Auguste Saint-Clair was not at all a favourite in Society, the chief
reason being that he only cared to please those who took his own fancy.
He avoided the former and sought after the latter. In other respects he
was absent-minded and indolent. One evening, on coming out of the
Italian Opera, the Marquise A---- asked him his opinion on the singing
of Mlle. Sontag. "Yes, Madam," Saint-Clair replied, smiling pleasantly,
and thinking of something totally different. This ridiculous reply could
not be set down to shyness, for he talked with great lords and noted men
and women and even with Society women with as much ease as though he
were their equal. The Marquise put down Saint-Clair as a stupid,
impertinent boor.
One Monday he had an invitation to dine with Madam B----. She paid him a
good deal of attention, and on leaving her house, he remarked that he
had never met a more agreeable woman. Madam B---- spent a month
collecting witticisms at other people's houses, which she dispensed in
one evening at her own. Saint-Clair called upon her again on the
Thursday of the same week. This time he grew a little tired of her.
Another visit decided him never to enter her salon again. Madam B----
gave out that Saint-Clair was an ill-bred young man, and not good form.
He was naturally tender-hearted and affectionate, but at an age when
lasting impressions are taken too easily. His too demonstrative nature
had drawn upon him the sarcasm of his comrades. He was proud and
ambitious, and stuck to his opinion like an obstinate child. Henceforth
he made a point of hiding any outward sign of what might seem
discreditable weakness. He attained his end, but the victory cost him
dear. He learnt to hide his softer feelings from others, but the
repression only increased their force a hundredfold. In Society he bore
the sorry reputation of being heartless and indifferent; and, when
alone, his restless imagination conjured up hideous torments--all the
worse because unshared.
How difficult it is to find a friend! Difficult! Is it possible to find
two men anywhere who have not a secret from each other? That Saint-Clair
had little faith in friendship was easily seen. With young Society
people his manner was cold and reserved. He asked no questions about
their secrets; and most of his actions and all his thoughts were
mysteries to them. A Frenchman loves to talk of himself; therefore
Saint-Clair was the unwilling recipient of many confidences. His
friends--that is to say, those whom he saw about twice a
week--complained of his indifference to their confidences. They felt
that indiscretion should be reciprocal; for, indeed, he who confides his
secret to us unasked generally takes offence at not learning ours in
return.
"He keeps his thoughts to himself," grumbled Alphonse de Thémines one
day.
"I could never place the least confidence in that deuced Saint-Clair,"
added the smart colonel.
"I think he is half a Jesuit," replied Jules Lambert. "Someone swore to
me that he had met him twice coming out of St. Sulpice. Nobody knows
what he thinks about. I must say I never feel at ease with him."
They separated. Alphonse encountered Saint-Clair in the Boulevard
Italien. He was walking with his eyes on the ground, not noticing
anyone. Alphonse stopped him, took his arm, and, before they had reached
the Rue de la Paix, he had related to him the whole history of his love
affairs with Madam ----, whose husband was so jealous and so violent.
The same evening Jules Lambert lost his money at cards. After that he
thought he had better go and dance. While dancing, he accidentally
knocked against a man, who had also lost his money and was in a very bad
temper. Sharp words followed, and a challenge was given and taken. Jules
begged Saint-Clair to act as his second, and, at the same time, borrowed
money from him, which he was never likely to return.
After all, Saint-Clair was easy enough to live with. He was no one's
enemy but his own; he was obliging, often genial, rarely tiresome; he
had travelled much and read much, but never obtruded his knowledge or
his experiences unasked. In personal appearance he was tall and well
made; he had a dignified and refined expression--almost always too
grave, but his smile was pleasing and very attractive.
I am forgetting one important point. Saint-Clair paid attention to all
women, and sought their society more than that of men. It was difficult
to say whether he was in love; but if this reserved being felt love, the
beautiful Countess Mathilde de Coursy was the woman of his choice. She
was a young widow, at whose house he was often seen. To prove their
friendship there was the evidence first of the almost exaggerated
politeness of Saint-Clair towards the Countess, and _vice versâ_; then
his habit of never pronouncing her name in public, or if obliged to
speak of her, never with the slightest praise; also, before Saint-Clair
was introduced to her, he had been passionately fond of music, and the
Countess equally so of painting. Since they had become acquainted their
tastes had changed. Lastly, when the Countess visited a health resort
the previous year, Saint-Clair followed her in less than a week.
