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Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. Passages in Gothic Bold are surrounded by +plus+ signs.
3. Other transcription notes appear at the end of this e-text.
[Illustration: "_He Took from the Bed a Large Plaid Shawl_"
Etching by Adrian Marcel, after the drawing by Frank T. Merrill]
+The Mysteries of Paris.+
_ILLUSTRATED WITH ETCHINGS
BY MERCIER, BICKNELL, POITEAU,
AND ADRIAN MARCEL._
_BY EUGENE SUE_
_IN SIX VOLUMES
VOLUME II._
_PRINTED FOR
FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO.
BOSTON_
_EDITION DE LUXE._
_Limited to One Thousand Copies._
No.______
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BALL 11
II. THE RENDEZVOUS 36
III. AN IDYL 61
IV. THE AMBUSCADE 74
V. THE RECTORY-HOUSE 88
VI. THE RENCOUNTER 99
VII. AN EVENING AT THE FARM 105
VIII. THE DREAM 150
IX. THE LETTER 159
X. THE HOLLOW WAY 195
XI. CLÉMENCE D'HARVILLE 201
XII. MISERY 256
XIII. JUDGMENT AND EXECUTION 286
XIV. RIGOLETTE 310
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"HE TOOK FROM THE BED A LARGE PLAID SHAWL" _Frontispiece_
"AT LENGTH ALIGHTED ON HER SHOULDER" 66
"'SO I HAVE BROUGHT TURK WITH ME'" 97
"'YOU MUST GIVE ME LEAVE'" 208
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
CHAPTER I.
THE BALL.
Belonging to one of the first families in France, still young, and with
a face that would have been agreeable had it not been for the almost
ridiculous and disproportionate length of his nose, M. de Lucenay joined
to a restless love of constant motion the habit of talking and laughing
fearfully loud upon subjects quite at variance with good taste or
polished manners, and throwing himself into attitudes so abrupt and
awkward that it was only by recalling who he was, that his being found
in the midst of the most distinguished societies in Paris could be
accounted for, or a reason assigned for tolerating his gestures and
language; for both of which he had now, by dint of long practice and
adherence, acquired a sort of free license or impunity. He was shunned
like the plague, although not deficient in a certain description of wit,
which told here and there amid the indescribable confusion of remarkable
phraseology which he allowed himself the use of; in fact, he was one of
those unintentional instruments of vengeance one would always like to
employ in the wholesale chastisement of persons who have rendered
themselves either ridiculous or abhorrent.
The Duchess de Lucenay, one of the most agreeable, and, at the same
time, most fashionable women in Paris (spite of her having numbered
thirty summers), had more than once furnished matter of conversation
among the scandal-dealers of Paris; but her errors, whatever they were
supposed to be, were pardoned, in consideration of the heavy drawback of
such a partner as M. de Lucenay.
Another feature in the character of this latter-named individual was a
singular affectation of the most absurd and unknown expressions,
relative to imaginary complaints and ridiculous infirmities he amused
himself in supposing you suffered from, and concerning which he would
make earnest inquiries, in a loud voice, and in the immediate presence
of a hundred persons. But possessed of first-rate courage, and always
ready to take the consequences of his disagreeable jokes, M. de Lucenay
had been concerned in various affairs of honour arising out of them,
with varied success; coming off sometimes victor, sometimes vanquished,
without being in any way cured of his unpleasant and annoying tricks.
All this premised, we will ask the reader to imagine the loud, harsh
voice of the personage we have been describing, shouting from the
distance at which he first recognised Madame d'Harville and Sarah:
"Holla! holla! who is that out there? Come, who is it? Let's see. What!
the prettiest woman at the ball sitting out here, away from everybody! I
can't have this; it is high time I returned from the other end of the
world to put a stop to such doings as this. I tell you what, marquise,
if you persist in thus concealing yourself from general view, and
cheating people from looking at you, I will set up a cry of fire! fire!
that shall bring every one out of the ballroom, around you."
And then, by way of terminating his discourse, M. de Lucenay threw
himself almost on his back beside the two ladies, crossed his left leg
over his right thigh, and held his foot in his hand.
"You have soon returned from Constantinople, my lord," observed Madame
d'Harville, fancying it was necessary to say something, and, at the same
time, drawing away from her unpleasant neighbour with ill-concealed
impatience.
"Ah, that is just what my wife said! 'Already back, my lord?' exclaimed
she, when she saw me alight from my travelling-carriage; 'Why, bless me,
I did not expect you so soon!' And, do you know, instead of flying to my
arms, as if the surprise had delighted her, she turned quite sulky, and
refused to appear with me at this, my first ball since my return! And,
upon my soul, I declare her staying away has caused a far greater
sensation than my presence,--droll, isn't it? 'Pon my life, I declare I
can't make it out. When she is with me, nobody pays the least attention
to me; but when I entered the room alone to-night, such a crowd came
humming and buzzing around me, all calling out at once, 'Where is Madame
de Lucenay? Is not she coming this evening? Oh, dear, what a
disappointment! How vexatious! How disagreeable!' etc., etc. And then,
marquise, when I come where you are, and expect, after returning all the
way from Constantinople, you will be overjoyed to see me, you look upon
me as if I were a dog running amidst an interesting game of ninepins;
and yet, for all I see, I am just as agreeable as other people."
