“Depend upon it.”
“Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what joy!” cried Louise, clapping
her hands, and bounding with pleasure.
“Little dissembler!” said Montalais, “try again to make me
believe you are not in love with Raoul.”
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying,
she ran and embraced her mother. “Madame,” said she, “do you
know that M. Malicorne is going to have me appointed maid of
honor?”
“M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise,” replied the old
lady, “he is all-powerful, seemingly.”
“Should you also like to be maid of honor?” asked Malicorne
of Madame de Saint-Remy. “Whilst I am about it, I might as
well get everybody appointed.”
And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite
disconcerted.
“Humph!” murmured Malicorne as he descended the stairs, —
“Humph! there goes another note of a thousand livres! but I
must get through as well as I can; my friend Manicamp does
nothing for nothing.”
CHAPTER 79
Malicorne and Manicamp
Page 467
Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
The introduction of these two new personages into this
history and that mysterious affinity of names and
sentiments, merit some attention on the part of both
historian and reader. We will then enter into some details
concerning Messieurs Malicorne and Manicamp. Malicorne we
know, had made the journey to Orleans in search of the
brevet destined for Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival
of which had produced such a strong feeling at the castle of
Blois. At that moment, M. de Manicamp was at Orleans. A
singular person was this M. de Manicamp; a very intelligent
young fellow, always poor, always needy, although he dipped
his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one
of the best furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de
Guiche had had, as the companion of his boyhood, this De
Manicamp, a poor gentleman, vassal-born, of the house of
Grammont. M. de Manicamp, with his tact and talent, had
created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the
celebrated marechal. From his infancy he had, with
calculation beyond his age, lent his name and complaisance
to the follies of the Comte de Guiche. If his noble
companion had stolen some fruit destined for Madame la
Marechale, if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog’s
eye, Manicamp declared himself guilty of the crime
committed, and received the punishment, which was not made
the milder for falling on the innocent. But this was the way
this system of abnegation was paid for: instead of wearing
such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes entitled him
to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, like a young
noble of fifty thousand livres a year. It was not that he
was mean in character or humble in spirit; no, he was a
philosopher, or rather he had the indifference, the apathy,
the obstinacy which banish from man every sentiment of the
supernatural. His sole ambition was to spend money. But, in
this respect, the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf. Three or
four times every year he drained the Comte de Guiche, and
when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had
turned out his pockets and his purse before him, when he
declared that it would be at least a fortnight before
paternal munificence would refill those pockets and that
purse, Manicamp lost all his energy, he went to bed,
remained there, ate nothing and sold his handsome clothes,
under the pretense that, remaining in bed, he did not want
them. During this prostration of mind and strength, the
purse of the Comte de Guiche was getting full again, and
when once filled, overflowed into that of De Manicamp, who
bought new clothes, dressed himself again, and recommenced
the same life he had followed before. The mania of selling
his new clothes for a quarter of what they were worth had
rendered our hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city
where, in general, we should be puzzled to say why he came
to pass his days of penitence. Provincial debauches,
petits-maitres of six hundred livres a year, shared the
fragments of his opulence.
Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our friend