The awakening

A suit for divorce or separation is begun, as everyone knows, by a petition to the presiding judge: the party seeking freedom or release from the conjugal tie briefly states his grievances, and requests the magistrate, according to law, to attempt a reconciliation, a useless proceeding in most cases, before the final break. In the provinces, the first step in the proceedings is generally heartily welcomed in the solicitors' offices. The clerks hastily leave their desks to get a look at the rough draft--which they will soon have to copy--with all the eagerness of youth to enjoy a scandal, the participants in which are known to them. It is a regular treat for them; but their unkindness is quite devoid of malice.

Thus, the Derize case at Grenoble brought into close conference in M. Tabourin's office, during the chief's absence, the four clerks--the learned Vitrolle, Dauras, Lestaque and the errand-boy Malaunay. They began the reading of a communication from the veteran barrister, M. Salvage with the formality commensurate with the importance of the persons concerned, and with a sense of the glory reflected upon the office by such a truly Parisian affair.

"Another victim of man's selfishness!" cried Vitrolle with an air of finality.

The head clerk was chivalrous, a feminist, and imbued with a local patriotism stimulated by the scholarly learning of an archivist. Had he not discovered from statistics--into what will statistics not inquire?--that "the number of deceived husbands is less in Dauphiné than anywhere else," this being an opinion which an old author named Chateaumières de Grenaille had formulated as early as the 16th century, stating that it was "almost a miracle to hear of a woman in Grenoble having a love-affair to the damage or prejudice of her reputation." Nothing less than this learned authority could have induced him to side against M. Derize, whose almost universal reputation as an historian would otherwise have had great weight with him.

"Pooh, let's wait for the answer," protested young Malaunay, who, at the age of seventeen or eighteen, after having gone through many offices, was profoundly skeptical in all matters of morals.

But his doubts were not shared by his three colleagues, for they had seen the pretty, quiet Madame Derize in the street, in the public garden, on the quays of the Isère, and they earnestly and unanimously vouched for the innocence of their new client.

"I hope you're right, I'm sure," said the office boy indifferently. "All the same I had anticipated this case."

He gave this retrospective prophecy with the air of one who knows life not merely from legal document, but from every angle of personal observation.

"What do you mean?" asked Dauras and Lestaque, who had but one thought in common.

"Well, one day at the museum--"

"What were you doing at the museum?"

"Copying a deed, perhaps--one day at the museum, M. Derize was showing his wife the pictures. I was behind them--they had stopped in front of the portrait of an old man, all wrinkled, who, at first glance, looked very ugly to me."

"Who was the artist?" asked Vitrolle, before risking an opinion.

"I don't know--it's all the same to me."

"You have no taste."

"He was saying, 'Look at that face; see how it sums up the whole of peasant life with its daily struggles, its sorrows, its parsimony indelibly written in the wrinkles, its dreams--and perhaps a little alcohol too--in the glassy eye.' He spoke excitedly, and said a lot of other things that I've forgotten. I profited by his lessons. But Madame Derize did not stir any more than a post. She certainly is beautiful, but I find her too impassive. Really, I thought the old man quite alive, instead of just a portrait in a frame hanging on the wall."

"What then?"

"Listen. To the right of the old man there was a picture of a lady in a low cut dress. A red dress with all kinds of dangles on the sleeves and bodice. Mme. Derize took in the costume at a glance, you understand; she said: 'Lace looks very well with velvet.' Her husband was furious and did not say another word while they were in the gallery."

"And after that?" said Vitrolle.

"After that? Nothing. Divorce, that's all."

His hearers burst into insolent laughter which vexed Malaunay, for he was proud of his keen insight and exceedingly sensitive. This discussion of art bored the scribblers who had expected a more risqué story. The entrance of the chief put an end to their conference.

Without being old, M. Tabourin appeared so, because he was untidy and looked as if he were covered with the dust of his folios. He had often envied the baldness of most of his colleagues, when hurriedly running a comb through his overabundant hair, for it remained rumpled like poor soil which closes up again after being plowed. He was absorbed in the duties of his office and gave no thought to the fit of his clothing, which hung loosely on his body and twisted itself into wrinkles with every movement. Business had such a fascination for him that he never confused it with the human tragedies hidden beneath it: he considered his cases as distinct persons in themselves, living and important, each one lodging in a folio, so that he did not need occupy himself with the repetition of decisions and of the procedure in compromised or ruined homes. Professionals are nearly all so constituted, and that is why their professions do not wear them out.

"Anything new?" he asked the head clerk. Vitrolle handed him the draft.