* * * * *
My duty as novelist obliges me to reveal that early one morning in the
month of July, a few moments before sunrise, the garden gate of a
country house opened, and a man crept out with the stealthiness of a
burglar fearing discovery. This country house belonged to Madam de
Coursy, and the man was Saint-Clair. A woman, muffled in a cape, came to
the gate with him, stood with her head out and watched him as long as
she could, until he was far along the path which led by the park wall.
Saint-Clair stopped, looked round cautiously, and signed with his hand
for the woman to go in. The clearness of a summer dawn enabled him to
distinguish her pale face. She stood motionless where he had left her.
He went back to her, and took her tenderly in his arms. He meant to
compel her to go in; but he had still a hundred things to say to her.
Their conversation lasted ten minutes, till at last they heard the voice
of a peasant going to his work in the fields. One more kiss passed
between them, the gate was shut, and Saint-Clair with a bound reached
the end of the footpath. He followed a track evidently well known to
him, and ran along, striking the bushes with his stick and almost
jumping for joy. Sometimes he stopped, or sauntered slowly, looking at
the sky, which was flushed in the east with purple. In fact, anyone
meeting him would have taken him for an escaped lunatic. After half an
hour's walk he reached the door of a lonely little house which he had
rented for the season. He let himself in with a key, and then, throwing
himself on the couch, he fell into a day-dream, with vacant eyes and a
happy smile playing on his lips. His mind was filled with bright
reflections. "How happy I am!" he kept repeating. "At last I have met a
heart that understands mine.... Yes, I have found my ideal.... I have
gained at the same time a friend and a lover.... What depth of soul!...
What character!... No, she has never loved anyone before me." How soon
vanity creeps into human affairs!" She is the loveliest woman in Paris,"
he thought, and his imagination conjured up all her charms. "She has
chosen me before all the others. She had the flower of Society at her
feet. That colonel of hussars, gallant, good-looking and not too stout;
that young author, who paints in water-colours so well, and who is such
a capital actor; that Russian Lovelace, who has been in the Balkan
campaign and served under Diébitch; above all, Camille T----, who is
brilliantly clever, has good manners and a fine sabre-cut across his
forehead.... She has dismissed them all for me!..." Then came the
refrain--"Oh, how happy I am! how happy I am!" and he got up and opened
the window, for he could scarcely breathe. First he walked about; then
he tossed on his couch.
A happy lover is almost as tedious as an unhappy one. One of my friends,
who is generally in one or other of these conditions, found that the
only way of getting any attention was to give me an excellent breakfast,
over which he could unburden himself on the subject of his amours. When
the coffee was finished he was obliged to choose a totally different
topic of conversation.
As I cannot give breakfast to all my readers, I make them a present of
Saint-Clair's ecstasies. Besides, it is impossible always to live in
cloudland. Saint-Clair was tired; he yawned, stretched his arms, saw
that it was broad day and at last slept. When he awoke he saw by his
watch that he had hardly time to dress and rush off to Paris, to attend
a luncheon-party of several of his young friends.
* * * * *
They had just uncorked another bottle of champagne. I leave my readers
to guess how many had preceded it. It is sufficient to know that they
had reached that stage which comes quickly enough at a young men's
dinner-party, when everybody speaks at once, and when the steady heads
get anxious for those who cannot carry so much.
"I wish," said Alphonse de Thémines, who had never missed a chance of
talking about England--"I wish that it was the custom in Paris, as it is
in London, for each one to propose a toast to his mistress. If it were
we should find out for whom our friend Saint-Clair sighs." And, while
uttering these words, he filled up his own glass and those of his
neighbours.
Saint-Clair felt slightly embarrassed, but was about to reply when Jules
Lambert prevented him.
"I heartily approve this custom," he said, raising his glass; "and I
adopt it. To all the milliners of Paris, with the exception of those
past thirty, the one-eyed and the lame."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the anglomaniacs.
Saint-Clair rose, glass in hand.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I have not such a large heart as has our friend
Jules, but it is more constant--a constancy all the more faithful since
I have been long separated from the lady of my thoughts. Nevertheless I
am sure that you will approve of my choice, even if you are not already
my rivals. To Judith Pasta, gentlemen! May we soon welcome back the
first _tragédienne_ of Europe."
