‘For you Polyeucte feels no end of love …’
Jean fought back his giggles. But in Marceline’s wake came Nelly’s golden voice.
‘An honourable woman can admit without shame
Those surprises of the senses that duty does tame;
It’s only at such assaults that virtue emerges
And one doubts of a heart untested by its urges.’
He heard his own heart beating. He had been put off Corneille in his French class at school but, like Marceline, shivered for Pauline embodied with such grace and fervour by Nelly.
‘I loved him, Stratonice; and he full deserved it.
But what befalls merit when no fortune preserves it?’
When Marceline had left for one of those meetings that now punctuated her days, Jean found himself alone again with Nelly.
‘I wonder if I’m not going to fall in love with you. Hearing you speak those lines is wonderful. You’re someone else.’
‘Oh Jules-who, you are talking codswallop. I’ve warned you before. I can love you, but you mustn’t love me. You’re nowhere near solid enough for someone like me. One day you will be, and then you’ll see that being an actress’s lover isn’t a good idea, not a good idea at all. If you let yourself go with me, I guarantee I’ll break your little romantic, and somewhat divided, heart. Stop it now, darling, and telephone your Claude. I’m unhappy about what’s happened to her too. She’s the love of your life. The only one.’
They made love, and afterwards Jean called the clinic. Madame Chaminadze was sleeping. The supervisor told him she was slightly better. He hung up.
‘You see,’ Nelly said, ‘I’m useful for something. You couldn’t be on your own. It would be unbearable.’
It seemed to Jean that Julius was welcoming him more warmly than usual, which made his earlier reticence all the more expressive. Thanks to his elocution lessons, Julius now speaks practically without an accent. He has Frenchified himself far more by taste than necessity for the milieu in which he moves. Madeleine, meanwhile, continues to benefit from Blanche de Rocroy’s social skills. She can no longer be confused by those little details that tripped her up a year ago. She is in a period of transition nonetheless, and, conscious of what she still lacks, has lost her early assurance and not yet acquired the self-confidence she will be recognised for later. To put it another way, she is going through a timid phase, wholly understandable given the task she faces: to consign to oblivion the weary, pessimistic prostitute who would have foundered without the encounter with Julius. Julius adores her. Does he know where she comes from? Palfy thinks not. As foreigners do, Julius has accepted what he is offered at face value. He brims with that German generosity that finds everything good. When a German sets about being good, it’s enough to make a cat cry. Julius, in the grip of love, has transfigured Madeleine. He never noticed her suburban accent, and her newly refined speech has only just struck his ear. He marvels at her distinction and finds nothing too good for her. He has put in Madeleine’s name the property he bought recently at Montfort-l’Amaury, a ravishing little village which is not yet fashionable but whose fame Madeleine will contribute greatly to after the war. In reality, Julius is a man of simple tastes: all he wants is to live in France, in the country, in a reasonable house within striking distance of Paris so that they can come up to the theatre in the evening or to meet friends. In his eyes the outcome of the war has little to do with these plans. Should Germany win, its union with France will become closer, leading on to a golden age. Should it lose, France will find itself as it was before, immersed once again in easy living. Julius has done enough favours for those around him to hope that after a brief period in purgatory he will be welcomed back with open arms. He loves Paris, its theatres and concerts, French fashion, the outrageous, superficial and amusing conversation at grand dinner parties. And how can one live without going to Maxim’s two or three times a week? The mirrors, the rococo decor, the service from Albert, a head waiter one might think had come straight out of a play by Édouard Bourdet,28 those tables where everyone knows everyone else, exchanging kisses and secret phrases, have little by little become a second home to this man overflowing with human warmth. So it’s here that he deals with his increasingly important personal affairs. What else would such a perennial optimist be doing but preparing for life after the war?
In this happy atmosphere, this oasis of luxury and gourmandise, Jean found out what was expected of him, which was simple and required only his discretion, complete discretion. Little by little we shall find out, as he does, exactly what that means, and to be honest it hardly matters: needs must when the devil drives. Each week he has to pay the bill at the clinic, which is predictably exploiting him like a character in a Victor Hugo novel. It is a wretched business, though we can be reassured: Jean will not be forced to sell his teeth and hair, as Cosette’s mother is, to pay for Claude’s keep. Yet again in his short and already colourful life, he is facing temptation. We shan’t claim, hypocritically, that he succumbs to it. He grabs it by the scruff of the neck. Julius is blissful. Madeleine has not understood, or pretends not to understand. She nods, and the sommelier, quick to turn the slightest sign into an order, brings another magnum of champagne. Julius draws attention to the date: 1929. An exceptional year, and a good idea to drink it rapidly, before the army’s technicians get the idea of transforming this sublime liquid into a fuel substitute for their tanks.
‘Talking of the German army,’ Julius adds, immediately regretting his subversive sally, ‘the front has stabilised. All necessary matériel is being delivered to the lines in preparation for the spring offensive …’
Palfy is in a good mood. He does not contradict him. Why should he? The battle grinding on in that icy hell does not concern them. Julius believes himself as safe as he can be, having reconciled politics, the war and his own affairs. Everything is in place … So which was Liane de Pougy’s table? Ah yes, that one opposite. And Boni de Castellane’s? In the room at the end. Julius is not one of those superficial Parisians who don’t know their ‘little history’. He would have liked to live at the time of Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril and Chocolat. He drops their names the way one might drop illustrious titles of the nobility. Madeleine, who has only known the Moulin Rouge as a dance hall where girls found themselves lonely and impecunious lovers, refrains from joining in the conversation. She has discreetly passed Jean a packet of sweets for Cyrille and two pairs of stockings for Claude. She adds in his ear, ‘If you’re going to open that gallery for Palfy, you should see Louis-Edmond. He has contacts, but he’s going through a bad time at the moment. You have to help him.’