IN PARIS
On the 29th of February, 1824, a great crowd of laughing, noisy people
wandered up and down the streets of the French capital, for it was the
last Sunday of the carnival; the boulevards in the neighborhood of the
Palais-Royal especially being packed with promenaders of both sexes.
An elegant carriage drawn by two thoroughbreds halted at the edge of the
pavement, and three young men got out. They had cigars in their mouths,
which at that time was something extraordinary; white satin masks hid
their faces, and dark (so-called) Venetian mantles, with many colored
bands on their shoulders, covered their forms.
The young men answered the jokes and guys of the crowd in a jolly
manner, and then took seats in the Cafe de la Rotonde. Darkness came on,
the lights gleamed, and one of the young men said, sorrowfully:
"The carnival is coming to an end; it's a great pity--we had such fun."
"Fernando, are you getting melancholy?" laughed the second young man.
"Fernando is right," remarked the third; "the last day of the carnival
is so dull and spiritless that one can plainly see it is nearing the
end. For more than two hours we have been strolling about the
boulevards, but have not met with one adventure. Everywhere the
stereotyped faces and masks; the same jokes as last year; even the
coffee and the cake look stale to me. Arthur, don't you agree with me?"
"You demand too much," cried Arthur, indifferently; "we still have the
night before us, and it would not be good if we could not find something
to make the hours fly. As a last resort we could get up a scandal."
"Hush! that smells of treason. The dear mob nowadays is not so easy to
lead, and the police might take a hand in the fight," warned Fernando.
"So much the better; the scandal would be complete then. The police are
naturally on our side, and our motto--'after us the deluge'--has always
brought us luck."
The young men laughed loudly. They were evidently in good humor. The one
whom his companions called Arthur was the son of the Count of
Montferrand, who made a name for himself in the House of Deputies on
account of his great speech in favor of the murderers of Marshal Brune;
the second, Gaston de Ferrette, was related to the first families of the
kingdom; he had accompanied the Duke of Angoulême to Spain, and was
known as an expert fencer. He was hardly twenty years of age, but had
already come out victorious in several duels.
The third young man was a foreigner, but having the very best
recommendations he was soon at home in the capital. His name was
Fernando de Velletri, and he was by birth an Italian of the old
nobility; he was received in all the palaces of the Faubourg St.
Germain, and was acquainted with everything that went on in the great
world.
"Where is Frederic?" asked Arthur now.
"Really, he seems to have forgotten us," replied Fernando, "I cannot
understand what delays him so long."
"Stop!" exclaimed Gaston de Ferrette. "Come to think of it, I understand
that he was going to accompany the Countess of Salves to some ceremony
at Notre Dame."
"Poor fellow!"
"He is not to be pitied. The Countess of Salves is a charming girl."
"Bah, she is going to become his wife."
"So much the more reason that he should love her before the marriage;
afterward, it isn't considered good form to have such feelings."
"He loves her, then?"
"I am very grateful to you, gentlemen; even in my absence you occupy
yourselves with my affairs," said a clear, sharp voice now.
"Frederic, at last; where have you been?"
"Oh, I have been standing over five minutes behind you, and heard your
conversation."
"Has it insulted you?" asked Gaston, laughing.
Frederic did not answer immediately; he let his gaze fall pityingly over
his companion, and Gaston hastily said:
"Really, Frederic, your splendor throws us in the shade; look at him, he
has no mask, and is dressed after the latest fashion."
The costume of the last comer was, indeed, much more elegant than those
of the other young men. A long overcoat, made of fine brown cloth, sat
tightly about the body and reached to the knees; the sleeves, wide at
the shoulder, narrowed down toward the wrists and formed cuffs, which
fell over the gloved hand. A white satin handkerchief peeped out
coquettishly from the left breast pocket. White trousers, of the finest
cloth, reached to the soles of his shoes, which were pointed and
spurred. A tall, silk hat, with an almost invisible brim, covered his
head.
