It was by the advice of the Comte de Gondreville that Colonel Giguet made his son a lawyer.Simon had all the more opportunity of shining at the bar in the arrondissement of Arcis because he was the only barrister, solicitors pleading their own cases in these petty localities.The young man had really secured certain triumphs in the court of assizes of the Aube, but he was none the less an object of derision to Frederic Marest, procureur-du-roi, Olivier Vinet, the substitute procureur, and the judge, Michu,--the three best minds in the court.
Simon Giguet, like other men, paid goodly tribute to the mighty power of ridicule that pursued him.He liked to hear himself talk, and he talked on all occasions; he solemnly delivered himself of dry and long-winded sentences which passed for eloquence among the upper bourgeoisie of Arcis.The poor fellow belonged to that species of bore which desires to explain everything, even the ******st thing.He explained rain; he explained the revolution of July; he explained things impenetrable; he explained Louis-Philippe, Odilon Barrot, Monsieur Thiers, the Eastern Question; he explained Champagne; he explained 1788; he explained the tariff of custom houses and humanitarians, magnetism and the economy of the civil list.
This lean young man, with a bilious skin, tall enough to justify his sonorous nullity (for it is rare that a tall man does not have eminent faculties of some kind) outdid the puritanism of the votaries of the extreme Left, all of them so sensitive, after the manner of prudes who have their intrigues to hide.Dressed invariably in black, he wore a white cravat which came down low on his chest, so that his face seemed to issue from a horn of white paper, for the collar of his shirt was high and stiff after a fashion now, fortunately, exploded.His trousers and his coats were always too large for him.He had what is called in the provinces dignity; that is to say, he was stiffly erect and pompously dull in manner.His friend, Antonin Goulard, accused him of imitating Monsieur Dupin.And in truth, the young barrister was apt to wear shoes and stout socks of black filoselle.
Protected by the respect that every one bore to his father, and by the influence exercised by his aunt over a little town whose principal inhabitants had frequented her salon for many years, Simon Giguet, possessing already ten thousand francs a year, not counting the fees of his profession and the fortune his aunt would not fail to leave him, felt no doubt of his election.Nevertheless, the first sound of the bell announcing the arrival of the most influential electors echoed in the heart of the ambitious aspirant and filled it with vague fears.Simon did not conceal from himself the cleverness and the immense resources of old Grevin, nor the prestige attending the means that would surely be employed by the ministry to promote the candidacy of a young and dashing officer then in Africa, attached to the staff of the prince-royal.
"I think," he said to his father, "that I have the colic; I feel a warmth at the pit of my stomach that makes me very uneasy.""Old soldiers," replied the colonel, "have the same feeling when they hear the cannon beginning to growl at the opening of a battle.""What will it be in the Chamber!" said the barrister.
"The Comte de Gondreville told me," said the old colonel, "that he has known more than one orator affected with the qualms which precede, even with us old fire-eaters, the opening of a battle.But all this is idle talk.You want to be a deputy," added the old man, shrugging his shoulders, "then be one!""Father, the real triumph will be Cecile! Cecile has an immense fortune.Now-a-days an immense fortune means power.""Dear me! how times have changed! Under the Emperor men had to be brave.""Each epoch is summed up in a phrase," said Simon, recalling an observation of the Comte de Gondreville, which paints that personage well.He remarked: "Under the Empire, when it was desirable to destroy a man, people said, 'He is a coward.' To-day we say, 'He is a cheat.'""Poor France! where are they leading you?" cried the colonel; "I shall go back to my roses.""Oh, stay, father! You are the keystone of the arch."