A Chambermaid's Diary

emb

nd of which everybody speaks in admiration. This book is entitled, "From Five to Seven," and is a howling success. It is, says the article, a series of brilliant and cutting society studies, which, beneath their light exterior, hide a profound philosophy. Yes, rely upon it! At the same time that they p

aroused the greatest hopes. Everybody was struck with his great faculty of observation, with his powerful gift of satire, with his implacable and just irony that penetrated so deeply humanity's ridiculous side. A well-informed and free mind, to which social conventions were nothing but falsehood and servility, a generous and clear-sighted soul, which, instead of bending under the humi

d sharp, profound, terrible words, which, taken up by some and passed on by others, were repeated at the four corners of Paris, and at once became classics, in a way. A complete and astonishing psychology of snobbishness is contained in the impressions, the traits, the concise profiles, the strangely-outlined and life-like silhouettes, of which this prodigal and

and fashion a subject of most careful consideration. He was seen in frock coats of an audacious Philippism, wearing collars and cravats of the style of 1830 much exaggerated, velvet waistcoats of irresistible cut, and showy jewels; and he took from metal cases, inlaid with too precious stones, cigarettes sumptuously rolled in gilt paper. But, heavy of limb and awkward of movement, he retained, in spite of everything, the unwieldy gait of the Auvergne peasants, his compatriots. Too new in a too sudden elegance in which he did not feel at home, in vai

ks, and satin; I always look like a boor. Th

ls too big, silks too rich, giving her the air of a laundry queen, the majesty of a Mardi-Gras empress. They made a great deal of sport of her, sometimes cruell

an ironist, h

Jewish bankers, Venezuelan dukes, and vagrant arch-dukes, and in the houses of very old ladies, crazed over literature, panderism, and the Academy. They thought of n

pting an invitation to the house of a friend who was not a conspicuous personage,

r Old

an invitation to dine at the Rothschilds. It is the first. You understand that we cannot refuse. It would be disastro

the purchase that he had jus

They undoubtedly took us for journalists, for Bohemi

and labor. And he contrived also to extinguish the flames that sometimes kindled in his brain, and to finally stifle that cursed wit whose sudden revival on certain occasions it frightened him to feel, supposing it to be dead forever. Then, it w

ich for some years had made their house so charming, but a really elegant, really solemn dinner, a stiff and chilly dinner, a select dinner, to which should be ceremoniously invited, together with some corre

or Charrigaud, "is not to dine in th

for a long time, Victor Cha

re are some who are very suitable, and whom the most Catholic newspapers speak of with admiration. Later, when our conn

thing is to get the best people among those who are divorced. Say what you

ud. "Adultery is now very old-fashioned. Nobody but friend Bourget no

aud replied, in a ton

s! You will see, you will see that, because of them,

she

society, you must learn first either to

guests, which, after laborious combinati

, and her friend, the economi

in, divorced, and her frie

friend, the Viscount Lahyrais, clubm

, and her friend, Mme. Ti

end, Lucien Sartorys, as beautiful as a woman, as supple

cene coins, and Isidore Durand de la Marne, author of gallant me

-painter, Ja

l novelist, Maur

reporter, Po

, thanks to the mediation of influ

Fergus alon

photographs, for which he had posed, with an artificial bust? And are there not some disagreeable stories afloat regarding her? Did she not have some rather vulgar experiences b

was very vindictive, would be quite capable of disgracing her in one of his books, and that Kimberly would come to this dinne

come the latter. It was now a matter only of watching themselves, and, as Mme. Charrigaud said, of behaving themselves like real society people. This dinner, so marvelously prepared a

tried various lighting arrangements and table decorations, that they might not be embarrassed at the last moment. Over these matters M. and Mme. Charrigaud quarreled like

l think that they are in a grisette's apartm

hing the point of paroxysm. "You are still what you used to be, a dirty

let us have a divorce. By that means we at least shall co

must rent some, and also rent some chairs, for they had only fifteen, and even these were

Shrimp hash, goose-liver cutlets, game that looks like ham, ham that looks like cake, truffles in whipped cream, and mashed p

how to disguise things that I defy anybody to know

e great da

ling and so weary that, as she said, she felt her belly in her heels, she made a final examination of the house, upset and rearranged bric-à-brac and furniture without reason, and went from one room to another without knowing why and as if she were mad. She

the table decoration! I assure you that blue becomes black in the light. And then, after all, centauries

ers! how provo

berly said very truly the other evening at the Rothschi

ve me crazy with all your stupid observat

eur was o

well, without too many accidents, without too many delays. I did not know that to be society people was

dame g

ly that nothing will change you.

comedy. First I was to preside over the cloak-room, and then to aid, or rather superintend, the four butlers, four

solved at the last moment not to come? What a humiliation! What a disaster! The Charrigauds were in a state of consternation. Joseph Brigard reassured them. It was the day

if this eulogy had the magic power to hasten the coming of "th

g the same feeling. "The other day at the Rothschilds I felt that it would be necess

e climax. "You see, my dear Monsieur Charrigaud,

Countess Fergus entered, imposing and majestic, in a black gown embroidered with jet and steel that showed off the fat whiteness and so

ng honored with her presence the humble house of "these little people." Charrigaud thought he noticed that she examined with a discreetly but visibly contemptuous pout the rented silverware, the table decoration, Mme. Charrigau

vial topics then current, the conversation gradually became general, a

ality of this was really intense and savory. They divided the universe into two great parts: on the one side, that which is regular; on the other, that which is not; here the people that one may receive; there the people that one may not receive. And these two great parts soon became pieces, and the pieces became thin slices, the subdivision going on ad infinitum. There were those in whose houses one may dine, and also those to whose houses one may go only for the evening. Those in whose houses one may not dine, but to which one may go for the evening. Those whom one may receive at his

