2.M.6.1. THE SOBRIQUET: MODE OF FORMATION OF FAMILY NAMES
MARIUS was, at this epoch, a handsome young man, of
medium stature, with thick and intensely black hair, a lofty
and intelligent brow, well-opened and passionate nostrils, an
air of calmness and sincerity, and with something indescribably
proud, thoughtful, and innocent over his whole countenance.
His profile, all of whose lines were rounded, without
thereby losing their firmness, had a certain Germanic sweetness,
which has made its way into the French physiognomy
by way of Alsace and Lorraine, and that complete absence of
angles which rendered the Sicambres so easily recognizable
among the Romans, and which distinguishes the leonine from
the aquiline race. He was at that period of life when the mind
of men who think is composed, in nearly equal parts, of depth
and ingenuousness. A grave situation being given, he had
all that is required to be stupid: one more turn of the key,
and he might be sublime. His manners were reserved, cold,
polished, not very genial. As his mouth was charming, his
lips the reddest, and his teeth the whitest in the world, his
smile corrected the severity of his face, as a whole. At certain
moments, that pure brow and that voluptuous smile presented
a singular contrast. His eyes were small, but his glance was
large.
At the period of his most abject misery, he had observed
that young girls turned round when he passed by, and he fled
or hid, with death in his soul. He thought that they were
staring at him because of his old clothes, and that they were
laughing at them; the fact is, that they stared at him because
of his grace, and that they dreamed of him.
This mute misunderstanding between him and the pretty
passersby had made him shy. He chose none of them for
the excellent reason that he fled from all of them. He lived
thus indefinitely, — stupidly, as Courfeyrac said.
Courfeyrac also said to him: "Do not aspire to be
venerable"
[they called each other thou; it is the tendency of
youthful
friendships to slip into this mode of address]. "Let me
give you a piece of advice, my dear fellow. Don't read so
many books, and look a little more at the lasses. The jades
have some good points about them, O Marius! By dint of
fleeing and blushing, you will become brutalized."
On other occasions, Courfeyrac encountered him and
said: — "Good morning, Monsieur l'Abbe!"
When Courfeyrac had addressed to him some remark of this
nature, Marius avoided women, both young and old, more than
ever for a week to come, and he avoided Courfeyrac to boot.
Nevertheless, there existed in all the immensity of
creation,
two women whom Marius did not flee, and to whom he paid no
attention whatever. In truth, he would have been very much
amazed if he had been informed that they were women. One
was the bearded old woman who swept out his chamber, and
caused Courfeyrac to say: "Seeing that his servant woman
wears his beard, Marius does not wear his own beard." The
other was a sort of little girl whom he saw very often, and
whom he never looked at.
For more than a year, Marius had noticed in one of the
walks of the Luxembourg, the one which skirts the parapet
of the Pepiniere, a man and a very young girl, who were
almost always seated side by side on the same bench, at the
most solitary end of the alley, on the Rue de l'Ouest side.
Every time that that chance which meddles with the strolls
of persons whose gaze is turned inwards, led Marius to that
walk, — and it was nearly every day, — he found this couple
there. The man appeared to be about sixty years of age; he
seemed sad and serious; his whole person presented the robust
and weary aspect peculiar to military men who have retired
from the service. If he had worn a decoration, Marius would
have said: "He is an ex-officer." He had a kindly but
unapproachable
air, and he never let his glance linger on the eyes
of any one. He wore blue trousers, a blue frock coat and a
broad-brimmed hat, which always appeared to be new, a black
cravat, a quaker shirt, that is to say, it was dazzlingly white,
but of coarse linen. A grisette who passed near him one day,
said: "Here's a very tidy widower." His hair was very white.
The first time that the young girl who accompanied him
came and seated herself on the bench which they seemed to
have adopted, she was a sort of child thirteen or fourteen years
of age, so thin as to be almost homely, awkward, insignificant,
and with a possible promise of handsome eyes. Only, they
were always raised with a sort of displeasing assurance. Her
dress was both aged and childish, like the dress of the scholars
in a convent; it consisted of a badly cut gown of black merino.
They had the air of being father and daughter.
Marius scanned this old man, who was not yet aged, and
this little girl, who was not yet a person, for a few days, and
thereafter paid no attention to them. They, on their side, did
not appear even to see him. They conversed together with a
peaceful and indifferent air. The girl chattered incessantly
and merrily. The old man talked but little, and, at times,
he fixed on her eyes overflowing with an ineffable paternity.
Marius had acquired the mechanical habit of strolling in
that walk. He invariably found them there.
This is the way things went: —
Marius liked to arrive by the end of the alley which was
furthest from their bench; he walked the whole length of the
alley, passed in front of them, then returned to the extremity
whence he had come, and began again. This he did five or
six times in the course of his promenade, and the promenade
was taken five or six times a week, without its having occurred
to him or to these people to exchange a greeting. That
personage,
and that young girl, although they appeared, — and
perhaps because they appeared, — to shun all glances, had,
naturally, caused some attention on the part of the five or
six students who strolled along the Pepiniere from time to
time; the studious after their lectures, the others after their
game of billiards. Courfeyrac, who was among the last, had
observed them several times, but, finding the girl homely, he
had speedily and carefully kept out of the way. He had fled,
discharging at them a sobriquet, like a Parthian dart. Impressed
solely with the child's gown and the old man's hair,
he had dubbed the daughter Mademoiselle Lanoire, and the
father, Monsieur Leblanc, so that as no one knew them under
any other title, this nickname became a law in the default
of any other name. The students said: "Ah! Monsieur
Leblanc is on his bench." And Marius, like the rest, had
found it convenient to call this unknown gentleman Monsieur
Leblanc.
We shall follow their example, and we shall say M.
Leblanc,
in order to facilitate this tale.
So Marius saw them nearly every day, at the same hour,
during the first year. He found the man to his taste, but the
girl insipid.