Vendémiaire · A Father's Wish
"Your Excellency, what did Alfred do in Paris that angered you so?"
"If you mean his conduct, there's far too much to recount!"
Recalling his covert visit to Alfred's Paris residence, Count Fernand, unable to suppress his agitation, rose from the card table and paced before the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back.
Louis felt compelled to stand as well. Alfred had written more than once that one must never remain seated when Count Fernand stood—whether out of propriety or to slightly appease the Count's anger, Louis thought it better to stand. This time, however, the Count took no notice; he was utterly consumed by the fury of a betrayed father whose hopes had been placed upon his son.
"You would scarcely believe it. When Alfred first received the property I bestowed upon him, the address on his letters home was a residence costing 50 francs a month. Such rent, while not lavish in Paris, was at least respectable and suited his income and station. But imagine! Within a year, though his letters still bore the old address, he had actually moved to Rue Saint-Georges, paying 150 francs a month—such absurd extravagance!"
"Good heavens!" Even braced for unpleasant news, Louis was stunned by the sum. "Is it true? Why, that means he spends 1,800 francs a year on lodging alone!"
Even in the best years, Louis's own net income, after all expenses, was only 3,500 francs—a sum allowing a decent life in the provinces. By comparison, a young working woman toiled all year for a mere 300 to 400 francs—and that was *before* expenses.
"I had people inquire nearby. It's certain that Alfred pays at least 1,500 francs yearly in rent alone. Beyond that, he rents a two-seater coupé with a coachman, keeps two horses—a thoroughbred and a pony—adding another expense of at least 2,400 francs annually. Can you imagine, my boy? Even with such a lavish private carriage, he wasn't satisfied. To win the favor of that Mademoiselle Marguerite, he apparently planned to rent a covered cabriolet long-term for 200 francs a month, just to take her driving!"
Even the least mathematically inclined could see what such staggering expenses meant for a young man with an income of only 6,500 francs a year. For Louis, who had managed his own estate since before his father's death and knew well how hard each franc was earned, Count Fernand's profound anger was instantly understandable.
"Such spending is appalling! Holy Mary, how did Alfred become like this? Had he no prudent friend in Paris to advise him? At this rate, he'd burn through his capital in under a year."
"This isn't a future possibility; it's imminent. My old friend warns me that if Alfred's folly continues unchecked, the modest fortune our family has painstakingly rebuilt since the Revolution will soon be utterly destroyed, perhaps bringing even greater disaster. You manage an estate, my boy, so you know how difficult it is to accumulate wealth, and how easily it can be squandered."
Louis glanced around the mansion. Traces of its former glory and sudden decline were etched into its very fabric. An enamel-cased clock hung silent on the wall, its pendulum stilled for lack of repair money. The mantel was rough-hewn stone; once-vibrant curtains were fading. In the flickering firelight, the old building radiated a melancholy sense of clinging on through history's storms.
To rebuild the family fortunes shattered by the Revolution, Count Fernand de Granville had reduced his own standard of living to that of a minor provincial landowner like Louis du Frentin. The Count kept only an elderly butler for his needs and a cook, owned a single aging coupé and horse, and meticulously rationed firewood and daily meals. Though unspoken, Louis knew such "precisely measured" hospitality was impolite to any guest.
While the Count strained every nerve, living in proud penury for the family's honor, the son he'd placed his hopes upon was recklessly squandering that hard-earned wealth in Paris. At that rate, the Count's years of effort and expectation would vanish like smoke.
"Alfred has gone too far. He's forgotten the principles of restraint and thrift we were taught. Perhaps it wasn't just Mademoiselle Marguerite, but the entire corrupting extravagance of Paris. He lives not as a man with 6,500 francs a year, but as one with sixty-five thousand! Disaster is inevitable."
Count Fernand sighed deeply. This man past fifty was no longer young, yet he must endure until his heir found his way back.
"My boy, had Alfred half your sense, he'd never have rented a house so far above his station. If it were to cultivate connections with high nobility, perhaps... but his circle consists only of that Mademoiselle Marguerite, idle dandies, and women of dubious morals. Among them, I found not a single influential noble, judge, or commercial court president—only a pack of wastrels driven by Parisian frivolity."
"But Your Excellency, knowing Alfred is on this ruinous path, why didn't you confront him directly during your Paris visit? A father's authority is supreme. Alfred fears you as he fears God—why else hide his move? Had you stormed in and chastised him then, this might be resolved."
This point genuinely puzzled Louis.
"It's simple. Alfred is a legal adult with his own property and status. Should his father suddenly burst into his house and berate him, what would his friends and Parisian ladies say? 'Ah, the poor creature, still under his father's thumb!' I wish to free Alfred from *that* life, but I won't risk subjecting him to the slightest possible disgrace."
The Count's facial muscles twitched spasmodically. Despite his anger, the profound, complex paternal love in his words would resonate with anyone who understood the father-son bond.
"Besides his honor, I must consider the Granville name. What nobleman, what father, would *condescend* to call upon his son's residence? Sons visit their fathers to pay respects; fathers do not visit sons to inquire after them—never!"
"I understand your meaning and your hesitation now," Louis took a step forward. "That is why you wish me to act in your stead."
"Yes, my child. Forgive an old, desperate father for involving you, but after much thought, I know no one more suited. Louis," the Count said, staring fixedly at the leaping flames, as if something unsaid choked him—unwilling to voice it, yet unable to remain silent.
Louis waited quietly until the Count heaved another long sigh.
"Alfred is my only son, Monsieur Frentin, but he is not my only child." The words trembled, sharp as knives. "I have a younger daughter. Though I never planned to place my hopes solely on her... you understand? Reluctant as I am, if he proves irredeemable... for the family's survival... I would have to disown him. Sever all ties."
"Holy Mary, Your Excellency! Such a terrible thing will not happen!"
"I can only pray it does not."
The Count extended his hand to Louis.
"My child, I trust your character. I implore you to counsel Alfred for me. Persuade him to leave Mademoiselle Marguerite, change his ways, abandon this senseless extravagance and rivalry, and return to the path of humility and prudence. Make him see his duty: to safeguard the fortune our family has painstakingly rebuilt, especially the estate that must never leave our name. Urge him to live in Paris with restraint, seek an honorable position, and win the favor of a well-born lady—either noble or well-dowered."
"His actions decide the Granville future. Remember, besides his old father, his poor sister depends on him for even a chance at marriage. Sent to the convent at six, she is fourteen now. Soon I must decide: will she dedicate her life to God within those walls, or know the joy of wearing orange blossoms at her wedding? All this... may hang on Alfred's choices... and on your words."
"Your wish is my command. I swear by the Holy Mary, I shall do everything in my power to achieve it, Your Excellency."