Managing the house might have filled the void of her idle days, but I soon realized with chagrin that Juliette was not at all the housekeeper she had boasted she was. She was careless, had no taste, was preoccupied only with her linen underwear and her dog; everything else was of no importance to her, and things took their own course or rather went according to the wishes of the servants. Our renewed staff of domestics consisted of a cook, an old, sloppy woman, grasping and ill-tempered, whose cooking talents did not extend beyond tapioca pudding, hashed veal with white sauce and salad; a chamber maid, Celestine, impudent and depraved, who respected only people who spent large sums of money, and a housekeeper, Mother Sochard, who prayed incessantly and often used to get frightfully drunk in order to forget her troubles, as she said: her husband who beat her and took away her money and her daughter who was good for nothing.
The waste was enormous, our table very bad and the rest correspondingly so. Whenever we happened to have visitors, Juliette would order from Bignon the rarest and most elaborate dishes. I viewed with displeasure the uncommon intimacy, a sort of bond of friendship, which had sprung up between Juliette and Celestine. When dressing her mistress, the maid told her stories which the former enjoyed immensely; she disclosed improper secrets of the homes where she had served and advised Juliette in all matters. "At Mme. K's they do it this way—at Mme. V's they do it that way." That they were "swell places" goes without saying. Juliette often went into the linen room where Celestine was sewing and stayed there for hours, seated on a heap of bed sheets, listening to the inexhaustible gossip of the servant-girl. … From time to time an argument would arise over some stolen thing or some neglected duty. Celestine would get excited, hurling the grossest insults, knocking the furniture, screaming in her squeaky voice:
"Well! … Many thanks to you! … This is some dirty place! … A goose like that has the nerve to accuse one! … Well look here, my pretty one, I am going to shake myself free from you and your boob over there who has the face of a dunce."
Juliette would tell her to get out immediately, not wishing her even to stay out her week.
"Yes, yes! Pack up at once, you nasty girl … right away!"
She would come to sulk in my presence, pale and trembling:
"Ah! my dear, that vile creature, that wretched woman! … And I who was so kind to her! … "
In the evening they would make up again, and amidst laughter which resounded louder than ever, Celestine's voice would bawl out:
"I should say the Countess was a rude slut!"
One day Juliette said to me:
"Your little wifie has nothing to put on. She is as naked as a new born child, the poor thing!"
And so there were new visits to the dressmaker's, to the milliner's, to the linen shop; and she again became gay, vivacious, affectionate. The shadow of boredom which had crossed her countenance disappeared. … In the midst of materials, laces, among plumes and gewgaws, her whole being expanded and shone forth. Her tender fingers experienced a physical delight in handling satin, in touching crepe, in stroking velvet, in losing themselves in the milky white waves of fine batiste. The smallest piece of silk, when she draped it into something, at once assumed the pretty appearance of a living thing; out of braid and lace trimmings she could draw the most exquisite harmonies. Although I was very much alarmed by these expensive whims, I could not refuse Juliette anything, and I abandoned myself to the joy of seeing her so happy, to the delight of seeing her so charming—her, whose beauty rendered all inanimate objects about her beautiful, her, who put the breath of gracious life into everything she touched!
For more than a month packages and strange cases were being delivered to us every evening. … Dresses followed dresses, hats followed cloaks, umbrellas and embroidered chemises; the most expensive linens accumulated in heaps and filled all the drawers, presses, wardrobes.
"You see, my dear," Juliette explained to me, discerning amazement in my glance. "You see I did not have anything. … This is all I need. From now on, all I'll have to do is to receive people. … Ah don't be afraid! … I am very economical. See here, I have had a high body made in all my gowns for every day use on the street, and a décolleté to wear at the Opera! Just figure out how many dresses that will save me. … One … two … three … four … five … dresses, my dear! … You see now!"
For the first appearance at the theatre she put on a gown that was the sensation of the evening. As long as the tormenting affair lasted I was the most miserable man in the world. … I felt the covetous glances of the entire audience directed on Juliette, glances that devoured her, that disrobed her, glances that defile the woman one adores. I would have liked to hide Juliette deep in the loge and throw a thick dark woolen cloak on her shoulders, and with heart clawed by hatred I wished the theatre had sunk into the ground through some sudden cataclysm, that by a sudden collapse of its ceiling and chandeliers it had crushed to a powder all these men, each of whom was stealing a little of Juliette's chastity, a little of her love from me. She, on the other hand, triumphant, seemed to say: "I love you all, gentlemen, for thinking me beautiful. You are nice people."
Scarcely did we enter our house when I drew Juliette toward me and for a long, long time held her pressed to my heart, repeating without end: "You love me, Juliette, don't you?" but the heart of Juliette was no longer listening to me. Seeing that I was sad, noticing that from my eyelids tears were about to fall upon her cheek, she freed herself from my embrace and said somewhat angrily:
"What! I was the prettiest, the most beautiful of them all! … And you are not satisfied yet? … And you are crying yet! … That is not nice at all! … What more do you want?"
Our first disagreeable quarrel arose over Juliette's friends. Gabrielle Bernier, Jesselin and some other people, formerly brought over to our house at the Rue de Saint Petersbourg by Malterre, again began to pursue us at the Rue de Balzac. I frankly told her so; she seemed very much surprised.
"What have you against Monsieur Jesselin?" she asked me. She used to call the others by their Christian names … but she pronounced the name Monsieur Jesselin with great respect.
"I certainly have nothing against him, my dear. … But I don't like him, he gets on my nerves … he is ridiculous. Here, then, I think are good reasons for not wishing to see that idiot."
Juliette was shocked. That I should have called a man of Monsieur Jesselin's importance and reputation an idiot was quite incomprehensible to her. She looked at me with fear as if I had just uttered a terrible blasphemy.
"Monsieur Jesselin, an idiot! … He … such a gentleman, so serious minded, and who has been to India! … Don't you know that he is a member of the Geographical Society?"
"What about Gabrielle Bernier? … Is she also a member of the Geographical Society?"
As a rule Juliette never lost her temper. When she was angry her look became severe, the wrinkle on her forehead deepened, her voice lost a little of its sweet sonorousness. She answered simply:
"Gabrielle is my friend."
"That's just what I object to."
There was a moment of silence. Juliette, seated in an armchair, was fingering the lace of her morning gown, thinking. An ironic smile wandered on her lips.
"Do you mean to say that I must not see anyone? … Is that what you want? … Well that's going to be very amusing. … We shall never go out any more … we shall live like beasts! … "
"That's not the question at all,