"And it would have been so easy for you to have continued agreeable--in
the East," added Madame d'Harville, slightly smiling.
"Stop abroad, you mean, I suppose; yes, I dare say. I tell you I could
not, and I would not; and it is not quite what I like, to hear you say
so!" exclaimed M. de Lucenay, uncrossing his legs, and beating the crown
of his hat after the fashion of a tambourine.
"Well, for heaven's sake, my lord, be still, and do not call out so very
loudly," said Madame d'Harville, angrily, "or really you will compel me
to change my place."
"Change your place! Ah, to be sure! You want to take my arm, and walk
about the gallery a little; come along then, I'm ready."
"Walk with you! Certainly not! And pray let me beg of you not to meddle
with that bouquet--and have the goodness not to touch the fan either;
you will only break it, as you always do."
"Oh, bless you! talking of breaking fans, I am unlucky. Did my wife ever
show you a magnificent Chinese fan, given to her by Madame de Vaudémont?
Well, I broke that!" And, having delivered himself of these comforting
words, M. de Lucenay again threw himself back on the divan he had been
lounging on, but, with his accustomed gaucherie, contrived to pitch
himself over the back of it, on to the ground, grasping in his hand a
quantity of the floating wreaths of climbing plants which depended from
the boughs of the trees under which the party was sitting, and which he
had been, for some time, amusing himself with essaying to catch, as,
moved by the light breeze admitted into the place, they undulated
gracefully over his head. The suddenness of his fall brought down, not
only those he held, but the parent stems belonging to them; and poor De
Lucenay was so covered by the mass of foliage thus unexpectedly
obtained, that, ere he could thoroughly disengage himself from their
circling tendrils, he presented the appearance of some monarch of
May-day crowned with his leafy diadem. So whimsical an appearance as he
presented drew down roars of deafening, stunning laughter; much to the
annoyance of Madame d'Harville, who would quickly have got out of the
vicinity of so awkward and unpleasant a person had she not perceived M.
Charles Robert (the commandant of Madame Pipelet's accounts) advancing
from the other end of the gallery; and, unwilling to appear as though
going to meet him, she once more resumed her seat beside M. de Lucenay.
"I say, Lady Macgregor," vociferated the incorrigible De Lucenay,
"didn't I look preciously like a wild man of the woods, or the god Pan,
or a sylvan, or a naiad, or some of those savage creatures, with that
green wreath round my head? Oh, but talking of savages," added he,
abruptly approaching Sarah, "Lady Macgregor, I must tell you a most
outrageously indecent story. Just imagine that at Otaheite--"
"My lord duke--" interrupted Sarah, in a tone of freezing rebuke.
"Just as you like,--you are not obliged to hear my story if you don't
like it; you are the loser, that's all. Ah! I see Madame de Fonbonne out
there; I shall keep it for her; she is a dear, kind creature, and will
be delighted to hear it; so I'll save it for her."
Madame de Fonbonne was a fat little woman, of about fifty years of age,
very pretending, and very ridiculous. Her fat double chin rested on her
equally fat throat; and she was continually talking, with upturned eyes,
of her tender, her sensitive soul; the languor of her soul; the craving
of her soul; the aspirations of her soul. To these disadvantages, she
added the additional one of being particularly ill-dressed, upon the
present occasion, in a horrible-looking copper-coloured turban, with a
sprinkling of green flowers over it.
"Yes," again asserted De Lucenay, in his loudest voice, "that charming
anecdote shall be told to Madame de Fonbonne."
"May I be permitted, my lord duke, to inquire the subject of your
conversation?" said the lady thus apostrophised, who, hearing her name
mentioned, immediately commenced her usual mincing, bridling attempts to
draw up her chubby self, but, failing in the effort, fell back upon the
easier manoeuvre of "rolling up the whites of her eyes," as it is
commonly called.
"It refers, madame, to a most horribly indecent, revolting, and strange
story."
"Heaven bless me! and who dares--oh, dear me, who would venture--"
"I would, madame. I can answer for the truth of the anecdote, and that
it would make a stick or a stone blush to hear it; but, as I am aware
how dearly you love such stories, I will relate it to you. You must
know, then, that in Otaheite--"
"My lord," exclaimed the indignant lady, turning up her eyes with
indignant horror, "it really is surprising you can allow yourself to--"
"Now for those unkind looks you shall not hear my pretty story either,
though I had been reserving it for you. And, now I look at you, I can
but wonder that you, so celebrated for the taste and good style of your
dress, should have put that wretched thing on your head for a turban,
but which looks more like an old copper baking-dish spotted all over
with verdigris." So saying, the duke, as if charmed with his own wit,
burst into a loud and long peal of laughter.
"If, my lord," exclaimed the enraged lady, "you merely returned from the
East to resume your offensive jokes, which are tolerated because you are
supposed to be only half in your senses, all who know you are bound to
hope you intend to return as quickly as you came;" saying which she
arose, and majestically waddled away.