Frederic allowed himself to be admired by his friends, and then said:
"Take my advice and put off your masks at once, and dress yourselves as
becomes young noblemen; let the mob run around with masks on."
"Frederic is right," said Gaston, "let us hurry to do so."
"I shall await you here and bring you then to Robert; or better still,
you can meet me at the Cafe Valois."
The three masks left, and the Vicomte Talizac, for he was the last
comer, remained alone.
His external appearance was very unsympathetic. The sharply-cut face had
a disagreeable expression, the squinting eyes and rolling look were
likewise repulsive, and if his back was not as much bent as usual, it
was due to the art of Bernard, the tailor of the dandies.
The Cafe de Valois, toward which the vicomte was now going, was
generally the meeting-place of old soldiers, and the dandies called it
mockingly the cafe of the grayheads. Rumor had it that it was really the
meeting-place of republicans, and it was a matter of surprise why
Delevan, the head of the police department, never took any notice of
these rumors.
When the vicomte entered the gallery of the cafe, he looked observingly
about him, and then approached a group of young men who all wore plain
black clothing and whose manners were somewhat military.
The young men moved backward at both sides when the vicomte approached
them. Not one of them gazed at the dandy. The latter, however, stepped
up to one of them, and laying his hand lightly upon his shoulder, said:
"Sir, can I see you for a moment?"
The person addressed, a man about twenty-five years of age with
classically formed features, turned hurriedly around; seeing the
vicomte, he said in a cold voice:
"I am at your service, sir."
The vicomte walked toward the street and the man followed. On a deserted
corner they both stopped, and the vicomte began:
"Monsieur, first I must ask you to tell me your name; I am the Vicomte
de Talizac."
"I know it," replied the young man coldly.
"So much the better; as soon as I know who you are I will be able to
tell whether I should speak to you as an equal or punish you as a
lackey."
The young man grew pale but he replied with indomitable courage:
"I don't know what we two could ever have in common."
"Sir!" exclaimed Talizac angrily, "in a month I shall lead the Countess
de Salves to the altar; therefore it will not surprise you if I
stigmatize your conduct as outrageous. You rode to-day at noon past the
De Salves palace, and threw a bouquet over the wall and into the
garden."
"Well, what else?"
"You have probably good reasons not to give your name, the name of an
adventurer, but in spite of all I must inform you that in case you
repeat the scene I shall be obliged to punish you. I--"
The vicomte was unable to proceed; the iron fist of the young man was
laid upon his shoulder, and so powerful was the pressure of his hand
that the vicomte was hardly able to keep himself on his feet. The young
man gave a whistle, upon which signal the friends who had followed him
hurried up. When they were near by, Talizac's opponent said:
"Vicomte, before I provoke a scene, I wish to lay the matter before my
friends; have patience for a moment. Gentlemen," he said, turning to his
companions, "this man insulted me. Shall I fight a duel with him? It is
the Vicomte de Talizac."
"The Vicomte de Talizac?" replied one of the men addressed, who wore the
cross of the Legion of Honor. "With a Talizac one does not fight duels."
The vicomte uttered a hoarse cry of rage, and turned under the iron fist
which was still pressed on his shoulder and held him tight; the young
man gave him a look which made his cowardly heart quake, and earnestly
said:
"Vicomte, we only fight with people we honor. If you do not understand
my words, ask your father the meaning of them; he can give you the
necessary explanations. Perhaps a day may come when I myself may not
refuse to oppose you, and then you may kill me if you are able to do so!
I have told you now what you ought to know, and now go and look up your
dissipated companions, and take your presence out of the society of
respectable people."
Wild with rage, his features horribly distorted, unable to utter a word,
the Vicomte de Talizac put his hand in his pocket, and threw a pack of
cards at his opponent's face. The young man was about to rush upon the
nobleman, but one of his companions seized his arm and whispered:
"Don't be too hasty, you must not put your life and liberty at stake
just now--you are not your own master;" saying which, he pointed to
three masked faces who had just approached the group.
