fists and solid muscles. ‘We shall see,’ thought I.
“I listened with all attention, both of ear and mind. Someone was moving, walking about, but with great precaution. Then another door was opened, and it seemed to me that I still heard talking, but in a very low voice.
“She returned, bringing a lighted candle. ‘You can enter now,’ she said.
“She spoke familiarly, as a sign of possession. I entered, and after having crossed a dining room, where it was evident nobody ever dined, I entered a chamber like that of all these girls, a furnished room, with rep curtains, and eiderdown silk quilt with suspicious-looking spots.
“She continued: ‘Make yourself at home, my dear.’
“I inspected the apartment with an eye of suspicion. There seemed nothing disquieting, however. She undressed herself so quickly that she was in bed before I had my overcoat off. Then she began to laugh:
“ ‘Well, what is the matter with you? Are you changed into a pillar of salt? Come! Make haste!’
“I imitated her and joined her. Five minutes later I had a foolish desire to dress again and go out. But the overwhelming lassitude which had seized me at my house, returned to me, depriving me of all strength to move, and I remained, in spite of the disgust which I had for this public bed. The sensual charm which I fancied I saw down there, under the lights of the theatre, had disappeared in my arms, and I had with me, flesh to flesh, only a vulgar girl, like all the rest, whose indifferent and complaisant kiss had an aftertaste of garlic.
“I began to talk to her:
“ ‘Have you been here long?’ said I.
“ ‘Six months the fifteenth of January.’
“ ‘Where were you before that?’
“ ‘I was in the Rue Clauzel. But the concierge made so much trouble that I left.’
“And she began to relate an interminable story of the concierge who had made some scandal about her.
“Suddenly I heard something moving near us. At first there was a sigh, then a slight but distinct noise, as if someone had stirred in a chair.
“I sat up quickly in bed and asked: ‘What was that noise?’
“She answered with tranquil assurance: ‘Don’t disturb yourself, my dear, it is my neighbour. The partition is so thin that we hear everything as if they were here. What rotten holes these are. They are made of pasteboard.’
“My indolence was so strong that I got down under the clothes again. We continued our talk. Incited by the curiosity which drives all men to question these creatures upon their first adventure, to wish to raise the veil from their first fault in order to find in them some far-off trace of innocence, that we may find something to love, perhaps, in the rapid recital evoked by their candour and the shame of long ago, I asked her about her first lover.
“I knew that she would lie. What did it matter? Among all the lies I might discover, perhaps, some sincere or touching incident.
“ ‘Come,’ said I, ‘tell me who he was.’
“ ‘He was an oarsman.’
“ ‘Ah! Tell me about it. Where were you?’
“ ‘I was at Argenteuil.’
“ ‘What were you doing there?’
“ ‘I was maid in a restaurant.’
“ ‘What restaurant?’
“ ‘At the Marin d’Eau Douce. Do you know it?’
“ ‘Well, yes; Bonanfan’s.’
“ ‘Yes, that’s the one.’
“ ‘And how did he pay his court, this oarsman?’
“ ‘While I was making his bed. He forced me.’
“But suddenly I recalled the theory of a doctor of my acquaintance, an observing, philosophic doctor who, in his practice in a great hospital, had daily examples of these girl-mothers and prostitutes, and knew all the shame and misery of women, the poor women who become the hideous prey of the wandering male with money in his pocket.
“ ‘Invariably,’ he told me, ‘a girl is debauched by a man of her own class and station in life. I have made volumes of observations upon it. It is customary to accuse the rich of culling the flower of innocence from the children of the people. That is not true. The rich pay for the culled bouquet. They cull also, but at the second flowering; they never cut the first.’
“Then turning toward my companion, I began to laugh:
“ ‘Come now, I know all your story by heart. The oarsman was not the first, as you well know.’
“ ‘Oh! yes, my dear, I swear it!’
“ ‘You are lying.’
“ ‘Oh! no, I promise you I am not.’
“ ‘You lie. Come, tell me the truth.’
“She seemed to hesitate, astonished. I continued:
“ ‘I am a sorcerer, my good child, a hypnotist. If you do not tell me the truth, I shall put you to sleep, and then I can find it out.’
“She was afraid, being stupid like her kind. She murmured:
“ ‘How did you ever guess it?’
“I replied: ‘Come, speak.’
“ ‘Oh! the first time, it was almost nothing. There was a country holiday and a chef was called in for the occasion, M. Alexander. As soon as he came he had it all his own way in the house. He ordered everybody, even the master and mistress, as if he had been a king. He was a tall, handsome man who had hardly enough room to stand in front of the stove. He was always shouting: “Here, some butter—some eggs—some Madeira!” And you had to run to him with everything at once, or he would get angry and say things to you that would make you blush all over your body.
“ ‘When the day’s work was done he installed himself in front of the door and began to smoke. And, as I passed in front of him with a pile of plates, he said to me: “Hello, kid, won’t you come down to the edge of the river and show me the country?” I went, like a fool; and scarcely had we arrived at the bank when he forced me so quickly that I did not even know that it was done. And then he went away by the nine o’clock train, and I never saw him again after that.’
“I asked: ‘Is that all?’
“She stammered: ‘Oh! I believe Florentin belongs to him.’
“ ‘Who is Florentin?’
“ ‘He is my little boy.’
“ ‘Ah! very well. And you made the oarsman believe that he was the father, did you not?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Had this oarsman money?’
“ ‘Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs for Florentin’s support.’
“I began to be amused, and continued:
“ ‘Very well, my girl, very well. You are all less stupid than one would believe. And how old is Florentin now?’
“She answered: ‘Twelve years old. He will take his first communion in the spring.’
“ ‘That is good; and since that you have conscientiously followed your profession?’
“She sighed resignedly: ‘One does what one can.’
“A loud noise in another part of the room made me leap out of bed with a bound; it was the noise of someone falling, then rising and groping with his hands upon the wall. I had seized the candle and was looking about, frightened and furious. She got up also and tried to hold me back, saying:
“ ‘It is nothing, my dear, I assure you it is nothing.’
“But I had discovered on which side of the wall this strange noise was. I went straight toward a concealed door at the head of the bed and opened it suddenly—and perceived there a poor little boy, trembling and staring at me with frightened eyes, a pale, thin little boy beside a large chair filled with straw, from which he had fallen.
“When he saw me, he began to cry and, opening his arms to his mother:
“ ‘It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault. I was asleep and I fell. You mustn’t scold me, for it was not my fault.’
“I turned toward the woman and said:
“ ‘What does he mean?’
“She seemed sad and embarrassed. But finally she said in a broken voice:
“ ‘What can you expect? I do not earn enough to put the child to school! I must take care of him somehow, and I cannot afford to hire another room. He sleeps with me when I have no one. When someone comes for an hour or two, he can stay in the closet very well and keep quiet; he knows how. But when one remains all night, as you have, his muscles are fatigued from sleeping on the chair—and it is not the child’s fault. I would like to see you—you—sleep all night on a chair—you would sing another song—’
“She was angry, wrought up, and was shouting.
“The child was still crying. A poor child, delicate and timid, the child of the closet, of the cold, dark closet, a child who came from time to time to get a little warmth in the bed when, for a moment, it was empty.
“I, too, had an inclination to weep.
“I returned home to my own bed.”