"I tell you what, Lady Macgregor, if I don't take devilish good care, I
shall let fly at that stupid old prude and pull her old stew-pan off her
head," said M. de Lucenay, thrusting his hands deep down into his
pockets as if to prevent their committing the retaliating mischief he
contemplated. "But no," said he, after a pause, "I won't hurt the
'sensitive soul,' poor innocent thing! Ha! ha! ha! Besides, think of her
being an orphan at her tender age!" And renewed peals of laughter
announced that the imagination of the duke had again found a fresh fund
of amusement in some reminiscence of Madame de Fonbonne; which, however,
soon gave place to an expression of surprise, as the figure of the
commandant, sauntering towards them, caught his eye.
"Holla!" cried he, "there's M. Charles Robert. I met him last summer at
the German baths; he is a deuced fine fellow,--sings like a swan. Now,
marquise, I'll show you some fun,--just see how I'll bother him. Would
you like me to introduce him to you?"
"Be quiet, if you can," said Sarah, turning her back most
unceremoniously upon M. de Lucenay, "and let us alone, I beg."
As M. Charles Robert, while affecting to be solely occupied in admiring
the rare plants on either side of him, continued to advance, M. de
Lucenay had cleverly contrived to get possession of Sarah's _flacon
d'esprit_, and was deeply and silently engaged in the interesting
employment of demolishing the stopper of the trinket.
Still M. Charles Robert kept on his gradual approach to the party he
was, in reality, making the object of his visit. His figure was tall and
finely proportioned; his features boasted the most faultless regularity;
his dress was in the first style of modern elegance; yet his
countenance, his whole person, were destitute of grace, or that
_distingué_ air which is more to be coveted than mere beauty, whether of
face or figure; his movements were stiff and constrained, and his hands
and feet large and coarse. As he approached Madame d'Harville his
insipid and insignificant countenance assumed, all at once, an
expression of the deepest melancholy, too sudden to be genuine;
nevertheless he acted the part as closely to nature as might be. M.
Robert had the air of a man so thoroughly wretched, so oppressed by a
multitude of sorrows, that as he came up to Madame d'Harville she could
not help recalling to mind the fearful mention made by Sarah touching
the violence to which grief such as his might drive him.
"How are you? How are you, my dear sir?" exclaimed the Duke de Lucenay,
interrupting the further approach of the commandant. "I have not had the
pleasure of seeing you since we met at the spas of ----. But what the
devil ails you,--are you ill?"
Hereupon M. Charles Robert assumed a languid and sentimental air, and,
casting a melancholy look towards Madame d'Harville, replied, in a tone
of deep depression:
"Indeed, my lord, I am very far from being well."
"God bless me! Why, what is the matter with you? Ah! I suppose that
confounded plaguy cough still sticks to you," said M. de Lucenay, with
an appearance of the most serious interest in the inquiry.
At this ridiculous question, M. Charles Robert stood for a moment as
though struck dumb with astonishment, but, quickly recovering himself,
said, while his face crimsoned, and his voice trembled with rage, in a
short, firm voice, to M. de Lucenay:
"Since you express so much uneasiness respecting my health, my lord, I
trust you will not fail calling to-morrow to know how I am."
"Upon my life and soul, my dear sir, I--but most certainly I will send,"
said the duke, with a haughty bow to M. Charles Robert, who, coolly
returning it, walked away.
"The best of the joke is," said M. de Lucenay, throwing himself again by
the side of Sarah, "that our tall friend there had no more of a spitting
complaint than the great Turk himself,--unless, indeed, I stumbled upon
the truth without knowing it. Well, he might have that complaint for
anything I know or care. What do you think, Lady Macgregor,--did that
great, tall fellow look, to you, as though he were suffering from _la
pituite_?"[1]
[1] A sort of viscous, phlegmy complaint.
Sarah's only reply was an indignant rising from her seat, and hasty
removal from the vicinage of the annoying Duke de Lucenay.
All this had passed with the rapidity of thought. Sarah had experienced
considerable difficulty in restraining her inclination to indulge in a
hearty fit of laughter at the absurd question put by the Duke de Lucenay
to the commandant; but Madame d'Harville had painfully sympathised with
the feelings of a man so ridiculously interrogated in the presence of
the woman he loved. Then, horror-struck as the probable consequences of
the duke's jest rose to her mind, led away by her dread of the duel
which might arise out of it, and still further instigated by a feeling
of deep pity for one who seemed to her misled imagination as marked out
for every venomed shaft of envy, malice, and revenge, Clémence rose
abruptly from her seat, took the arm of Sarah, overtook M. Charles
Robert, who was boiling over with rage, and whispered to him, as she
passed:
"To-morrow, at one o'clock, I will be there."
Then, regaining the gallery with the countess, she immediately quitted
the ball.