The young man shook his head affirmatively, and Talizac took advantage
of this to disappear. He had hardly gone a few steps, when an arm was
thrown under his own and a laughing voice exclaimed:
"You are punctual, vicomte; your friends can vouch for that."
The vicomte kept silent, and Fernando, lowering his voice, continued:
"What was the difficulty between you and the young man? You wanted to
kill him. Are you acquainted with him?"
"No, I hardly know him; you overheard us?"
"Excuse me, my dear fellow; your opponent spoke so loudly that we were
not obliged to exert ourselves to hear his estimate of you. Anyhow I
only heard the conclusion of the affair; you will no doubt take pleasure
in relating the commencement to me!"
The words, and the tone in which they had been said, wounded Talizac's
self-love, and he sharply replied:
"If it pleases me, Signor Velletri!"
The Italian laughed, and then said, in an indifferent tone:
"My dear vicomte, in the position in which you find yourself, it would
be madness for me to imagine that you intend to insult me, and therefore
I do not consider your words as spoken."
"What do you mean, signor?"
"Oh, nothing, except that yesterday was the day of presentation for a
certain paper, which you, in a fit of abstraction, no doubt, signed with
another name than your own!"
The vicomte grew pale, and he mechanically clinched his fist.
"How--do--you--know--this?" he finally stammered.
The Italian drew an elegant portfolio from his pocket, and took a piece
of stamped paper from it.
"Here is the _corpus delicti_," he said, laughing.
"But how did it get into your hands?"
"Oh, in a very simple way: I bought and paid for it."
"You, signor? For what purpose?"
"Could it not be for the purpose of doing you a service?"
The vicomte shrugged his shoulders; he had no faith in his fellow-men.
"You are right," said Fernando, replying to the dumb protest, "I will be
truthful with you. I would not want the Vicomte de Talizac to go under,
because my fate is closely attached to his, and because the vicomte's
father, the Marquis de Fougereuse, has done great service for the cause
I serve. Therefore if I earnestly ask you not to commit such follies any
more, you will thank me for it and acknowledge that this small
reciprocation is worth the favor I am showing you."
"Then you will return the paper to me?" cried the vicomte, stretching
out his hand for it.
"No, the paper does not belong to me."
"But you just said--"
"That I bought it, certainly. I paid the price for it only because I
received the amount from several friends."
"And these friends--"
"Are the defenders and supporters of the monarchy; they will not harm
you."
Talizac became pensive.
"Let us not speak about the matter," continued Fernando; "I only wished
to show you that I have a right to ask your confidence, and I believe
you will no longer look upon it as idle curiosity if I ask you what
business you had with that man."
The Italian's words confirmed to Talizac the opinion of the world that
Velletri was a tool of the Jesuits. However, he had done him a great
service, and he no longer hesitated to inform Velletri of the
occurrence.
"I accompanied the Countess de Salves and her daughter to a party at
Tivoli," he began, as he walked slowly along with his companion, "and we
were enjoying ourselves, when suddenly loud cries were heard and the
crowd rushed wildly toward the exits. The platform where dancing was
indulged in gave way, and the young countess, in affright, let go of my
arm and ran into the middle of the crowd. I hurried after her, but could
not catch up with her; she was now in the neighborhood of the scene of
the accident, and, horror-stricken, I saw a huge plank which hung
directly over her head get loose and tumble down. I cried aloud; the
plank would crush her to death. At the right minute I saw a man grasp
the plank and hold it in the air. How he did it I have never been able
to tell; the plank weighed at least several hundred pounds, but he
balanced it as if it had been a feather. The young countess had fainted
away. When I finally reached her, the young man held her in his arms,
and from the way in which she looked at him when she opened her eyes, I
at once concluded that that wasn't the first time she had seen him. The
old countess thanked him with tears in her eyes; I asked him for his
name, for I had to find out first if it were proper for me to speak with
him. He gave me no answer, but disappeared in the crowd. The only reward
he took was a ribbon which the lady wore on her bosom and which he
captured. The ribbon had no intrinsic value, but yet I thought it my
duty to inform Irene about it. Do you know what answer she gave me?"
