Of all the obstacles which hinder the smooth course of love, the greatest
is, without doubt, what is called false shame, which is indeed a very
potent obstacle.
Croisilles was not troubled with this unhappy failing, which both pride
and timidity combine to produce; he was not one of those who, for whole
months, hover round the woman they love, like a cat round a caged bird. As
soon as he had given up the idea of drowning himself, he thought only of
letting his dear Julie know that he lived solely for her. But how could he
tell her so? Should he present himself a second time at the mansion of the
fermier-général, it was but too certain that M. Godeau would have him
ejected.
Julie, when she happened to take a walk, never went without her maid; it
was therefore useless to undertake to follow her. To pass the nights under
the windows of one's beloved is a folly dear to lovers, but, in the
present case, it would certainly prove vain. I said before that Croisilles
was very religious; it therefore never entered his mind to seek to meet
his lady-love at church. As the best way, though the most dangerous, is to
write to people when one cannot speak to them in person, he decided on the
very next day to write to the young lady.
His letter possessed, naturally, neither order nor reason. It read
somewhat as follows:
"Mademoiselle,--Tell me exactly, I beg of you, what fortune one must
possess to be able to pretend to your hand. I am asking you a strange
question; but I love you so desperately, that it is impossible for me not
to ask it, and you are the only person in the world to whom I can address
it. It seemed to me, last evening, that you looked at me at the play. I
had wished to die; would to God I were indeed dead, if I am mistaken, and
if that look was not meant for me. Tell me if Fate can be so cruel as to
let a man deceive himself in a manner at once so sad and so sweet. I
believe that you commanded me to live. You are rich, beautiful. I know it.
Your father is arrogant and miserly, and you have a right to be proud; but
I love you, and the rest is a dream. Fix your charming eyes on me; think
of what love can do, when I who suffer so cruelly, who must stand in fear
of every thing, feel, nevertheless, an inexpressible joy in writing you
this mad letter, which will perhaps bring down your anger upon me. But
think also, mademoiselle that you are a little to blame for this, my
folly. Why did you drop that bouquet? Put yourself for an instant, if
possible, in my place; I dare think that you love me, and I dare ask you
to tell me so. Forgive me, I beseech you. I would give my life's blood to
be sure of not offending you, and to see you listening to my love with
that angel smile which belongs only to you.
"Whatever you may do, your image remains mine; you can remove it only by
tearing out my heart. As long as your look lives in my remembrance, as
long as the bouquet keeps a trace of its perfume, as long as a word will
tell of love, I will cherish hope."
Having sealed his letter, Croisilles went out and walked up and down the
street opposite the Godeau mansion, waiting for a servant to come out.
Chance, which always serves mysterious loves, when it can do so without
compromising itself, willed it that Mademoiselle Julie's maid should have
arranged to purchase a cap on that day. She was going to the milliner's
when Croisilles accosted her, slipped a louis into her hand, and asked her
to take charge of his letter.
The bargain was soon struck; the servant took the money to pay for her cap
and promised to do the errand out of gratitude. Croisilles, full of joy,
went home and sat at his door awaiting an answer.
Before speaking of this answer, a word must be said about Mademoiselle
Godeau. She was not quite free from the vanity of her father, but her good
nature was ever uppermost. She was, in the full meaning of the term, a
spoilt child. She habitually spoke very little, and never was she seen
with a needle in her hand; she spent her days at her toilet, and her
evenings on the sofa, not seeming to hear the conversation going on around
her. As regards her dress, she was prodigiously coquettish, and her own
face was surely what she thought most of on earth. A wrinkle in her
collarette, an ink-spot on her finger, would have distressed her; and,
when her dress pleased her, nothing can describe the last look which she
cast at her mirror before leaving the room. She showed neither taste nor
aversion for the pleasures in which young ladies usually delight. She went
to balls willingly enough, and renounced going to them without a show of
temper, sometimes without motive.
The play wearied her, and she was in the constant habit of falling asleep
there. When her father, who worshipped her, proposed to make her some
present of her own choice, she took an hour to decide, not being able to
think of anything she cared for. When M. Godeau gave a reception or a
dinner, it often happened that Julie would not appear in the drawing-room,
and at such times she passed the evening alone in her own room, in full
dress, walking up and down, her fan in her hand. If a compliment was
addressed to her, she turned away her head, and if any one attempted to
pay court to her, she responded only by a look at once so dazzling and so
serious as to disconcert even the boldest. Never had a sally made her
laugh; never had an air in an opera, a flight of tragedy, moved her;
indeed, never had her heart given a sign of life; and, on seeing her pass
in all the splendor of her nonchalant loveliness one might have taken her
for a beautiful somnambulist, walking through the world as in a trance.
So much indifference and coquetry did not seem easy to understand. Some
said she loved nothing, others that she loved nothing but herself. A
single word, however, suffices to explain her character,--she was waiting.
From the age of fourteen she had heard it ceaselessly repeated that
nothing was so charming as she. She was convinced of this, and that was
why she paid so much attention to dress. In failing to do honor to her own
person, she would have thought herself guilty of sacrilege. She walked, in
her beauty, so to speak, like a child in its holiday dress; but she was
very far from thinking that her beauty was to remain useless.