Rodolph, in appearing at this fête, besides fulfilling a duty imposed on
him by his exalted rank and place in society, was further influenced by
the earnest desire to ascertain how far his suspicions, as regarded
Madame d'Harville, were well founded, and if she were, indeed, the
heroine of Madame Pipelet's account. After quitting the winter garden
with the Countess de ----, he had, in vain, traversed the various salons
in the hopes of meeting Madame d'Harville alone. He was returning to the
hothouse when, being momentarily delayed at the top of the stairs, he
was witness to the rapid scene between Madame d'Harville and M. Charles
Robert after the joke played off by the Duke de Lucenay. The significant
glances exchanged between Clémence and the commandant struck Rodolph
powerfully, and impressed him with the firm conviction that this tall
and prepossessing individual was the mysterious lodger of the Rue du
Temple. Wishing for still further confirmation of the idea, he returned
to the gallery. A waltz was about to commence, and in the course of a
few minutes he saw M. Charles Robert standing in the doorway, evidently
revelling in the satisfaction of his own ideas; enjoying, in the first
place, the recollection of his own retort to M. de Lucenay (for M.
Charles Robert, spite of his egregious folly and vanity, was by no means
destitute of bravery), and, secondly, revelling in the triumph of thus
obtaining a voluntary assignation with Madame d'Harville for the morrow;
and something assured him that this time she would be punctual. Rodolph
sought for Murphy.
"Do you see that fair young man," said he, "standing in the midst of
that group out there?"
"You mean the tall individual who seems so much amused with his own
thoughts, do you not? Yes, yes, I see him."
"Endeavour to get sufficiently near to him to be enabled to whisper, so
that he alone can catch the words, while you carefully avoid allowing
him to see the person who utters them, this sentence, 'You are late, my
angel!'"
The squire gazed at Rodolph with a perplexed air.
"My lord, do you seriously wish me to do this?"
"Seriously, my dear Murphy, I do; and should he hastily turn around when
you have spoken, assume that incomparable air of perfect nonchalance for
which you are so justly celebrated, so as to prevent his being able to
fix upon you as the person who has spoken."
"Depend upon my perfect obedience, my lord, although I am far from
having the slightest idea of your intention in assigning to me such a
task."
Before the conclusion of the waltz, the worthy Murphy had contrived to
place himself immediately behind M. Charles Robert, while Rodolph,
posted in a situation most advantageous for watching the effect of this
experiment, carefully observed Murphy's movements. In a minute, M.
Charles Robert turned suddenly around, as though struck with
astonishment and wonder. The immovable squire stirred not a feature; and
certainly Murphy's tall, portly figure, bald head, and grave, composed
countenance, appeared the least likely of any in the room to be those of
a man taking part in such a trick; and, indeed, it was evident, from the
continued gaze of the commandant in every other part of the space they
stood in, that M. Charles Robert was far from suspecting his
respectable, middle-aged neighbour of giving utterance to a phrase so
disagreeably recalling the _quid pro quo_ of which Madame Pipelet had
been alike the cause and the heroine. The waltz concluded, Murphy
rejoined Rodolph.
"Well, my lord," said he, "that smart young gentleman jumped as though
he had trodden on a hornet's nest. The words I uttered appeared to have
the effect of magic on him."
"They were so far magical, my dear Murphy, as they assisted me to
discover a circumstance I was most anxious to find out."
Conviction thus painfully obtained, Rodolph could only deplore the
dangerous position in which Madame d'Harville had placed herself, and
which seemed to him fraught with fresh evils, from a vague presentiment
of Sarah's being either a sharer or a confidant in the transaction, and
with this discovery came the fresh pain of believing that he had now
found out the source of M. d'Harville's secret sorrow; the man he so
highly esteemed, and for whom he felt a brother's regard, was pining in
silence over the misconduct of a wife he so tenderly loved, yet who, in
spite of her many charming qualities, could sacrifice her own and her
husband's happiness for the sake of an object so every way unworthy.
Master of so important a secret, yet incapable of betraying it, unable
to devise any plan to open the eyes of Madame d'Harville, who seemed
rather to yield to than resist her unlicensed passion for her lover,
Rodolph found himself obliged to remain a passive witness to the utter
ruin of a woman he had so passionately adored with as much silence as
devotion; nay, whom, spite of his best efforts, he still loved. He was
roused from these reflections by M. de Graün.
"If your royal highness," said the baron, bowing, "will deign to grant
me a brief interview in one of the lower rooms, which is now quite
devoid of company, I shall have the honour to lay before you the
particulars you desired me to collect."
Rodolph signed to M. de Graün to conduct him to the place named, when
the baron proceeded with his recital, as follows:
"The only duchess to whose name the initials 'N.' and 'L.' can possibly
belong is Madame de Lucenay, whose maiden name was Normant. Her grace is
not here this evening. I have just seen M. de Lucenay, her husband, who,
it seems, left Paris five months ago, with the expressed intention of
travelling in the East during the next year or two, but has unexpectedly
returned within the last day or two."
It may be recollected that, during Rodolph's visit to the Rue du Temple,
he picked up, on the landing-place adjoining the door of the charlatan
dentist's apartments, a cambric handkerchief, richly embroidered and
trimmed with costly lace, and bearing in the corner a ducal coronet with
the initials "N. L." It will also be borne in mind that this elegant
indication of high rank was wetted with the bitter tears of its noble
owner. In pursuance of his instructions, but in total ignorance of the
circumstances suggesting them, M. de Graün had inquired the name of
every duchess then in Paris, and gleaned the information now repeated to
Rodolph, and which the latter perfectly comprehended. He had no reason
for interesting himself in the fate of Madame de Lucenay; but he could
not reflect without a shudder that, if it were really she who visited
the pretended doctor (but who, he felt assured, was no other than the
infamous Polidori), this wretch, having possessed himself of her real
name and address through the agency of Tortillard, might make a fearful
use of a secret which placed the duchess so completely in his power.