"No," replied Velletri, calmly.
"None at all. She turned her back to me."
"Impossible," observed the Italian, laughing; "well, I suspect that the
knight without fear or reproach followed up the thing?"
"He did; he permits himself to ride past the Salves's palace every day,
throws flowers over the wall, and I really believe the young countess
picks up the flowers and waits at the window until he appears. Should I
stand this?"
"No," replied Velletri, laughing; "you must, under all circumstances,
get rid of this gallant. For your consolation, I can tell you it is not
a difficult job."
"Then you know the man? I sent my servant after him, but could not find
out anything further than that he visits the Cafe Valois every day at
this hour, and that is the reason I went there to-day."
"Without having been able to accomplish your object. My dear vicomte, I
place my experience at your service. The man is no rival, cannot be any;
and if the young countess has built any air-castles in her romantic
brain, I can give you the means to crumble them to pieces."
"And the means?"
"Simply tell her the name of her admirer."
"Yes; but he didn't mention his name to me."
"That does not surprise me. He was formerly an acrobat, and his name is
Fanfaro."
The vicomte laughed boisterously. Fanfaro, a former acrobat, ran after
young, noble ladies--it was too comical!
"So that is why the young man did not wish to fight me," he finally
cried; "it doesn't surprise me any more, and is cowardly too."
The Italian, who had witnessed the scene in which Fanfaro had refused to
cross weapons with a Talizac, laughed maliciously.
"The companions of the former acrobat are, no doubt, ignorant of whom
they are dealing with?" asked Talizac.
"On the contrary, they know him well."
"I don't understand it! They speak to him, shake hands with him; it is
extraordinary."
The vicomte's stupidity excited the Italian's pity, but he did not allow
his feelings to be perceived, and said:
"I think we have discussed this Fanfaro long enough. Let us not forget
that we are still in the Carnival, and that we must hurry if we still
wish to seek some distraction; forget the fatal scene of a short while
ago."
The vicomte had forgotten long ago that he and his father had been
stigmatized as dishonorable rogues, and in great good humor he
accompanied his companion toward the Rue Vivienne.
They had not gone far when the vicomte paused and nudged his friend.
Leaning against the balustrade of a house, a young girl, whose features
were illuminated by the rays of a street lamp, sang in a clear voice to
the accompaniment of a guitar. A large crowd of passers-by had assembled
around the singer, who was a perfect vision of beauty.
Chestnut brown hair framed a finely cut face, and deep black eyes looked
innocently from underneath long eyelashes. The fingers which played on
the instrument were long and tapering, and every movement of the body
was the personification of grace.
When the song was finished loud applause was heard. The young songstress
bowed at all sides, and a flush of pleasure lighted up the charming
face. Every one put a penny on the instrument. When the vicomte's turn
came, he threw forty francs on the guitar, and approached close to the
songstress.
"You are alone to-day?" he boldly asked.
The young girl trembled from head to foot and walked on. The vicomte
gazed after her, and the Italian laughingly observed:
"The 'Marquise' is very strict to-day."
Thereupon he bent down and picked something up from the ground.
"Here, vicomte, is your money; the little one threw it away."
The vicomte uttered a cry of rage.
"The impertinent hussy!" he hissed.
"The affair has been going on in this way for the last two months," said
the Italian, dryly; "and you could have known long ago, vicomte, that
the 'Marquise' spurns your attentions."
"Fernando, I really believe you play the spy upon me!" exclaimed
Talizac; "have a care, my patience has its limits."
"You are too tragical," replied Velletri, shrugging his shoulders;
"instead of pursuing the little one with platonic declarations, you
ought to try to break her spirit."
"Velletri, you are right," replied Talizac; "yes, I will revenge myself
upon Fanfaro and possess this girl. What am I peer of France for?"
"Bravo, vicomte, you please me now--let us go to dinner, and then--"
"But the 'Marquise'?"
"Have patience. You will be satisfied with me."