Paul. And what is wanting? It is shameful, infamous! A fortune! And, indeed, what does it matter that I have no fortune? All the same, I ought to live and do like other people. Am I to go and register myself as an artizan? A cobbler, perhaps! All because I have no fortune! That amounts to an absurdity.
Madame P. We had a fortune once, Paul.
Paul. I know you had. And where is it now? I know more than that.... I know that you squandered it.
Madame P. Ah, Paul! do not blame me! You know that we women are so weak, so confiding. Before your father’s illness we were considered very wealthy people; we had a fine estate in the Simbìrsk country. He knew how to manage all those things. Afterwards, when he was struck down with paralysis, I lived not at all luxuriously, only respectably.
Paul. How much did Mons. Péché cost you? Confess, Maman!
Madame P. Oh! my dear one, he was indispensable for your education. Then I went abroad twice. But I never ran into any heavy expense. And suddenly I was informed that I had spent all the fortune, that we had nothing left. It is dreadful! In all probability it was our stewards and bailiffs that were to blame for the whole thing.
Paul. Canaille!
Madame P. What can we do, my dear one? People are so wicked, so cunning; and you and I are so confiding!
Paul. It’s you that are confiding, Maman. If they got into my hands, I would tell them quite another story! One, two, ... (Makes gesture with his hand.) There’s nothing else to be done with those creatures. It’s good for them to get a thrashing sometimes. It really makes me quite angry; just because of these scoundrels I have to go every morning, on foot, to a miserable office of which I need never have heard; and then either walk home, or jolt along with a wretched cabman. I cannot live in the same fashion as all these copying-clerks that I have to sit side by side with. They buy onion-pies at the costermonger’s, and stand eating them at the street door. They can do that sort of thing—they are made that way—but I can’t. Now, you see, I am in debt to every one—to the cabman, to the tailor, to Chevalier: all our set go to Chevalier, and all the young barristers.... You can hardly expect me to eat onion-pies! And now, I’ve got to go through an examination in some District Institution. It’s dreadful! You see, if I had a fortune, I should never even hear of all these things—Law Courts, and District Institutions, and copying-clerks, with their onion-pies! What do I want with them all?
Madame P. Yes, yes, I understand.... With your sensitive nature.... You are so nervous!