Beneath her apparent unconcern she had a will, secret, inflexible, and the
more potent the better it was concealed. The coquetry of ordinary women,
which spends itself in ogling, in simpering, and in smiling, seemed to her
a childish, vain, almost contemptible way of fighting with shadows. She
felt herself in possession of a treasure, and she disdained to stake it
piece by piece; she needed an adversary worthy of herself; but, too
accustomed to see her wishes anticipated, she did not seek that adversary;
it may even be said that she felt astonished at his failing to present
himself.
For the four or five years that she had been out in society and had
conscientiously displayed her flowers, her furbelows, and her beautiful
shoulders, it seemed to her inconceivable that she had not yet inspired
some great passion.
Had she said what was really behind her thoughts, she certainly would have
replied to her many flatterers: "Well! if it is true that I am so
beautiful, why do you not blow your brains out for me?" An answer which
many other young girls might make, and which more than one who says
nothing hides away in a corner of her heart, not far perhaps from the tip
of her tongue.
What is there, indeed, in the world, more tantalizing for a woman than to
be young, rich, beautiful, to look at herself in her mirror and see
herself charmingly dressed, worthy in every way to please, fully disposed
to allow herself to be loved, and to have to say to herself: "I am
admired, I am praised, all the world thinks me charming, but nobody loves
me. My gown is by the best maker, my laces are superb, my coiffure is
irreproachable, my face the most beautiful on earth, my figure slender, my
foot prettily turned, and all this helps me to nothing but to go and yawn
in the corner of some drawing-room! If a young man speaks to me he treats
me as a child; if I am asked in marriage, it is for my dowry; if somebody
presses my hand in a dance, it is sure to be some provincial fop; as soon
as I appear anywhere, I excite a murmur of admiration; but nobody speaks
low, in my ear, a word that makes my heart beat. I hear impertinent men
praising me in loud tones, a couple of feet away, and never a look of
humbly sincere adoration meets mine. Still I have an ardent soul full of
life, and I am not, by any means, only a pretty doll to be shown about, to
be made to dance at a ball, to be dressed by a maid in the morning and
undressed at night--beginning the whole thing over again the next day."
That is what Mademoiselle Godeau had many times said to herself; and there
were hours when that thought inspired her with so gloomy a feeling that
she remained mute and almost motionless for a whole day. When Croisilles
wrote her, she was in just such a fit of ill-humor. She had just been
taking her chocolate and was deep in meditation, stretched upon a lounge,
when her maid entered and handed her the letter with a mysterious air. She
looked at the address, and not recognizing the handwriting, fell again to
musing.
The maid then saw herself forced to explain what it was, which she did
with a rather disconcerted air, not being at all sure how the young lady
would take the matter. Mademoiselle Godeau listened without moving, then
opened the letter, and cast only a glance at it; she at once asked for a
sheet of paper, and nonchalantly wrote these few words:
"No, sir, I assure you I am not proud. If you had only a hundred thousand
crowns, I would willingly marry you."
Such was the reply which the maid at once took to Croisilles, who gave her
another louis for her trouble.
V
A hundred thousand crowns are not found "in a donkey's hoof-print," and if
Croisilles had been suspicious he might have thought in reading
Mademoiselle Godeau's letter that she was either crazy or laughing at him.
He thought neither, for he only saw in it that his darling Julie loved
him, and that he must have a hundred thousand crowns, and he dreamed from
that moment of nothing but trying to secure them.
He possessed two hundred louis in cash, plus a house which, as I have
said, might be worth about thirty thousand francs. What was to be done?
How was he to go about transfiguring these thirty-four thousand francs, at
a jump, into three hundred thousand. The first idea which came into the
mind of the young man was to find some way of staking his whole fortune on
the toss-up of a coin, but for that he must sell the house. Croisilles
therefore began by putting a notice upon the door, stating that his house
was for sale; then, while dreaming what he would do with the money that he
would get for it, he awaited a purchaser.
A week went by, then another; not a single purchaser applied. More and
more distressed, Croisilles spent these days with Jean, and despair was
taking possession of him once more, when a Jewish broker rang at the door.
"This house is for sale, sir, is it not? Are you the owner of it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And how much is it worth?"
"Thirty thousand francs, I believe; at least I have heard my father say
so."
The Jew visited all the rooms, went upstairs and down into the cellar,
knocking on the walls, counting the steps of the staircase, turning the
doors on their hinges and the keys in their locks, opening and closing the
windows; then, at last, after having thoroughly examined everything,
without saying a word and without making the slightest proposal, he bowed
to Croisilles and retired.
Croisilles, who for a whole hour had followed him with a palpitating
heart, as may be imagined, was not a little disappointed at this silent
retreat. He thought that perhaps the Jew had wished to give himself time
to reflect and that he would return presently. He waited a week for him,
not daring to go out for fear of missing his visit, and looking out of the
windows from morning till night. But it was in vain; the Jew did not
reappear. Jean, true to his unpleasant rôle of adviser, brought moral
pressure to bear to dissuade his master from selling his house in so hasty
a manner and for so extravagant a purpose. Dying of impatience, ennui, and
love, Croisilles one morning took his two hundred louis and went out,
determined to tempt fortune with this sum, since he could not have more.