"Chance is a strange thing, my lord, is it not?" resumed M. de Graün.
"It is; but how does it apply to the present case?"
"Why, at the very instant that M. de Grangeneuve was giving me these
facts concerning M. and Madame de Lucenay, and was adding, rather
ill-naturedly, that the unlooked-for return of the duke must have proved
particularly disagreeable, not only to the duchess but to the Viscount
de Saint-Remy, one of the most elegant and fashionable men in Paris, his
excellency the ambassador came up and inquired whether your royal
highness would permit him to present the viscount to you, as, having
just been appointed on the legation to Gerolstein, he would be happy to
avail himself of the present opportunity of paying his court to your
highness."
An expression of impatience escaped Rodolph, who exclaimed:
"Nothing could have been less agreeable to me. However, it is impossible
to refuse. Let the count know, therefore, that I am ready to receive M.
de Saint-Remy."
Rodolph knew too well how to support his princely dignity to allow his
feelings to interfere with the courtesy and affability required on the
present occasion; added to which, the world gave M. de Saint-Remy as a
favoured lover to the Duchess de Lucenay, and this circumstance greatly
excited the curiosity of Rodolph.
The Viscount de Saint-Remy, conducted by the Count de ----, now
approached. He was an exceedingly handsome young man, of about
twenty-five years of age, tall and slender, with the most _distingué_
air and prepossessing physiognomy; his olive complexion had that rich,
soft glow of amber cast over its transparent surface, so remarkable in
the paintings of Murillo; his glossy black hair, parted over his left
temple, was worn smooth over his forehead, and fell in light and easy
curls down the sides of his face, almost concealing the pale,
well-shaped ear. The deep, dark eyelash contrasted well with the clear
eye it shaded, the crystal of which was tinged with that blue cast which
bestows so much and such charming expression to the Indian eye. By a
singular caprice of nature, the thick, silky moustache which graced his
lip was the only ornament of a similar description visible on his
countenance, the chin and cheeks being smooth as those of a young
maiden. Perhaps it might be vanity which dictated the narrow black satin
cravat placed so low as to reveal the perfect contour of a throat which,
for whiteness and symmetrical roundness, might have furnished a model
for the artist's studio. The long ends of his cravat were confined by a
single pearl, inestimable for its size, the beauty of its shape, and the
splendour of its colour,--so vivid, that an opal could scarcely have
rivalled its continued prismatic changes. The perfect taste, and
exquisite style of M. de Saint-Remy harmonised well with the magnificent
simplicity of this jewel.
Once seen, the face and figure of M. de Saint-Remy was never forgotten,
so entirely did it differ from the usual style of _élégants_. He spared
no expense in procuring the most faultless turnout, and his carriages
and horses were everywhere cited as models of taste and correct
judgment. He played high, but skilfully; while the annual amount of his
betting-book was never less than from two to three thousand louis. The
costly elegance of his mansion, in the Rue de Chaillot, was everywhere
spoken of and admired. There he gave the most exquisite dinner-parties.
The highest play followed, and the hospitable host would lose large and
heavy sums with the most perfect indifference, though it was known that
his fortune had been dissipated long ago. All the viscount's property
had been derived from his mother; while his father lived in utter
seclusion in the wilds of Anjou, upon an income of the most slender
description.
By way of accounting for the unbounded expenditure of M. de Saint-Remy,
many among the envious or ill-natured referred, as Sarah had done, to
the large fortune of the Duchess de Lucenay; but they forgot that,
setting aside the infamy of the idea, M. de Lucenay would naturally
direct the disposal of his wife's property, and that M. de Saint-Remy's
annual expenses were at least two hundred thousand francs. Suspicions
were entertained of his being deeply indebted to imprudent
money-lenders; for Saint-Remy had no further inheritance to look forward
to. Others, again, spoke of his great successes on the turf, and hinted,
in an undertone, dark stories of training-grounds, and jockeys bribed by
him to make the horses against which he had betted largely lose; but by
far the greater number of the crowd by which Saint-Remy was surrounded
was content to eat his dinners, and occasionally to win his rouleaux,
without troubling themselves with conjectures as to how the one was
provided, and where the other came from.
By birth and education he was fully entitled to the rank he occupied in
the fashionable world; he was lively, witty, brave, a most amusing
companion, obliging and complaisant to the wishes of others; he gave
first-rate bachelor dinners, and afterwards took every bet that was
offered him. What more was required to secure his popularity? He was an
universal favourite with the fair sex, and could boast the most unvaried
success in all his love affairs; he was young, handsome, gallant, and
unsparingly munificent upon all occasions where opportunities occurred
of marking his devotion towards the high-bred females with whom he
associated in the _grande monde_; in a word, thanks to the general
infatuation he excited, the air of mystery thrown over the source of the
Pactolus from which he derived his golden supplies rather embellished
him with a certain mysterious charm, which seemed but to add to his
attractions. Sometimes it would be said, with a careless smile, "What a
fellow that Saint-Remy is: he must have discovered the philosopher's
stone to be able to go the pace he does." And when it was known that he
had caused himself to be attached to the legation of France to the court
of Gerolstein, there were not wanting voices to assert that it was a
"devilish good way of making an honourable retreat." Such was M. de
Saint-Remy.