Thémines was about to criticise the toast, but was interrupted by
acclamation. Saint-Clair having parried this thrust, believed himself
safe for the rest of the day.
The conversation turned first on theatres. From the criticism of the
drama they wandered to political topics. From the Duke of Wellington
they passed to English horses. From English horses to women, by a
natural connection of ideas; for, to young men, a good horse first, and
then a beautiful mistress, are the two most desirable objects.
Then they discussed the means of acquiring these coveted treasures.
Horses are bought, women also are bought; only we do not so talk of
them. Saint-Clair, after modestly pleading inexperience in this delicate
subject, gave as his opinion that the chief way to please a woman is to
be singular, to be different from others. But he did not think it
possible to give a general prescription for singularity.
"According to your view," said Jules, "a lame or hump-backed man would
have a better chance of pleasing than one of ordinary make."
"You push things too far," retorted Saint-Clair, "but I am willing to
accept all the consequences of my proposition. For example, if I were
hump-backed, instead of blowing out my brains I would make conquests. In
the first place, I would try my wiles on those who are generally
tender-hearted; then on those women--and there are many of them--who set
up for being original--eccentric, as they say in England. To begin with,
I should describe my pitiful condition, and point out that I was the
victim of Nature's cruelty. I should try to move them to sympathy with
my lot, I should let them suspect that I was capable of a passionate
love. I should kill one of my rivals in a duel, and I should pretend to
poison myself with a feeble dose of laudanum. After a few months they
would not notice my deformity, and then I should be on the watch for the
first signs of affection. With women who aspire to originality conquest
is easy. Only persuade them that it is a hard-and-fast rule that a
deformed person can never have a love affair, they will immediately then
wish to prove the opposite."
"What a Don Juan!" cried Jules.
"As we have not had the misfortune of being born deformed," said Colonel
Beaujeu, "we had better get our legs broken, gentlemen."
"I fully agree with Saint-Clair," said Hector Roquantin, who was only
three and a half feet high. "We constantly see beautiful and fashionable
women giving themselves to men whom you fine fellows would never dream
of."
"Hector, just ring the bell for another bottle, will you?" said Thémines
casually.
The dwarf got up and everyone smiled, recalling the fable of the fox
without a tail.
"As for me," said Thémines, renewing the conversation, "the longer I
live, the more clearly I see that the chief singularity which attracts
even the most obdurate, is passable features"--and he threw a
complaisant glance in a mirror opposite--"passable features and good
taste in dress," and he filliped a crumb of bread off his coat.
"Bah!" cried the dwarf, "with good looks and a coat by Staub, there are
plenty of women to be had for a week at a time, but we should be tired
of them at the second meeting. More than that is needed to win what is
called love.... You must...."
"Stop!" interrupted Thémines. "Do you want an apt illustration? You all
know what kind of man Massigny was. Manners like an English groom, and
no more conversation than his horse.... But he was as handsome as
Adonis, and could tie his cravat like Brummel. Altogether he was the
greatest bore I have ever met."
"He almost killed me with weariness," said Colonel Beaujeu. "Only think,
I once had to travel two hundred leagues with him!"
"Did you know," asked Saint-Clair, "that he caused the death of poor
Richard Thornton, whom you all knew?"
"But," objected Jules, "I thought he was assassinated by brigands near
Fondi?"
"Granted; but Massigny was at all events an accomplice in the crime. A
party of travellers, Thornton among them, had arranged to go to Naples
together to avoid attacks from brigands. Massigny asked to be allowed to
join them. As soon as Thornton heard this, he set out before the others,
apparently to avoid being long with Massigny. He started alone, and you
know the rest."
"Thornton took the only course," said Thémines; "he chose the easiest of
two deaths. We should all have done the same in his place." Then, after
a pause, "You grant me," he went on, "that Massigny was the greatest
bore on earth?"
"Certainly," they all cried with one accord.
"Don't let us despair," said Jules; "let us make an exception in favour
of ... especially when he divulges his political intrigues."
"You will next grant me," continued Thémines, "that Madam de Coursy is
as clever a woman as can be found anywhere."
A moment's silence followed. Saint-Clair looked down and fancied that
all eyes were fixed on himself.
"Who disputes it?" he said at length, still bending over his plate
apparently to examine more closely the flowers painted in the china.
