Penguin Island — 52 Bk7 Ch3 - Hippolyte Ceres

III. HIPPOLYTE CÉRÈS

In Madame Clarence’s drawing-room the conversation turned upon love, and many charming things were said about it.

“Love is a sacrifice,” sighed Madame Crémeur.

“I agree with you,” replied M. Boutourlé with animation.

But Professor Haddock soon displayed his fastidious insolence.

“It seems to me,” said he, “that the Penguin ladies have made a great fuss since, through St. Maël’s agency, they became viviparous.

But there is nothing to be particularly proud of in that, for it is a state they share in common with cows and pigs, and even with orange and lemon trees, for the seeds of these plants germinate in the pericarp.”

“The self-importance which the Penguin ladies give themselves does not go so far back as that,” answered M. Boutourlé.

“It dates from the day when the holy apostle gave them clothes.

But this self-importance was long kept in restraint, and displayed itself fully only with increased luxury of dress and in a small section of society.

For go only two leagues from Alca into the country at harvest time, and you will see whether women are over-precise or self-important.”

On that day M. Hippolyte Cérès paid his first call.

He was a Deputy of Alca, and one of the youngest members of the House.

His father was said to have kept a dram shop, but he himself was a lawyer of robust physique, a good though prolix speaker, with a self-important air and a reputation for ability.

“M. Cérès,” said the mistress of the house, “your constituency is one of the finest in Alca.”

“And there are fresh improvements made in it every day, Madame.”

“Unfortunately, it is impossible to take a stroll through it any longer,” said M. Boutourlé.

“Why?” asked M. Cérès. “On account of the motors, of course.”

“Do not give them a bad name,” answered the Deputy.

“They are our great national industry.”

“I know.

The Penguins of to-day make me think of the ancient Egyptians.

According to Clement of Alexandria, Taine tells us—though he misquotes the text—the Egyptians worshipped the crocodiles that devoured them.

The Penguins to-day worship the motors that crush them.

Without a doubt the future belongs to the metal beast.

We are no more likely to go back to cabs than we are to go back to the diligence.

And the long martyrdom of the horse will come to an end.

The motor, which the frenzied cupidity of manufacturers hurls like a juggernaut’s car upon the bewildered people and of which the idle and fashionable make a foolish though fatal elegance, will soon begin to perform its true function, and putting its strength at the service of the entire people, will behave like a docile, toiling monster.

But in order that the motor may cease to be injurious and become beneficent we must build roads suited to its speed, roads which it cannot tear up with its ferocious tyres, and from which it will send no clouds of poisonous dust into human lungs.

We ought not to allow slower vehicles or mere animals to go upon those roads, and we should establish garages upon them and foot-bridges over them, and so create order and harmony among the means of communication of the future.

That is the wish of every good citizen.”

Madame Clarence led the conversation back to the improvements in M. Cérès’ constituency.

M.

Cérès showed his enthusiasm for demolitions, tunnelings, constructions, reconstructions, and all other fruitful operations.

“We build to-day in an admirable style,” said he; “everywhere majestic avenues are being reared.

Was ever anything as fine as our arcaded bridges and our domed hotels!”

“You are forgetting that big palace surmounted an immense melon-shaped dome,” grumbled by M. Daniset, an old art amateur, in a voice of restrained rage.

“I am amazed at the degree of ugliness which a modern city can attain.

Alca is becoming Americanised.

Everywhere we are destroying all that is free, unexpected, measured, restrained, human, or traditional among the things that are left us.

Everywhere we are destroying that charming object, a piece of an old wall that bears up the branches of a tree.

Everywhere we are suppressing some fragment of light and air, some fragment of nature, some fragment of the associations that still remain with us, some fragment of our fathers, some fragment of ourselves.

And we are putting up frightful, enormous, infamous houses, surmounted in Viennese style by ridiculous domes, or fashioned after the models of the ‘new art’ without mouldings, or having profiles with sinister corbels and burlesque pinnacles, and such monsters as these shamelessly peer over the surrounding buildings.

We see bulbous protuberances stuck on the fronts of buildings and we are told they are ‘new art’ motives.

I have seen the ‘new art’ in other countries, but it is not so ugly as with us; it has fancy and it has simplicity.

It is only in our own country that by a sad privilege we may behold the newest and most diverse styles of architectural ugliness.

Not an enviable privilege!”

“Are you not afraid,” asked M. Cérès severely, “are you not afraid that these bitter criticisms tend to keep out of our capital the foreigners who flow into it from all arts of the world and who leave millions behind them?”

“You may set your mind at rest about that,” answered M. Daniset.

“Foreigners do not come to admire our buildings; they come to see our courtesans, our dressmakers, and our dancing saloons.”

“We have one bad habit,” sighed M. Cérès, “it is that we calumniate ourselves.”