"Allow me," said the Count de ----, presenting M. de Saint-Remy, "to
introduce to your royal highness the Viscount de Saint-Remy, attached to
the embassy of Gerolstein."
The viscount bowed profoundly, saying:
"May I trust your royal highness will deign to pardon my impatience in
requesting the honour of this introduction during the present evening? I
am, perhaps, unduly hasty in my wishes to secure a gratification I have
so long aspired to."
"It will give me much pleasure, my lord, to welcome you to Gerolstein.
Do you propose going thither immediately?"
"Your royal highness being in Paris diminishes very materially my desire
to do so."
"I fear the peaceful contrast of our German courts will scarcely assort
with a life of Parisian fashion, such as you have always been accustomed
to."
"Permit me to assure your royal highness that the gracious kindness you
have now shown me, and which it shall be my study to merit a continuance
of in Gerolstein, would of itself far outweigh any attractions Paris
may have had for me."
"It will not be my fault, my lord, should you see cause to alter your
sentiments when at Gerolstein."
A slight inclination of Rodolph's head announced that the presentation
was concluded, upon which the viscount bowed and retired. The prince, a
practised physiognomist, was subject to involuntary likes and dislikes
upon the first interview with an individual, and these impulses were in
his case almost invariably borne out by after-circumstances. His first
sensation after the exchange of the very few words we have related
between himself and Saint-Remy was an unaccountable feeling of
repugnance and aversion for the gay and fascinating young man; to his
eye, the handsome features wore a sinister look, and danger seemed to
lurk even in his honeyed words and smooth, polished manner.
We shall hereafter meet M. de Saint-Remy under circumstances differing
widely and fearfully from the splendour of the position he occupied at
his first interview with Rodolph. It will then be seen how far these
presentiments were ill or well founded.
The presentation over, Rodolph, in deep meditation upon the singular
rencontres effected by the hand of chance, bent his steps towards the
winter garden. It was now the hour of supper, and the rooms were nearly
deserted. The most retired spot in the hothouse was at the end of a
clump of trees placed against the corner of a wall, and an enormous
banana, covered with climbing plants, effectually concealed a small side
door, masked by the trellis, and conducting to the banquetting-hall by a
long corridor. This door, which was scarcely a yard distant from the
tree above mentioned, had been left temporarily ajar. Sheltered by this
verdant screen, Rodolph seated himself, and was soon lost in a profound
reverie, when the sound of a well-known voice, pronouncing his name,
made Rodolph start. It was Sarah, who, seated with her brother Tom on
the other side of the clump of trees which effectually hid Rodolph from
their view, was conversing with him in the English language. The prince
listened attentively, and the following dialogue ensued:
"The marquise has just gone to show herself for a few minutes at Baron
de Nerval's ball," said Sarah; "she has luckily quitted this place
without once having an opportunity of exchanging a word with Rodolph,
who has been looking everywhere for her. I still dread the influence he
possesses over her, even unknown to herself,--an influence it has cost
me so much labour and difficulty to combat, and partly to destroy.
However, to-morrow will rid me of any further fears of a rival who, if
not effectually destroyed, might so powerfully derange and overthrow my
plans. Listen to me, brother, for it is of serious matters I would speak
to you. To-morrow witnesses the eternal ruin of my hated rival."
"You are mistaken, Sarah," answered Tom's well-remembered voice;
"Rodolph never loved the marquise; of that I am certain; your jealous
fears mislead you."
"It is time," returned Sarah, "that I enlightened you on this subject.
Many things occurred during your last journey, and as it is necessary to
take decisive steps even earlier than I had expected,--nay, this very
night,--so soon as we quit this place, it becomes indispensably
necessary we should take serious counsel together. Happily we are now
quite alone, for the gay butterflies of the night have found fresh
attraction around the supper-tables. Now, then, brother, give your close
and undivided attention to what I am about to say."
"Proceed, I am all impatience."
"Well, before Clémence d'Harville met Rodolph, I feel assured the
passion of love was wholly unknown to her, for what reason I have never
been able to discover. She entertains the most invincible repugnance and
aversion towards her husband, who perfectly adores her. There is some
deep mystery in this part of the business I have never succeeded in
fathoming. A thousand new and delightful emotions sprang up in the
breast of Clémence after she became acquainted with Rodolph; but I
stifled her growing love by the most frightful disclosures, or rather
ingeniously invented calumnies, concerning the prince. Still, the void
in her heart required an object to fill it, and chance having thrown M.