"I maintain," said Jules, raising his voice--"I maintain that she is one
of the three most fascinating women in Paris."
"I knew her husband," said the Colonel, "he often showed me her charming
letters."
"Auguste," interrupted Hector Roquantin, "do introduce me to the
Countess. They say you can do anything with her."
"When she returns to Paris at the end of autumn,..." murmured
Saint-Clair, "I--I believe she does not entertain visitors in the
country."
"Will you listen to me?" exclaimed Thémines.
Silence was restored. Saint-Clair figetted upon his chair like a
prisoner before his judges.
"You did not know the Countess three years ago because you were then in
Germany, Saint-Clair," went on Alphonse de Thémines, with aggravating
coolness. "You cannot form any idea, therefore, of her as she was then;
lovely, with the freshness of a rose, and as light-hearted and gay as a
butterfly. Perhaps you do not know that among all her many admirers
Massigny was the one she honoured with her favours? The most stupid and
ridiculous of men turned the head of the most fascinating amongst women.
Do you suppose that a deformed person could have done as much? Nonsense;
believe me, with a good figure and a first-rate tailor, only boldness in
addition is needed."
Saint-Clair was in a most awkward position. He longed to fling back the
lie direct in the speaker's face, but was restrained from fear of
compromising the Countess. He would have liked to have said something to
defend her, but he was tongue-tied. His lips trembled with rage, and he
tried to find some indirect means of forcing a quarrel, but could not.
"What," exclaimed Jules, with astonishment, "Madam de Coursy gave
herself to Massigny? Frailty, thy name is woman!"
"The reputation of a woman being of such small moment, it is, of course,
allowable to pull it to pieces for the sake of a little sport," observed
Saint-Clair in a dry and scornful tone, "and--"
But as he spoke he remembered with dismay a certain Etruscan vase that
he had noticed a hundred times upon the mantelpiece in the Countess's
house in Paris. He knew that it was a gift from Massigny, who had
brought it back with him from Italy; and--overwhelming coincidence!--it
had been taken by the Countess from Paris to her country house. Every
evening when Mathilde took the flowers out of her dress she put them in
this Etruscan vase.
Speech died upon his lips. He could neither see nor think of anything
but of that Etruscan vase.
"How absurd," cries a critic, "to suspect his mistress from such a
trifle!"
"Have you ever been in love, my dear critic?"
Thémines was in too good a humour to take offence at the tone
Saint-Clair had used when speaking to him, and replied lightly and with
great good nature--
"I can only repeat what I heard in Society. It passed as a true story
while you were in Germany. However, I scarcely know Madam de Coursy. It
is eighteen months since I was at her house. Very likely I am wrong, and
the story was a fabrication of Massigny's. But let us return to our
discussion, for whether my illustration be false or not does not affect
my point. You all know that the cleverest woman in France, whose
works--"
The door opened, and Théodore Néville came in. He had just returned from
Egypt.
"Théodore, you have soon come back!" He was overwhelmed with questions.
"Have you brought back a real Turkish costume?" asked Thémines. "Have
you got an Arabian horse and an Egyptian groom?"
"What sort of man is the Pasha?" said Jules. "When will he make himself
independent? Have you seen a head cut off with a single stroke of the
sabre?"
"And the _aimées_," said Roquantin. "Are the Cairo women beautiful?"
"Did you meet General L----?" asked Colonel Beaujeu. "Has he organised
the army of the Pasha? Did Colonel C---- give you a sword for me?"
"And the Pyramids? The cataracts of the Nile? And the statue of Memnon?
Ibrahim Pasha?" etc. They all talked at once; Saint-Clair only brooded
on the Etruscan vase.
Théodore sat cross-legged. He had learnt that habit in Egypt, and did
not wish to lose it in France. He waited till his questioners were
tired, and then spoke as fast as he could to save himself from being
easily interrupted.
"The Pyramids! upon my word they are a regular humbug. They are not so
high as I expected. Strasburg Cathedral is only four yards lower. I
passed by the antiquities. Do not talk to me about them. The very sight
of hieroglyphics makes me faint. There are plenty of travellers who
worry themselves over these things! My object was to study the nature
and manners of all the strange people that jostle against each other in
the streets of Alexandria and of Cairo. Turks, Bedouins, Copts, Fellahs,
Môghrebins. I drew up a few hasty notes when I was in the quarantine
hospital. What infamous places they are! I hope none of you fellows are
nervous about infection! I smoked my pipe calmly in the midst of three
hundred plague-stricken people. Ah! Colonel, you would admire the
well-mounted cavalry out there. I must show you some superb weapons that
I have brought back. I have a _djerid_ which belonged to a famous Mourad
Bey. I have a _yataghan_ for you, Colonel, and a _khandjar_ for Auguste.
