...
Gaston was about to go out into the corridor from his and Belle's bedroom when suddenly he heard a muffled conversation. It was Henri, the barber, a rat-faced fellow, and Marie-Hernestine, the maid, a plump girl with teeth sticking out. They were both terribly disgusting, both in appearance and in behavior, because they behaved arrogantly toward Gaston and Belle, thinking that they did not notice it. In front of the prince, on the contrary, they behaved obsequiously and ingratiatingly, as did the rest of the servants. Belle was being combed by another servant in another room, so the servants must have thought he was with his wife, and there was no one in the bedroom, so they began to chat.
"My God, I'm sick of these upstart hillbillies, Henri complained in a low voice.
"His Highness requires them to have their hair done in the highest manner... Is that what I studied for? What do they know about hair? It's humiliating."
"I agree," Marie-Hernestina said. There was contempt in her voice. "Is that why I left the village? I thought I would serve the noble gentlemen and ladies... And this upstart pretends to be an aristocrat - all so refined, a dreamy look, always "thank you, please", does not slap my cheeks, talking as if whispering, but she does not know how to use the second fork for fish! And her hubby, or whatever he is, is a typical country pig."
"Oh, God, don't remind me! He's vulgar as I don't know who! He eats like a dog, burps, jokes lewdly, and yet our new prince likes them both, whispering with them all the time, dressing them up, taking manners from them - also, like a pig, drinking soup from a plate... He would not single out us, his really devoted and well-trained servants. And these bums have nothing but looks. Well. I must say they're both very pretty, though. It happens, sometimes village idiots look like statues of saints in church. And with looks like that, they're also unbridled in their desires, which of course attracts the likes of our new prince of lechery. Do you know whose house he wants to be the first to honor with his presence?"
"Whose?"
"Flore Dubois!"
"God! I hope the three of them enjoy it! Ugh, it's disgusting. I hate having to serve people like that. Do you think the prince is sleeping with both of them?"
"I think so. But I don't know and I don't want to know."
There was silence. For some reason Gaston pressed himself against the wall, trying to listen to this beautiful conversation to the end.
"I would, of course, quit, find other masters, not this prince. But he has a lot of money, and I have a mother in the village, who has five on her neck..."
"I understand..." Henri sighed, and there was sadness in his voice. "I have sick parents myself, otherwise I wouldn't be combing his favorite jerk."
There was some movement, and the conversation stopped. Gaston retreated to the back of the room and sat down at the special table with the mirror where he was usually combed.
What was to be done? The first impulse was, of course, to beat that rat Henri half to death for what he had said about him, and especially for what he had said about Belle. But Gaston felt a kind of powerlessness. It is one thing to hear something in his own town, where everything is simple and clear, where everyone says everything in the eye, where everyone is equal... There in the fight won the strongest, and no one kept a stone behind his back... Here... No, Henri and Gaston were not equal. Gaston had Prince Adam behind him in one way or another, and that didn't balance the odds at all. Adam would find out about the fight, and Henri and Marie-Hernestina would be thrown out on the street without a recommendation. Also, Gaston knew too, too well what sick parents were like. Henri came into the room and began to comb his hair.
Memories, quick as the wind, flashed before Gaston's eyes as he stared unseeingly at his handsome reflection in the mirror.
His father was a blacksmith, and when Gaston had run into his forge as a child, it had been as hot as the underworld. His father always took him outside. For fresh air. Maybe because his father was always breathing hot metal, he got that damn cough. Coughing and coughing until he died. His mother was always sewing something, hunched over by the window or by the candle when he was asleep. They paid little for sewing, but how much is a diamond flower on Flor's dress worth? How many women had ruined their eyes and health embroidering her canary dress? As a child, Gaston was always hungry; he was growing, growing taller, and sometimes his stomach seemed to stick to his spine. His parents would give him their dinner - saying they weren't hungry. Now he realized that wasn't true. But what was the point of thinking about it? Thinking is a dangerous thing, Lefou had said so. What's the point of thinking about something you can't change? The town had raised Gaston, he'd been the town's favorite, and the town hadn't let him go to waste. Now, the boy who had been fed and cared for was repaying his debt in full - the fruits of his hunting were in turn feeding the town. Gaston realized too soon that it was better to be healthy and rich than poor and sick. He decided to be a predator, to be on top as much as possible. Gnawing out with his teeth what he needed - a job, a house, money, a woman. And in the end, he had it all, one way or another. Still, Gaston knew where he belonged. Knew where he belonged and where he belonged. And that rat Henri and that mare Marie-Hernestine, though they hated and despised him, they were like him. And Prince Adam, even though he considered him and Belle friends, even though he was generous and kind... He was different. He was fed up, fed up always. He would never understand them. That's why Gaston couldn't punch Henri in the face, because otherwise Adam would know about it. No, he would have to swallow these insults in silence.