, and trickster. "The whole thing lies there. It is by the strict

ry things. As I listened to them, I re

patient, feverish, very pale, he watched the service, tried to catch favorable or ironical impressions of the faces of his guests, and mechanically, with movements more and more accelerate

. certainly .

cent brilliancy, and wearing an aigrette of red feathers in her hair, Mme. Charrigaud bent to right and to

ridiculous woman! And what a carnival costume! To-morrow, becau

igaud, beneath the fixity

a bad appearance he makes! To-morrow we

re followed an embarrassing lull in the conversation, wh

thing. I attended a ritual dinner which the great poet, John-Giotto Farfadetti, gave to s

ust have been!" mince

d gestures, and even the orchid that adorned the butto

e con

l. On the table some cups, in which mauve and yellow bonbons harmonized, and in the centre a basin of pink crystal, filled with kanaka preserves ... and nothing more. Draped in long white robe

ving," sighed the c

o a painful laceration of our souls-was when Frederic-Ossian Pinggleton sang the poem of the be

untess Fergus, "repeat this prodigi

annot. I can give yo

that's it! T

tions. Suddenly a thrill ran round the table, and the flowers themselves, and the jewels on their beds of flesh, and the glasses on the table-cloth, took attitudes in harmony w

ainly ...

a flood of yellow cream, cherries poured like red larv?. As for the Countess

rly b

hin; both alike clad in drugget robes, their heads alike adorned with Florentine BONNETS, both alike neurasthenics, for they had, in different bodies, like souls and lily-twin spirits. John-Giotto Farfadetti sang in his verses the marvelous symbols

lence was religious. Something sacred

o the vibration of some deep and magic water. John-Giotto Farfadetti closed the sort of antiphonary on the vellum of which, with a Persian reed, he wrote, or rather engraved, his eternal poems; Frederic-Ossian Pinggleton turned his lyre-shaped

ercelet, with a sli

imberly, reassuringly; "

e con

violent perfume was rising. And on a little table long-stemmed narcissuses were dying, like sou

ountess, in a quivering voice, so

ut stopping, went o

e distance, the distracted voices of sirens, the gasping voices of marine boilers. It was the

y!" said Madame Tiercelet

cative it is!" applauded the C

a swallow of champagne. Then, feeling that he was listened

has been singing in my heart.' The studio seemed moved by this unusual colloquy. On the mauve wall, which was gradually losing its color, the gold alg? seemed to spread and contract, and to spread and contract

rue th

om going on with the recital, which thenceforth was to unfold itself amid

n seeking and calling one another, and which meet at last to-day. Oh! my dear Pinggleton, unknown life has these strange, terrible, and delicious fatalities. Was there ever a more splendid poem than that which we are living to-night?' But the painter kept on repeating, in a voice more and more sorrowful, this cry: 'Botticellina! Botticellina!' He rose from the triple row of cushions upon which he was lying, and walked back and forth in the studio, feverishly. After some minutes of anxious agitation, he said: 'Botticellina was Mine. Henceforth must she be Thine?' 'She shall be Ours!' replied the poet, imperiously; 'for God has chosen you to be the point of suture for this severed soul which is She and which is I! If not, Botticellina possesses the magic pearl that dissipates dreams, I the dagger that delivers from corporeal chains. If you refuse, we shall love each other in death.' And he added, in a deep tone that resounded through the studio like a voice from the abyss: 'Perhaps it would be better so.' 'No,' cried the painter, 'you shall live. Botticellina shall be Thine, as she has been Mine. I will tear my flesh to shreds, I will tear my heart from my breast, I will break my head against the wall, but

the emotion that prevailed around the table was ch

rves prepared by kanaka virgins in honor of a betrothal more magnificent

hrough. In the salon Kimberly was closely surrounded and warmly congratulated. The looks of al

y Frederic-Ossian Pinggleton," cried Mme. de Rambur

t which I have related, Frederic-Ossian Pinggleton has been unwilling to

should so like to be

ourt, in a slightly sarcastic tone,

er said,

x, my dear Mauric

y low voice, so as to be heard only by the psychologic

into the smoking-r

reen and perverse loves, of their magic preserves. Yes, yes, to say the coarsest things, to besmear one's self with good black fetid mud for a quarter of an

rtsman, gambler, and trickster, felt wings sprouting all over him. Each one felt the need of collecting his thoughts, of being alone, of prolonging the dream, of realizing it. In spite of the efforts of Kimberly, who went from one to anothe

and Madame looked at each other for a long time, steadily

u know, it is a pretty f

said Madame, in a to

hat's a

ng but roll dirty pellets of bread in your fat fingers. Nobody cou

nd your blunders. It was I perhaps, it was I undoubtedly, who told of Pinggleton's so

being," cried Madame, at th

after having arranged the silverware and the opened bottles in t

n. Suddenly noticing me in the dining-room, where I was putting things a

ht that you give me. To see a woman who is not a

whether I was

their wit, and their social connections were pompously celebrated, they forgot everything, and talked of nothi

ergus!" said Madame, at lunch, as they w

!" said Monsieur

There's an astonishing talker for y

After all, his vice concerns no one b

ainly

dded, ind

cessary to pick ev

rty journalists who would promise her an article on her husband's books or a word about her costumes and her salon, and Monsieur's complacency in letting this vile conduct go on, though perfectly aware of it. With admirable cynicism he

them send me my old master's new book