Saving The Nose

By Alice Jackson

This historical comedy will take to places of your minds (the most laughing one),where you have never thought you will ever be.

A Dractic comedy with romance ,drama and non stop comedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Jackson
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393483755

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Table of Contents

Saving The Nose

I

THE ORIENT AND THE WEST ARE TAKEN: THE BLOOD COULE

MASTER ALFRED THE AMBERT, before the fatal blow which forced him to change his nose, was assuredly the most brilliant notary of France. At that time he was thirty-two years old; his height was noble, his eyes large and well split; his Olympian forehead, his beard [10] and his most amiable blond hair. His nose (the first of the name) curved up like an eagle's beak. Will believe me whoever will, but the white tie was perfect. Is it because he wore it since the tenderest age, or because he was at the good maker? I guess it was for those two reasons at the same time.

Another thing is to tie around a neck a handkerchief rolled in rope; another thing to form with art a beautiful knot of white batiste whose two equal ends, starched without excess, move symmetrically to the right and the left. A white tie well chosen and well [11] lump is not a graceless ornament; all the ladies will tell you. But it is not enough to put it on; it must still be well worn: it is a matter of experience. Why do the workers appear so lewd and so borrowed on their wedding day? Because they have decked themselves with a white tie without any preparatory study.

One accustoms in no time to wear the most exorbitant hairstyles; a crown, for example. Private Bonaparte picked up one which the King of France had dropped on the Place Louis XV. He combed it himself, without having learned anything from anyone, and Europe [12] declared that such a cap was not bad for him. Soon he even put the crown in fashion in the circle of his family and his close friends. Everyone around him was wearing it or wanted to wear it. But this extraordinary man was never anything more than a rather mediocre tie. Monsieur le Vicomte de C ***, author of several poems in prose, had studied diplomacy, or the art of making love with one another.

He attended, in 1815, the review of our last army, a few days before the Waterloo campaign. Do you know what struck his mind in this heroic party which broke the desperate enthusiasm of a large [13] people? It was that Bonaparte's tie was not going well.

Few men, on this peaceful ground, could have measured themselves with master Alfred L'Ambert. I say L'Ambert, and not Lambert: there is a decision of the Council of State. Master L'Ambert, successor of his father, exercised the notariat by birthright. For two centuries and more, this glorious family was transmitted from male to male the study of the Rue de Verneuil with the highest clientele of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.

The charge was unlisted, never having left the family; but, according to the product of the last five years, it could not be estimated less [14] of three hundred thousand crowns. That is to say that she brought back, good year, bad year, ninety thousand pounds. For two centuries and more, all the elders of the family had worn the white cravat as naturally as the ravens bear the black feather, the drunkards the red nose, or the poets the shredded habit. Legitimate heir to a considerable name and fortune, the young Alfred had sucked the good principles with milk. He despised all the political innovations introduced in France since the catastrophe of 1789. In his eyes, the French nation was composed of three classes: the clergy, the nobility and the third estate. [15] Respectable and shared opinion still today by a small number of senators. He ranked modestly among the first of the third estate, not without some secret pretensions to the nobility of dress. He held in deep contempt the bulk of the French nation, that collection of peasants and maneuvers called the people, or the vile multitude. He approached them as little as possible for the sake of his kind person whom he loved and cared passionately. Slim, healthy and vigorous as a river pike, he was convinced that these people are white fish fry, created expressly by the [16] Providence to feed MM. pike.

Charming man, like all the egoists; estimated at the Palace, at the circle, at the chamber of notaries, at the conference of Saint Vincent de Paul, and at the Salle d'Armes, a fine point-rifle and counter-point; handsome drinker, generous lover, as long as his heart was taken; a reliable friend with the men of his rank; creditor of the most gracious, as long as he touched the interests of his capital; delicate in tastes, looking in his toilet, clean as a louis hard on Sunday to church of St. Thomas Aquinas, on Mondays, Wednesdays [17] and Friday at the Opera home, he had been the most perfect gentlemanof his time physically and morally, without a deplorable myopia that condemned him to wear glasses. Is it necessary to add that his glasses were of gold, and the finest, lightest, most elegant that one would have manufactured at the famous Mathieu Luna, Quai des Orfèvres?

He did not always wear them, but only at school or at the client's, when he had something to read. Believe that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, when he entered the dance floor, he was careful to unmask his beautiful eyes. No biconcave glass [18] veiled the glare of his eyes. He could not see a drop, I admit, and sometimes greeted a walker for a star ; but he had the resolute air of an Alexander entering Babylon. So the little girls of the corps de ballet, who willingly give nicknames to people, had nicknamed him Winner . A good big Turk, secretary at the embassy, ​​had received the name of Tranquille , a councilor of State called Melancholy ; a secretary-general of the Ministry of ***, quick and rough in his paces, was named M. Turlu . That's why the little Elise Champagne, also called Champagne [19] II E , was named Turlurette when it came out of the leaders to rise to the rank of subject.

My readers from the provinces (if indeed this story never exceeds the fortifications of Paris) will meditate a minute or two on the preceding paragraph. I hear from here the thousand and one questions they mentally address to the author. What is the focus of dance? And the ballet corps? And the stars of the Opera? And the coryphase? And the subjects? And the walkers? And secretaries general who wander in such a world, at the risk of catching nicknames! Finally asked what chance a man, a steady man, a man [20] principles, as master Alfred L'Ambert, was he three times a week at home to the dance?

Eh! dear friends, it is precisely because he was a calm man, a man of rank, and a man of principles. The foyer of the dance was then a vast square saloon, surrounded by old benches of red velvet and populated by all the most important men of Paris. There were not only financiers, councilors, secretaries-general, but also dukes and princes, deputies, prefects, and senators most devoted to the temporal power of the pope; only [21] prelates were missing . There were married ministers, and even the most fully married among all our ministers. When I say we