He pulled a gold watch out of a small pocket. Tiny and weightless. He opened the lid - the golden hand pointed to the time, and the digits of time were marked with small diamonds... "Look, father, mom... What a bling your boy has..." - he thought sadly, turning to his parents. What's the point of thinking? Thinking is dangerous and harmful. Why think about how unfair it is, that some have nothing, though they are dying of work, and others have a surplus. Is that something that can be changed? Then there's no need to think...
"Don't you like it?" Henri asked, once again running the brush through Gaston's hair.
"No, no, it's fine," Gaston answered quickly, and now he looked closely at his reflection. The hairstyle, similar to what he had always done, looked different. His hair was neatly braided and put on something so shiny that it made the dark color seem even richer. The unruly strand of hair that often fell across his forehead and which he was constantly fixing in front of any reflective surfaces was now securely fixed and not out of place. In general, his outfit today, though it resembled something of his wedding outfit - a red coat and white breeches - looked quite different. The fabrics were natural, not the cheap substitutes that a well-to-do hunter could afford. The color of his coat was bright but not flashy, the snow-white silk shirt with an elegantly tied tie set off his not aristocratically tanned face, his breeches were tailored to his figure and his thighs looked perfect. The boots were new, comfortable, lightweight, and didn't squeak at all. He wouldn't have recognized himself in the mirror, though he still looked like himself. There was a certain gloss to his appearance. And, though Gaston chased these thoughts away, he liked this new, refined version of himself.
But if he himself looked chic, even for himself, how Belle was transformed - it was impossible to describe in words. When Gaston met her on the stairs to go down and sit with the prince in the carriage, he simply did not recognize his wife. She looked like a fairytale princess.
Belle had always stood out for her beauty and grace - it was true. Even in simple country dresses she was so beautiful that Gaston, from the first meetings with this unusual girl, driven by admiration silently followed her, fascinated by her grace and perfect facial features. Snow-white skin, thick brown hair, large, wide-open eyes, full lips, long eyelashes, thin wrists, waist, high breasts, slender legs - all this, even hidden by coarse fabric and devoid of jewelry looked perfect. But now her beauty had a worthy frame. It was not a vulgar gown from the old marquis, or a dress with a pretension to cheap luxury from Jeannette. It was truly royal attire.
Belle was wearing a dress of deep blue, someone called this color "royal blue", well, let it be so. The dress exposed her shoulders and emphasized the whiteness of her skin. The puffy pleats of the skirt showed how slim her waist still was, his wife looked fragile and weightless. Her hair was pulled up and secured with some blue glittering hairpins to reveal her long neck, on which a diamond necklace glittered with a thousand candle lights. She wore white gloves on her hands, and with one hand Belle held up the puffy skirt of her dress so that she could approach Gaston, and from beneath the skirt peeped out tiny blue shoes on which small jewels also sparkled. They were not at all like her usual shoes - simple brown shoes with a low heel.
Gaston silently took his wife under his arm and they went downstairs where Prince Adam was already waiting for them. He, too, had changed - interesting how clothes change a man after all! Of course, the prince had always dressed like a real prince, an aristocrat, but, apparently, those who were in charge of his clothes and hair were ten years behind the Parisian fashion while they were bewitched, or maybe they were just provincial servants. Adam's hair was more neatly styled now, pomaded and shiny, giving his reddish-blond hair an unusual hue. A blue tailcoat with gold embroidery, the name of which Gaston did not know, sat exactly to the prince's figure, emphasizing his posture. Dark breeches and brown boots completed his outfit, so that he looked simple on the one hand and royal on the other. His smoothly shaven face was set off by a snow-white neckerchief, which was pinned with a diamond pin. The prince looked enthusiastic and cheerful, smiling broadly as they boarded the carriage.