The gaming-houses at that time were not public, and that refinement of
civilization which enables the first comer to ruin himself at all hours,
as soon as the wish enters his mind, had not yet been invented.
Scarcely was Croisilles in the street before he stopped, not knowing where
to go to stake his money. He looked at the houses of the neighborhood, and
eyed them, one after the other, striving to discover suspicious
appearances that might point out to him the object of his search. A
good-looking young man, splendidly dressed, happened to pass. Judging from
his mien, he was certainly a young man of gentle blood and ample leisure,
so Croisilles politely accosted him.
"Sir," he said, "I beg your pardon for the liberty I take. I have two
hundred louis in my pocket and I am dying either to lose them or win more.
Could you not point out to me some respectable place where such things are
done?"
At this rather strange speech the young man burst out laughing.
"Upon my word, sir!" answered he, "if you are seeking any such wicked
place you have but to follow me, for that is just where I am going."
Croisilles followed him, and a few steps farther they both entered a house
of very attractive appearance, where they were received hospitably by an
old gentleman of the highest breeding.
Several young men were already seated round a green cloth. Croisilles
modestly took a place there, and in less than an hour his two hundred
louis were gone.
He came out as sad as a lover can be who thinks himself beloved. He had
not enough to dine with, but that did not cause him any anxiety.
"What can I do now," he asked himself, "to get money? To whom shall I
address myself in this town? Who will lend me even a hundred louis on this
house that I can not sell?"
While he was in this quandary, he met his Jewish broker. He did not
hesitate to address him, and, featherhead as he was, did not fail to tell
him the plight he was in.
The Jew did not much want to buy the house; he had come to see it only
through curiosity, or, to speak more exactly, for the satisfaction of his
own conscience, as a passing dog goes into a kitchen, the door of which
stands open, to see if there is anything to steal. But when he saw
Croisilles so despondent, so sad, so bereft of all resources, he could not
resist the temptation to put himself to some inconvenience, even, in order
to pay for the house. He therefore offered him about one-fourth of its
value. Croisilles fell upon his neck, called him his friend and saviour,
blindly signed a bargain that would have made one's hair stand on end,
and, on the very next day, the possessor of four hundred new louis, he
once more turned his steps toward the gambling-house where he had been so
politely and speedily ruined the night before.
On his way, he passed by the wharf. A vessel was about leaving; the wind
was gentle, the ocean tranquil. On all sides, merchants, sailors, officers
in uniform were coming and going. Porters were carrying enormous bales of
merchandise. Passengers and their friends were exchanging farewells, small
boats were rowing about in all directions; on every face could be read
fear, impatience, or hope; and, amidst all the agitation which surrounded
it, the majestic vessel swayed gently to and fro under the wind that
swelled her proud sails.
"What a grand thing it is," thought Croisilles, "to risk all one possesses
and go beyond the sea, in perilous search of fortune! How it fills me with
emotion to look at this vessel setting out on her voyage, loaded with so
much wealth, with the welfare of so many families! What joy to see her
come back again, bringing twice as much as was intrusted to her, returning
so much prouder and richer than she went away! Why am I not one of those
merchants? Why could I not stake my four hundred louis in this way? This
immense sea! What a green cloth, on which to boldly tempt fortune! Why
should I not myself buy a few bales of cloth or silk? What is to prevent
my doing so, since I have gold? Why should this captain refuse to take
charge of my merchandise? And who knows? Instead of going and throwing
away this--my little all--in a gambling-house, I might double it, I might
triple it, perhaps, by honest industry. If Julie truly loves me, she will
wait a few years, she will remain true to me until I am able to marry her.
Commerce sometimes yields greater profits than one thinks; examples are
wanting in this world of wealth gained with astonishing rapidity in this
way on the changing waves--why should Providence not bless an endeavor
made for a purpose so laudable, so worthy of His assistance? Among these
merchants who have accumulated so much and who send their vessels to the
ends of the world, more than one has begun with a smaller sum than I have
now. They have prospered with the help of God; why should I not prosper in
my turn? It seems to me as though a good wind were filling these sails,
and this vessel inspires confidence. Come! the die is cast; I will speak
to the captain, who seems to be a good fellow; I will then write to Julie,
and set out to become a clever and successful trader."
The greatest danger incurred by those who are habitually but half crazy,
is that of becoming, at times, altogether so.
The poor fellow, without further deliberation, put his whim into
execution. To find goods to buy, when one has money and knows nothing
about the goods, is the easiest thing in the world.
The captain, to oblige Croisilles, took him to one of his friends, a
manufacturer, who sold him as much cloth and silk as he could pay for. The
whole of it, loaded upon a cart, was promptly taken on board. Croisilles,
delighted and full of hope, had himself written in large letters his name
upon the bales. He watched them being put on board with inexpressible joy;
the hour of departure soon came, and the vessel weighed anchor.