Fancies and Goodnights by John Collier

Author:John Collier [Collier, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, horror, shortstories, collection, 1952 International Fantasy Winner
Published: 1951-11-30T06:00:00+00:00

IF YOUTH KNEW IF AGE COULD

The first thing one noticed about Henri Maurras was inevitably his gaunt and quixotic Spanish nose, flanked by a pair of enormous eyes, extremely dark and melancholy, but capable of fire. This romantic equipment was unfortunately betrayed by the childish, petulant mouth of a Parisian, and a ridiculous little mustache.

For the rest, he was a mere thread of a young man, a veritable nailparing, and wore a paper-thin grey suit, under which his little buttocks presented all the appearance of a hair-pin. He worked as assistant book-keeper in a big general store in Marseilles, and he desired ardently to be married.

Frequently he would lose count of a column of figures, and turn up his dark eyes, as he visualized the bride of his dreams, youthful, devoted, passionate, deliciously rounded, and yet of immaculate reputation. Our passionate petit bourgeois was especially set upon the immaculate reputation.

His little mustache would twitch as he imagined the promenades they would take on Sundays, envied by all who beheld them. She would hang fondly on his arm, driving all the men to despair; he would wear a smart suit from Marquet’s, and carry a fashionable cane.

“Pleasure is all very well,” said he to his fellow clerks, when they proposed some little frolic on pay-day. “But what pleasure can compare to being married? I mean, to a beautiful wife, gay, amiable, sympathetic, and—” His hands sketched certain outlines in the air. “For that,” said he, “one must save. One must wait.”

“Nonsense,” said the others. “Come with us to Madame Garcier’s. It may make saving a little harder, but the waiting becomes infinitely more tolerable. After all, a young man is entitled to a little happiness on account.”

“No. No,” said he. “I have certain ideals. You would hardly understand.”

Henri’s ideals, as lofty as the bridge of his nose, preserved him from the venal affections so popular among the youth of Marseilles. Yet that phrase, “A little happiness on account,” took fatal root. Under its influence he succumbed to the attractions of a superb malacca cane, displayed in the window of the most expensive shop in all the Rue St. Ferréol. “After all,” said he to himself, “I shall have to buy one sooner or later. Why not now ?”

As soon as he had paid over the money, he was almost ready to kill himself, he was so mortified at his extravagance. Yet he trembled with joy as he twirled his new treasure, leaned upon it, and hung it over his arm. On leaving the shop, he fancied that several well-dressed men eyed it with envious interest. “Wait,” thought he, “till they see me in a suit from Marquet’s, and with my lovely wife walking by my side.”

When he got home he put his new acquisition into his wardrobe. It would never do to get it scratched, or even to have the least gloss taken off it, before the day of his nuptials. On that day, everything was to be immaculate; everything must have its gloss absolutely unimpaired.

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