Madame Clarence as an accomplished hostess thought it was time to return to the subject of love and asked M. Jumel his opinion of M. Leon Blum’s recent book in which the author complained.

That an irrational custom,” went on Professor Haddock, “prevents respectable young ladies from making love, a thing they would enjoy doing, whilst mercenary girls do it too much and without getting any enjoyment out of it.

It is indeed deplorable.

But M. Leon Blum need not fret too much.

If the evil exists, as he says it does, in our middle-class society, I can assure him that everywhere else he would see a consoling spectacle.

Among the people, the mass of the people through town and country, girls do not deny themselves that pleasure.”

“It is depravity!” said Madame Crémeur.

And she praised the innocence of young girls in terms full of modesty and grace.

It was charming to hear her.

Professor Haddock’s views on the same subject were, on the contrary, painful to listen to.

“Respectable young girls,” said he, “are guarded and watched over.

Besides, men do not, as a rule, pursue them much, either through probity, or from a fear of grave responsibilities, or because the seduction of a young girl would not be to their credit.

Even then we do not know what really takes place, for the reason that what is hidden is not seen.

This is a condition necessary to the existence of all society.

The scruples of respectable young girls could be more easily overcome than those of married women if the same pressure were brought to bear on them, and for this there are two reasons: they have more illusions, and their curiosity has not been satisfied.

Women, for the most part, have been so disappointed by their husbands that they have not courage enough to begin again with somebody else.

I myself have been met by this obstacle several times in my attempts at seduction.”

At the moment when Professor Haddock ended his unpleasant remarks, Mademoiselle Eveline Clarence entered the drawing-room and listlessly handed about tea with that expression of boredom which gave an oriental charm to her beauty.

“For my part,” said Hippolyte Cérès, looking at her, “I declare myself the young ladies’ champion.”

“He must be a fool,” thought the girl.

Hippolyte Cérès, who had never set foot outside of his political world of electors and elected, thought Madame Clarence’s drawing-room most select, its mistress exquisite, and her daughter amazingly beautiful.

His visits became frequent and he paid court to both of them.

Madame Clarence, who now liked attention, thought him agreeable.

Eveline showed no friendliness towards him, and treated him with a hauteur and disdain that he took for aristocratic behaviour and fashionable manners, and he thought all the more of her on that account.

This busy man taxed his ingenuity to please them, and he sometimes succeeded.

He got them cards for fashionable functions and boxes at the Opera.

He furnished Mademoiselle Clarence with several opportunities of appearing to great advantage and in particular at a garden party which, although given by a Minister, was regarded as really fashionable, and gained its first success in society circles for the Republic.

At that party Eveline had been much noticed and had attracted the special attention of a young diplomat called Roger Lambilly who, imagining that she belonged to a rather fast set, invited her to his bachelor’s flat.

She thought him handsome and believed him rich, and she accepted.

A little moved, almost disquieted, she very nearly became the victim of her daring, and only avoided defeat by an offensive measure audaciously carried out.

This was the most foolish escapade in her unmarried life.

Being now on friendly terms with Ministers and with the President, Eveline continued to wear her aristocratic and pious affectations, and these won for her the sympathy of the chief personages in the anti-clerical and democratic Republic.

M.

Hippolyte Cérès, seeing that she was succeeding and doing him credit, liked her still more.

He even went so far as to fall madly in love with her.

Henceforth, in spite of everything, she began to observe him with interest, being curious to see if his passion would increase.

He appeared to her without elegance or grace, and not well bred, but active, clear-sighted, full of resource, and not too great a bore.

She still made fun of him, but he had now won her interest.

One day she wished to test him.

It was during the elections, when members of Parliament were, as the phrase runs, requesting a renewal of their mandates.

He had an opponent, who, though not dangerous at first and not much of an orator, was rich and was reported to be gaining votes every day.

Hippolyte Cérès, banishing both dull security and foolish alarm from his mind, redoubled his care.

His chief method of action was by public meetings at which he spoke vehemently against the rival candidate.

His committee held huge meetings on Saturday evenings and at three o’clock on Sunday afternoons.

One Sunday, as he called on the Clarences, he found Eveline alone in the drawing-room.

He had been chatting for about twenty or twenty-five minutes, when, taking out his watch, he saw that it was a quarter to three.

The young girl showed herself amiable, engaging, attractive, and full of promises.

Cérès was fascinated, but he stood up to go.

“Stay a little longer,” said she in a pressing and agreeable voice which made him promptly sit down again.

She was full of interest, of abandon, curiosity, and weakness.

He blushed, turned pale, and again got up.

Then, in order to keep him still longer, she looked at him out of two grey and melting eyes, and though her bosom was heaving, she did not say another word.

He fell at her feet in distraction, but once more looking at his watch, he jumped up with a terrible oath.

“D—!

a quarter to four!

I must be off.”

And immediately he rushed down the stairs.

From that time onwards she had a certain amount of esteem for him.