All three of them, like that poor girl in the fairy tale, were going to the ball for the first time. None of them had ever been to a real social gathering - Belle and Gaston because of their backgrounds, and Adam because of his curse.
The carriage started, and Gaston immediately sensed the difference between the creaky old stagecoach and a prince's carriage drawn by thoroughbred horses. The carriage was fast but smooth, rocking gently, and the velvet upholstered seats were incredibly comfortable. Belle's dress took up half the carriage. He and his wife held hands and cooed like lovebirds, embarrassing the prince, who stared out the window with exaggerated attention.
"You look like a prince from the fairy tales I've read," Belle said, looking at his face and lowering her eyelids slightly.
"I know," replied Gaston, the first fellow in the village, as confident as ever of his irresistibility.
Belle rounded her eyes in surprise, still unused to the condescension with which he accepted compliments. Then she nudged him playfully in the side.
"Braggart!"
They laughed and began to follow the road too. Houses and passers-by whizzed by.
The carriage finally pulled up to a large house that was decorated with nude, God forgive me, figures. Like a church or a cemetery, only naked. Belle said they were "Greek sculptures." Their carriage was not alone - more and more guests were arriving at the house. The servants who greeted them helped the prince out of the carriage, and then Belle and even Gaston, who was opposed to having his hand given. But that was what everybody did, so he obeyed.
Flor, on the wide porch of the house personally greeted the guests. She was wearing a bright yellow dress, and her hair was adorned with bright green feathers on her head. It was simply impossible not to notice her from afar. Men were shaking her hands and kissing them, and women were hugging her. It seemed rather intimate, to be honest, Gaston had a slightly different idea of high society. But then again, how would he know? He had never once left his small town until his trip with Belle to Toulon.
"Oh, Your Highness, I'm so glad you came to visit me after all!" Flor exclaimed, holding out her hands to Prince Adam. Embarrassed, he started to shake hands with her, but Flor stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks, showering him with a cloud of powder. The prince's always pale cheeks flushed brightly. "Come into the house quickly!" exclaimed the lady of the house and Belle, Gaston and Prince Adam stepped inside.
The house was magnificent. There were many candles burning - especially on the giant crystal chandelier, which had not been spared. Servants scurried between the smartly dressed guests, offering glasses of champagne on a silver tray. Belle and Gaston began to look at the guests - they were dressed smartly. Still, it seemed to Gaston that the ladies were dressed rather daringly. They had deep necklines, and almost all of them had makeup on their faces. Belle must have noticed the ladies' cleavage too, because her cheeks flushed and she stopped looking at the ladies, apparently embarrassed. After all, she was just a girl, his Belle.
"Please, please, to the table!" The always smiling Flor commanded, and the guests moved in small groups to the long table covered with a white tablecloth and decorated with flowers and candles. There was a place for each guest, and the servants helped to find it. Belle and Gaston found themselves somewhere in the middle, between a middle-aged man and a rather young lady, and the prince, for some reason, found himself next to Flor, who sat at the head of the table.
"The peacock is about to be served," muttered Gaston's neighbor.
"A peacock?" Gaston wondered. "Do they eat it?
Does it taste good?"
"Oh, the thing is, Flor can afford it. Just like dancing on thousand-franc bills and giving all the guests expensive gifts. Her shere ami is extremely generous."
"This is the only house where I can eat caviar," Belle's neighbor intervened.
"Caviar from the distant Russian Empire?" Belle was surprised in her turn.
"But it is very difficult to get it here, and it is very expensive."
"Oh, my dear," the lady waved her hand and knocked back her glass of champagne in a gulp. "Flor can afford anything. She even has diamond nails in the heels of her shoes."
"Unbelievable! How did you know that?" Belle asked.
"I saw it with my own eyes. When Flor was in the last performance, in the final scene she fell on her back and raised her legs so high that the whole audience could see her heels!"
Belle blushed thickly and ducked her eyes into her plate. Gaston also became a little uncomfortable - he, of course, was not a prude, but somehow did not expect such behavior from a lady of high society.
Suddenly everyone clapped their hands. The servants brought out a baked peacock on a huge silver platter. Dinner began.