“And pray, then, Gaudissart, if I am such a gaby, why do you love me?”
“Because you are such a sublime gaby! Listen, Jenny. You see, if I can get people to take the Globe and the Mouvement, and to pay their insurances, instead of earning a miserable eight or ten thousand francs a year by trundling around like a man in a show, I may make twenty to thirty thousand francs out of one round.”
“Unlace my stays, Gaudissart, and pull straight—don’t drag me askew.”
“And then,” said the commercial traveler, as he admired the girl’s satin shoulders, “I shall be a shareholder in the papers, like Finot, a friend of mine, the son of a hatter, who has thirty thousand francs a year, and will get himself made a peer! And when you think of little Popinot!—By the way, I forgot to tell you that Monsieur Popinot was yesterday made Minister of Commerce. Why should not I too be ambitious? Ah, ha! I could easily catch the cant of the Tribune, and I might be made a Minister—something like a Minister too! Just listen:
“ ‘Gentlemen,’ ” and he took his stand behind an armchair, “ ‘the Press is not a mere tool, not a mere trade. From the point of view of the politician, the Press is an Institution. Now we are absolutely required here to take the political view of things, hence’ ”—he paused for breath—“ ‘hence we are bound to inquire whether it is useful or mischievous, whether it should be encouraged or repressed, whether it should be taxed or free—serious questions all. I believe I shall not be wasting the precious moments of this Chamber by investigating this article and showing you the conditions of the case. We are walking on to a precipice. The Laws indeed are not so guarded as they should be—’
“How is that?” said he, looking at Jenny. “Every orator says that France is marching towards a precipice; they either say that or they talk of the Chariot of the State and political tempests and clouds on the horizon. Don’t I know every shade of color! I know the dodges of every trade.—And do you know why? I was born with a caul on. My grandmother kept the caul, and I will give it to you. So, you see, I shall soon be in power!”
“You!”
“Why shouldn’t I be Baron Gaudissart and Peer of France? Has not Monsieur Popinot been twice returned deputy for the fourth Arrondissement?—And he dines with Louis-Philippe. Finot is to be a Councillor of State, they say. Oh! if only they would send me to London as Ambassador, I am the man to nonplus the English, I can tell you. Nobody has ever caught Gaudissart napping—Gaudissart the Great. No, no one has ever got the better of me, and no one ever shall in any line, politics or impolitics, here or anywhere. But for the present I must give my mind to insuring property, to the Globe, to the Mouvement, to the Children’s paper, and to the Article de Paris.”
“You will be caught over your newspapers. I will lay a wager that you will not get as far as Poitiers without being done.”
“I am ready to bet, my jewel.”
“A shawl!”
“Done. If I lose the shawl, I will go back to trade and hats. But, get the better of Gaudissart? Never! never!”
And the illustrious commercial traveler struck on attitude in front of Jenny, looking at her haughtily, one hand in his waistcoat, and his head half turned in a Napoleonic pose.
“How absurd you are! What have you been eating this evening?”
Gaudissart was a man of eight-and-thirty, of middle height, burly and fat, as a man is who is accustomed to go about in mail-coaches; his face was as round as a pumpkin, florid, and with regular features resembling the traditional type adopted by sculptors in every country for their statues of Abundance, of Law, Force, Commerce, and the like. His prominent stomach was pear-shaped, and his legs were thin, but he was wiry and active. He picked up Jenny, who was half undressed, and carried her to her bed.
“Hold your tongue, free woman,” said he. “Ah, you don’t know anything about the free woman and Saint-Simonism, and antagonism, and Fourierism, and criticism, and determined push—well it is—in short, it is ten francs on every subscription, Madame Gaudissart.”
“On my honor, you are going crazy, Gaudissart.”
“Always more and more crazy about you,” said he, tossing his hat on to the sofa.
Next day, after breakfasting in style with Jenny Courand, Gaudissart set out on horseback to call in all the market towns which he had been particularly instructed to work up by the various companies to whose success he was devoting his genius. After spending forty-five days in beating the county lying between Paris and Blois, he stayed for a fortnight in this little city, devoting the time to writing letters and visiting the neighboring towns. The day before leaving for Tours he wrote to Mademoiselle Jenny Courand the following letter, of which the fullness and charm cannot be matched by any narrative, and which also serves to prove the peculiar legitimacy of the ties that bound these two persons together.
Letter from Gaudissart to Jenny Courand.
“My dear Jenny—I am afraid you will lose your bet. Like Napoleon, Gaudissart has his star, and will know no Waterloo. I have triumphed everywhere under the conditions set forth. The Insurance business is doing very well. Between Paris and Blois I secured near on two millions; but towards the middle of France heads are remarkably hard, and millions infinitely scarcer. The Article Paris toddles on nicely, as usual; it is a ring on your finger. With my usual rattle, I can always come round the