"The Derize Petition."

"Ah! Ah!"

This news brought out in M. Tabourin's dull face lines of cupidity, as the light shining in a badly aired room gathers together a group of atoms and invites them to dance. He drew nearer to the window to decipher Salvage's cramped writing. The clerks watched him curiously, with the exception of Malaunay, who was waiting for a good opportunity to leave. The lovely June sun was calling him to come out and walk.

M. Tabourin's law-office is situated in St. André's Square, on the first floor, opposite the court house. It is reached through a dark, dirty corridor at the end of which is an open staircase: for entrance-halls, which are the pride of Paris and frequently of foreign cities as well, are generally sacrificed in the provincial towns of France, so that even large, commodious, roomy apartments with high ceilings, have the most wretched approaches.

As Grenette Square was formerly the business center of Grenoble,--still is in fact,--so St. André's Square was the real heart of the town, since there the religious, the municipal and the judicial life met, and even now are represented by their monuments. The past of Dauphiné dwells there, but one has to search a while to find it, for in this capital of long ago, the old is everywhere hidden beneath the new. As you alight at the station, you see only newly-built districts, houses scarcely finished, and wide avenues, whose perspective terminates in the far-away mountains. An industrious and prosperous town, you conclude, born yesterday in noble surroundings and lacking historic coloring. Even the streets have been renamed; the old "Rue des Jésuites," where Stendhal was born, is now called "Jean Jacques Rousseau." A few fortified gates opened in the ramparts have been ruthlessly dismantled, but those still standing interest the pedestrian, who, little by little, by following the winding paths of L'Ile Verte, finds traces of the wall of enclosure, perceives the bastions against the sides of Mont Rachois, imagines from these evidences of defensive toil the battles of old, and is prepared to discover by chance somewhere in the bright city one or other of those expressions of the spirit of a race which has maintained its integrity with a tenacity that has resisted all the labors of architects and engineers. Saint André's Square should still be satisfying, but it is only half so. There at the western end is the tall tower of the town hall which was once the palace of the Constable de Lesdiguières, and there above the low houses which crowd about it and hide its door, is the church whose venerable octagonal stone steeple is wrought with double windows in a pointed arch. But the court house where the Parliament of Dauphiné sat, shows a façade half Gothic, half Renaissance, the materials of which have been scratched away here, replaced there, and still retain even in the sunlight that cold newness which only the touch of time melts. As to the statue of Bayard,--who is represented as dying against the trunk of a tree,--it only encumbers the narrow square without adorning it.

M. Tabourin had never noticed many monuments from his window. From the time of moving into these offices he had taken pleasure only in the nearness of the court house--which he particularly appreciated when troubled by rheumatism. The brief of a case requiring special knowledge; seizure, dispossession, "the whole gamut," as he said enthusiastically, and involving heavy charges, when handed to him in its light blue envelope was much more attractive than the past of the province with all its memories. So he read the lawyer's petition without sentimental curiosity, and remarked only that Mme. Derize intended to apply for a separation de plano, that is, without preliminary investigation, which would reduce the fee.

"Have you had the corroborative evidence?" he inquired.

"No, sir."

"Was there something about a letter?"

"That is probably being kept back until after the usual attempt at reconciliation."

"Good. You will have the papers drawn up, Vitrolle, at once."

He took it for granted that the existence of a case dates only from the issue of its papers. Then he went into his private office and arranged one by one on the table the documents which he thought he would need for the hearing of the court that opened at nine o'clock. During this mechanical work, his inner contentment made him smile. All Grenoble had been watching this Derize case for two months, since Mme. Derize (née Molay-Norrois), had left Paris and had come to live with her parents. For the first few weeks there had been a pretense of ignorance of the subject; then, some over-gossipy friends felt a desire to provide explanations: M. Derize was traveling to authenticate the sources of some historical work; he had been unable to take his wife and children with him, but was coming back to spend his holidays at Uriage as usual. Little by little another version was given out. Some well-informed persons predicted a divorce. "Would it be tried in Grenoble or in Paris?" the lawyers were asking one another. The question was now settled for M. Tabourin: he was to represent the more sympathetic side in a trial, from which he would derive small remuneration, no doubt, but the widest publicity because of the personality of Albert Derize, the well-known historian, and of the prominent position of the Molay-Norrois family. Thoroughly pleased, he opened the door leading to his private apartments to inform Mme. Tabourin, who was grateful for this fresh bit of news which would supply her with conversation for an entire day. And this act of consideration for his wife seemed to him definitely to establish the case, even before the proceedings were officially begun.