Exercises in Style (3 page)

In the centre of the day, tossed among the shoal of travelling sardines
in a coleopter with a big white carapace, a chicken with a long, feather-less neck
suddenly harangued one, a peace-abiding one, of their number, and its parlance, moist
with protest, was unfolded upon the airs. Then, attracted by a void, the fledgling
precipitated itself thereunto.

In a bleak, urban desert, I saw it again that selfsame day, drinking
the cup of humiliation offered by a lowly button.

etrograde

You ought to put another button on your overcoat, his friend told him. I
met him in the middle of the Cour de Rome, after having left him rushing avidly towards
a seat. He had just protested against being pushed by another passenger who, he said,
was jostling him every time anyone got off. This scraggy young man was the wearer of a
ridiculous hat. This took place on the platform of an S bus which was full that
particular midday.

urprises

How tightly packed in we were on that bus platform! And how stupid and
ridiculous that young man looked! And what was he doing? Well, if he wasn’t
actually trying to pick a quarrel with a chap who—so he claimed! the young fop!
kept on pushing him! And then he didn’t find anything better to do than to rush
off and grab a seat which had become free! Instead of leaving it for a lady!

Two hours after, guess whom I met in front of the gare Saint-Lazare!
The same fancypants! Being given some sartorial advice! By a friend!

You’d never believe it!

ream

I had the impression that everything was misty and nacreous around me,
with multifarious and indistinct apparitions, amongst whom however was one figure that
stood out fairly clearly which was that of a young man whose too-long neck in itself
seemed to proclaim the character at once cowardly and quarrelsome of the individual. The
ribbon of his hat had been replaced by a piece of plaited string. Later he was having an
argument with a person whom I couldn’t see and then, as if suddenly afraid, he
threw himself into the shadow of a corridor.

Another part of the dream showed him walking in
bright sunshine in front of the gare Saint-Lazare. He was with a companion who was
saying: “You ought to have another button put on your overcoat.”

Whereupon I woke up.

rognostication

When midday strikes you will be on the rear platform of a bus which will
be crammed full of passengers amongst whom you will notice a ridiculous juvenile;
skeleton-like neck and no ribbon on his felt hat. He don’t be feeling at his ease,
poor little chap. He will think that a gentleman is pushing him on purpose every time
that people getting on or off pass by. He will tell him so but the gentleman won’t
deign to answer. And the ridiculous juvenile will be panic-stricken and run away from
him in the direction of a vacant seat.

You will see him a little later, in the Cour de
Rome in front of the gare Saint-Lazare. A friend will be with him and you will hear
these words: “Your overcoat doesn’t do up properly; you must have another
button put on it.”

ynchysis

Ridiculous young man, as I was on an S bus one day chock-f by
traction perhaps whose neck was elongated, round his hat and who had a cord, I noticed
a. Arrogant and snivelling in a tone, who happened to be next to him, with the man to
remonstrate he started. Because that he pushed him he claimed, time every that got off
anyone. Vacant he sat down and made a dash towards a seat, having said this. Rome (Cour
de) in the I met him later two hours to his overcoat a button to add a friend was
advising him.

he rainbow

One day I happened to be on the platform of a violet bus. There was a
rather ridiculous young man on it—indigo neck, cord round his hat. All of a sudden
he started to remonstrate with a blue man. He charged him in particular, in a green
voice, with jostling him every time anybody got off. Having said this, he rushed
headlong towards a yellow seat and sat down on it.

Two hours later I saw him in front of an orange-coloured station. He
was with a friend who was advising him to have another button put on his red
overcoat.

ord game

(Dowry, bayonet, enemy, chapel, atmosphere, Bastille,
correspondence)

One day I happened to be on the platform of a bus which must no doubt
have formed part of the dowry of the daughter of a gentleman called Monsieur Mariage who
presided over the destinies of the Paris Passenger Transport Board. There was a young
man on this bus who was rather ridiculous, not because he wasn’t carrying a
bayonet, but because he looked as if he was carrying one when all the time he
wasn’t carrying one. All of a sudden this young man attacked his enemy—a man
standing behind him. He accused him in particular of not behaving as politely as one
would in a chapel. Having thus strained the atmosphere, the little squirt went and sat
down.

Two hours later I met him two or three kilometres from the Bastille
with a friend who was advising him to have an extra button put on his overcoat, an
opinion which he could very well have given him by correspondence.

esitation

I don’t really know where it happened . . . in a church, a
dustbin, a charnel-house? A bus, perhaps? There were . . . but what were there, though?
Eggs, carpets, radishes? Skeletons? Yes, but with their flesh still round them, and
alive. I think that’s how it was. People in a bus. But one (or two?) of them was
making himself conspicuous, I don’t really know in what way. For his megalomania?
For his adiposity? For his melancholy? Rather . . . more precisely . . . for his youth,
which was embellished by a long . . . nose? chin? thumb? no: neck, and by a strange,
strange, strange hat. He started to quarrel, yes, that’s right.
with, no doubt, another passenger (man or woman? child or old age pensioner?) This
ended, this finished by ending in a commonplace sort of way, probably by the flight of
one of the two adversaries.

I rather think that it was the same character I met, but where? In
front of a church? in front of a charnel-house? in front of a dustbin? With a friend who
must have been talking to him about something, but about what? about what? about
what?