Charles Robert in her way during a morning call she was making at my
house, she appeared struck with his appearance, much after the manner in
which we are attracted by a fine picture. Unfortunately, however, this
man is as silly as he is handsome, though he certainly has a very
prepossessing _tout ensemble_. I praised him enthusiastically to Madame
d'Harville, exalted the nobleness of his sentiments, the elevation of
his mind, and, as I knew her weak side, I worked upon her sympathy and
pity, by representing him as loaded with every trouble and affliction
unrelenting fate could heap upon a devoted but most innocent head. I
directed M. Robert to assume a melancholy and sentimental air; to utter
only deep sighs, and to preserve a gloomy and unbroken silence in the
presence of Madame d'Harville. He carefully pursued the path marked out
by me, and, thanks to his vocal skill, his fine person and the constant
expression of silent suffering, so far engaged the interest of Madame
d'Harville, that, ere long, she transferred to my handsome friend the
warm and sympathising regard Rodolph had first awakened. Do you
comprehend me thus far?"
"Perfectly; proceed."
"Madame d'Harville and Robert met only upon terms of intimacy at my
house; to draw them more effectually together I projected devoting three
mornings in the week to music, and my mournful ally sighed softly as the
breath of evening while turning over the leaves of the music, ventured
to utter a few impassioned words, and even to slip two or three billets
among the pieces he copied out for the marquise to practise at home. I
own I was more fearful of his epistolary efforts than even his powers of
speech; but a woman always looks indulgently upon the first declaration
of love she receives; so far, therefore, the written nonsense of my
silly pupil did no harm, for, in obedience to my advice, his _billets
doux_ were very laconic. The great point was to obtain a rendezvous, and
this was no easy matter, for Clémence's principles were stronger than
her love; or, rather, her passion was not sufficiently deep to induce
her to sacrifice those principles. Unknown, even to herself, the image
of Rodolph still filled her heart, and seemed in a manner to preserve
her from yielding to her weak fancy for M. Charles Robert,--a fancy, as
I well knew, far more imaginary than real; but, led on by my continual
and exaggerated praises of this brainless Apollo, whom I persisted in
describing as suffering under the daily increase of every imaginary evil
I could invent, Clémence, vanquished by the deep despair of her dejected
adorer, consented one day, more from pity than love, to grant him the
rendezvous so long desired."
"Did she, then, make you her confidant?"
"She confessed to me her regard for M. Charles Robert,--nothing more;
neither did I seek to learn more; it would have annoyed and vexed her.
But, as for him, boiling over with love, or, rather, intoxicated with
pride, he came voluntarily to impart his good fortune, without, however,
entrusting me either with the time or place of the intended meeting."
"How, then, did you know it?"
"Why, Karl, by my order, hovered about the door of M. Robert during the
following day from an early hour; nothing, however, transpired till the
next day, when our love-stricken youth proceeded in a _fiacre_ to an
obscure part of the town, and finally alighted before a mean-looking
house in the Rue du Temple; there he remained for an hour and a half,
when he came out and walked away. Karl waited a long while to see
whether any person followed M. Charles Robert out of the house; but no
one came. The marquise had evidently failed in her appointment. This was
confirmed to me on the morrow, when the lover came to pour out all his
rage and disappointment. I advised him to assume even an increase of
wretchedness and despair. The plan succeeded; the pity of Clémence was
again excited; a fresh assignation was wrung from her, but which she
failed to keep equally with the former; the third and last rendezvous,
however, produced more decided effects, Madame d'Harville positively
going as far as the door of the house I have specified as the appointed
place; then, repenting so rash a step, returned home without having even
quitted the humble _fiacre_ in which she rode. You may judge by all
these capricious changes of purpose how this woman struggles to be free.
And wherefore? Why, because (and hence arises my bitter, deadly hatred
to Clémence d'Harville) because the recollection of Rodolph still
lingers in her heart, and, with pertinacious love she shrinks from aught
that she fancies breathes of preference for another; thus shielding
herself from harm or danger beneath his worshipped image. Now this very
night the marquise has made a fresh assignation with M. Charles Robert
for to-morrow, and this time I doubt not her punctuality; the Duke de
Lucenay has so grossly ridiculed this young man that, carried away by
pity for the humiliation of her admirer, the marquise has granted that
to compassion he would not else have obtained. But this time, I feel
persuaded she will keep her word, and be punctual to the appointed time
and hour."
"And how do you propose to act?"
"M. Charles Robert is so perfectly unable to comprehend the delicacy of
feeling which this evening dictated the marquise's resolution of meeting
him, that he is safe to rush with vulgar eagerness to the rendezvous,
and this will effectually ruin his plans, for pity alone has instigated
Clémence to take this compromising step. No love,--no infatuation has
hurried her into a measure so fatal to her future resolution. I know
every turn of her mind; and I am confident she will keep her appointment
solely from a courageous idea of generous devotion, but with a firm
resolve not for one instant to forget her duties as a wife and mother.
Now the coarse, vulgar mind of M. Charles Robert is sure to take the
fullest advantage of the marquise's concession in his favour. Clémence
will detest him from that instant; and the illusion once destroyed which
has bound herself and Charles Robert in bonds of imaginary sympathy, she
will fall again beneath the influence of her love for Rodolph, which I
am certain still nestles in her heart."
"Well?"
"Well! I would have her for ever lost to Rodolph, whose high sense of
honour and deep friendship for M. d'Harville I feel perfectly sure would
not have proved equal to preventing his returning the love of Clémence;
but I will so manage things that he shall henceforward look upon her
with loathing and disgust, as the guilty partner in a crime committed
without his participation. No, no! I know my man. He might pardon the
offence, but never the being excluded from his share in it."