You must see my _metchlà_ and _bournous_ and _khaick_. Do you know I
could have brought back any number of women with me? Ibrahim Pasha has
such numbers imported from Greece that they can be had for nothing....
But I had to think of my mother's feelings.... I talked much with the
Pasha. He is a thoroughly intelligent and unprejudiced man. You would
hardly credit it, but he knows everything about our affairs. Upon my
honour, he knows the smallest secrets of our Cabinet. I gleaned much
valuable information from him on the state of parties in France.... Just
now he is taken up with statistics. He subscribes to all our papers.
Would you believe it?--he is a pronounced Bonapartist, and talks of
nothing but Napoleon. 'Ah! what a great man _Bounabardo_ was!' he said
to me; 'Bounabardo,' that is how he pronounces Bonaparte."
"Giourdina, meaning Jourdain," murmured Thémines.
"At first," continued Théodore, "Mohamed Ali was extremely reserved with
me. All the Turks are very suspicious, you know, and he took me for a
spy or a Jesuit, the devil he did! He had a perfect horror of Jesuits.
But, after several visits, he recognised that I was an unprejudiced
traveller, anxious to inform myself at first hand of Eastern manners,
customs and politics. Then he unbosomed himself and spoke freely to me.
At the third and last audience he granted me I ventured to ask His
Excellency why he did not make himself independent of the Porte. 'By
Allah!' he replied, 'I wish it indeed, but I fear the Liberal papers
which govern your country would not support me if I proclaimed the
independence of Egypt.' He is a fine old man, with a long white beard.
He never smiles. He gave us some first-rate confections; but the gift
that pleased him most of all I offered him was a collection of costumes
of the Imperial Guard by Charlet."
"Is the Pasha of a romantic turn of mind?" asked Thémines.
"He does not trouble himself much about literature; but you know, of
course, that Arabian literature is entirely romantic. They have a poet
called Melek Ayatalnefous-Ebn-Esraf, who has recently published a book
of Meditations, compared with which Lamartine's read like classic prose.
I took lessons in Arabic directly I got to Cairo, in order to read the
Koran. I did not need to have many lessons before I was able to judge of
the supreme beauty of the prophet's style, and of the baldness of all
our translations. Look here, would you like to see Arabian handwriting?
This word in gold letters is _Allah_, which means God."
As he spoke he showed them a very dirty letter, which he took out of a
scented silk purse.
"How long were you in Egypt?" asked Thémines.
"Six weeks."
And the traveller proceeded to hold forth on everything from beginning
to end. Saint-Clair left soon after his arrival, and went in the
direction of his country house. The impetuous gallop of his horse
prevented him from thinking consecutively, but he felt vaguely that his
happiness in life had gone for ever, and that it had been shattered by a
dead man and an Etruscan vase.
After reaching home he threw himself on the same couch upon which he had
dreamed for so long and so deliciously, and analysed his happiness the
evening before. His most cherished dream had been that his mistress was
different from other women, that she had not loved nor ever would love
anyone but himself. Now this exquisite dream must perish in the light of
a sad and cruel reality. "I have had a beautiful mistress, but nothing
more. She is clever; she is therefore all the more to be blamed for
loving Massigny!... I know she does love me now ... with her whole soul
... as she can love. But to be loved in the same fashion as Massigny has
been loved!... She has yielded herself up to my attentions, my
importunities, my whims. But I have been deceived. There has been no
sympathy between us. Whether her lover were Massigny or myself was
equally the same to her. He is handsome, and she loves him for his good
looks. She amuses herself with me for a time. 'I may as well love
Saint-Clair,' she says to herself, 'since the other is dead! And if
Saint-Clair dies, or I tire of him, who knows?'
"I firmly believe the devil listens invisible behind a tortured wretch
like myself. The enemy of man-kind is tickled by the spectacle, and as
soon as the victim's wounds begin to heal, the devil is waiting to
reopen them."