Rise and Fall of César Birotteau | Page 9

to becoming a political personage. Yes, you may shake your
head, but if our affair succeeds I may become deputy of Paris. Ah! I am
not named Cesar for nothing; I succeed. It is unimaginable! outside
every one credits me with capacity, but here the only person whom I
want so much to please that I sweat blood and water to make her happy,
is precisely the one who takes me for a fool."
These phrases, divided by eloquent pauses and delivered like shot, after

the manner of those who recriminate, expressed so deep and constant
an attachment that Madame Birotteau was inwardly touched, though,
like all women, she made use of the love she inspired to gain her end.
"Well! Birotteau," she said, "if you love me, let me be happy in my
own way. Neither you nor I have education; we don't know how to talk,
nor to play 'your obedient servant' like men of the world; how then do
you expect that we could succeed in government places? I shall be
happy at Les Tresorieres, indeed I shall. I have always loved birds and
animals, and I can pass my life very well taking care of the hens and
the farm. Let us sell the business, marry Cesarine, and give up your
visions. We can come and pass the winters in Paris with our son- in-law;
we shall be happy; nothing in politics or commerce can then change our
way of life. Why do you want to crush others? Isn't our present fortune
enough for us? When you are a millionaire can you eat two dinners;
will you want two wives? Look at my uncle Pillerault! He is wisely
content with his little property, and spends his life in good deeds. Does
he want fine furniture? Not he! I know very well you have been
ordering furniture for me; I saw Braschon here, and it was not to buy
perfumery."
"Well, my beauty, yes! Your furniture is ordered; our improvements
begin to-morrow, and are superintended by an architect recommended
to me by Monsieur de la Billardiere."
"My God!" she cried, "have pity upon us!"
"But you are not reasonable, my love. Do you think that at thirty- seven
years of age, fresh and pretty as you are, you can go and bury yourself
at Chinon? I, thank God, am only thirty-nine. Chance opens to me a
fine career; I enter upon it. If I conduct myself prudently I can make an
honorable house among the bourgeoisie of Paris, as was done in former
times. I can found the house of Birotteau, like the house of Keller, or
Jules Desmartes, or Roguin, Cochin, Guillaume, Lebas, Nucingen,
Saillard, Popinot, Matifat, who make their mark, or have made it, in
their respective quarters. Come now! If this affair were not as sure as
bars of gold--"

"Sure!"
"Yes, sure. For two months I have figured at it. Without seeming to do
so, I have been getting information on building from the department of
public works, from architects and contractors. Monsieur Grindot, the
young architect who is to alter our house, is in despair that he has no
money to put into the speculation."
"He hopes for the work; he says that to screw something out of you."
"Can he take in such men as Pillerault, as Charles Claparon, as Roguin?
The profit is as sure as that of the Paste of Sultans."
"But, my dear friend, why should Roguin speculate? He gets his
commissions, and his fortune is made. I see him pass sometimes more
full of care than a minister of state, with an underhand look which I
don't like; he hides some secret anxiety. His face has grown in five
years to look like that of an old rake. Who can be sure that he won't
kick over the traces when he gets all your property into his own hands.
Such things happen. Do we know him well? He has only been a friend
for fifteen years, and I wouldn't put my hand into the fire for him. Why!
he is not decent: he does not live with his wife. He must have
mistresses who ruin him; I don't see any other cause for his anxiety.
When I am dressing I look through the blinds, and I often see him
coming home in the mornings: where from? Nobody knows. He seems
to me like a man who has an establishment in town, who spends on his
pleasures, and Madame on hers. Is that the life of a notary? If they
make fifty thousand francs a year and spend sixty thousand, in twenty
years they will get to the end of their property and be as naked as the
little Saint John; and then, as they can't do without luxury, they