"Then do you propose apprising the husband of all that is going on, so
that the prince should learn the disgraceful circumstances from the
publicity the affair would obtain?"
"I do. And the thing is so much the easier to accomplish as, from what
fell from Clémence to-night, I can learn that the marquis has vague and
undefined suspicions, without knowing on whom to fix them. It is now
midnight; we shall almost directly leave the ball, I will set you down
at the first café we meet with, whence you shall write M. d'Harville a
minute account of his wife's love affair, with the projected assignation
of to-morrow, with the time and place where it is arranged to take
place. Oh! but I forgot, I didn't state that the place of meeting is No.
17 Rue du Temple. And the time, to-morrow at one o'clock. The marquis is
already jealous of Clémence; well, he will by this information surprise
her under most suspicious circumstances; the rest follows as a matter of
course."
"But this is a most abominable mode of action," said Seyton, coldly.
"What! my trusty and well-behaved brother and colleague growing
scrupulous?" said Sarah, sarcastically. "This will never do; suppose my
modes of action are odious,--so be it. I trample on all and every thing
that interferes with my designs,--agreed. I do--I shall, till I have
secured my purpose. But let me ask you, Who thought of scruples when my
destruction was aimed at? Who thought of me or my feelings, let me ask
you? How have I been treated?"
"Say no more, sister,--say no more,--here is my hand, and you may safely
reckon upon my firm participation in all that concerns you, even to
writing the letter to M. d'Harville. But still I say, and repeat, such
conduct is horrible!"
"Never mind sermonising, but say, do you consent fully and entirely to
what I wish you, or do you not? Ay, or nay?"
"Since it must be so, M. d'Harville shall this night be fully instructed
as to all his wife's proceedings,--but--what is that? I fancied I heard
some one on the other side of this thicket,--there was a rustling of
leaves and branches," said Seyton, interrupting himself, and speaking to
Sarah in a low and suppressed voice.
"For heaven's sake," cried Sarah, uneasily, "don't stop to talk about
it, but quick! and examine the other side of this place!"
Seyton rose,--made the tour of the clump of trees,--but saw no one.
Rodolph had just disappeared by the side door, of which we have before
spoken.
"I must have made a mistake," said Seyton, returning; "there is no
appearance of any persons but ourselves being in this place."
"I thought there could not possibly be."
"Now, then, Sarah, hear what I have got to say on the subject of Madame
d'Harville, who, I feel quite satisfied, you make an object of
unnecessary apprehension, as far as it would be possible for her to
interfere with your schemes. The prince, moreover, has certain
principles nothing would induce him to infringe. I am infinitely more
alarmed, and with greater justice, too, as to what can have been his
intentions in conducting that young girl to his farm at Bouqueval, five
or six weeks ago. He is constant in his superintendence of her health
and comfort; is having her well educated, and, moreover, has been
several times to see her. Now we are altogether ignorant who she is or
where she came from; she seems, however, to belong only to the humbler
ranks of society; still, the exquisite style of her beauty, the fact of
the prince having worn the disguise he did when escorting her to the
farm, the increasing interest he seems to take in her welfare, all go to
prove that his regard for her is of no common description. I have,
therefore, in this affair anticipated your wishes; but to remove this
greater, and, as I believe, more serious obstacle to our plans, the
utmost circumspection was requisite to obtain information respecting the
lives and habits of these mysterious occupants of the farm, and
particularly concerning the girl herself. I have been fortunate enough
to learn nearly sufficient to point out what is to be done the moment
for action has arrived. A most singular chance threw that horrid old
woman in my way, to whom, as you remember, I once gave my address,
which she it seems has carefully preserved. Her connection with such
persons as the robber who attacked us during our late visit to the Cité
will powerfully assist us. All is provided for and preconsidered,--there
can be no proof against us,--and, besides, if, as seems evident, this
young creature belongs to the humblest class of society it is not very
probable she will hesitate between our offers and the splendid prospect
she may, perchance, picture to herself, for the prince, I have
ascertained, has preserved a strict incognito towards her. But to-morrow
shall decide the question otherwise,--we shall see,--we shall see."
"And these two obstacles overcome, then, Tom, for our grand project."
"There are many, and serious obstacles in the way; still, they may be
overcome."
"And would it not be a lucky chance if we should bring it to pass at the
very moment when Rodolph would be writhing under the double misery
occasioned by the disclosure of Madame d'Harville's conduct, and the
disappearance of the creature for whom he chooses to evince so deep an
interest? Would not that be an auspicious moment to persuade him that
the daughter, whose loss he daily more and more deplores, still lives?
And then--"
"Silence, sister," interrupted Seyton, "I hear the steps of the guests
from the supper-table, returning to resume the ball. Since you deem it
expedient to apprise the Marquis d'Harville of the morrow's rendezvous,
let us depart; it is past midnight."
"The lateness of the hour in which the anonymous information will reach
M. d'Harville, will but tend still more to impress him with an idea of
its importance."
And with these words Tom and Sarah quitted the splendid ball of the
ambassadress of the court of ----.