A SIREN.
After some weeks of sojourn at Warsaw Jacob met in the street Luci
Coloni, accompanied by Gromof, her Russian cavalier of the grotto at
Sestri. He was hastening to salute them, when he perceived that the
lady and her companion turned as if to avoid him. Why this mystery?
Jacob was puzzled, and paused on his way.
Ivas' affairs were soon arranged; it was no longer necessary to watch
over him, and, freed from that anxiety, he dreamed of commencing his
Judaic reform. He realized that he had two formidable obstacles to
encounter,--on one side indifference, on the other, superstition. The
superstitious would regard him as an atheist, the indifferent, as a
bigoted fanatic.
Discouraged for the moment, as almost all reformers have been, he
sought to regain his former enthusiasm by reading the Bible and the
Talmud. To this end he shut himself up for several days, and came out
determined to make converts, not among the old, whose convictions were
settled, but among the youth, who were still animated with noble
instincts. These it was whose opinion he would strive to form. Weary
with his long meditations he was going out to walk in the fresh air,
when he was handed a note from Madame Wtorkowska, written on satin
paper, the contents of which were as follows:--
We shall be very happy to see M. Jacob at our house this evening. There
will be a few friends and a little music.
Benigna Wtorkowska.
Jacob was not in the humour to accept, but he reflected that it would
be impolite to refuse, and that perhaps he might meet Mathilde there,
so he accepted the invitation.
The little villa occupied by the Wtorkowskas was a masterpiece of that
modern art which transforms real misery into lying luxury. Nothing had
been paid for, from the servants' livery to the satin robe worn by the
hostess, and the lace-covered velvet dress of the charming daughter.
The refreshments, the bonbons, the flowers, were all obtained on
credit. Twice a week Hermann and Grossmann demanded the money for the
Pleyel grand piano, but in vain. The shabbiness of the furniture was
concealed by new covers, the broken places in the frames of the
pictures and mirrors were twined with ivy.
With all these frauds and ruses the little house, seen by the light of
innumerable wax candles, took on an air of freshness and elegance. The
studied disorder of objects thrown carelessly on the table was the
result of long thought. Here, a French romance was displayed, to show
acquaintance with current literature; there, pieces of classical music,
to show the degree of perfection arrived at by the fair performer. On
one side lay a photograph album containing portraits of celebrated men,
implying a personal acquaintance with them.
Jacob arrived a little late. The company was too numerous for the
_salon_, and the room was crowded. The guests occupied the couches and
chairs, and some remained standing against the wall. There was heat and
noise, and to move about demanded much skill.
Madame Wtorkowska received Jacob with studied politeness. Muse advanced
toward him with a smile which she had practised before the glass. She
led him to a little group where Mathilde was seated. Madame Segel wore
a white robe, and on her breast was a large bunch of camellias of the
same colour. She was pale; on the approach of Jacob she lifted her
head, and greeted him with a slight blush and a melancholy smile.
After that the poor woman relapsed into a glacial torpor. Henri stood
behind the chair of Mademoiselle Muse, whose toilet was so _decollete_
that all admirers of certain feminine charms could feast their eyes to
their hearts' content. Her thick and glossy braids were twined around
her head in classic style, and served admirably to bring out the
splendour of her eyes and complexion. She had the lively and brilliant
expression of a lioness seeking whom she might devour. Her crimson
velvet dress, covered with costly lace, bought on credit, became her
admirably, and gave her a queenly air. On her lovely arm sparkled a
large bracelet set with rubies.
Mathilde resembled an aerial spirit descended in a cloud of moonlit
rays; Muse, a _bacchante_, full of sensuous vitality.
Henri whispered in Jacob's ear:--
"If I were free like you, I would not hesitate an instant; I would
propose to this siren."
"And if I were in your place, and had such a wife as you have, I would
not even look at her," said Jacob coldly.
Segel smiled ironically, pushed back his black hair from his forehead,
and drew near Muse.
"Can you guess, mademoiselle," asked he in a low voice, "what advice I
have just been giving Jacob?"
The charmer replied sweetly in an indifferent tone, although she
perfectly understood what had passed between the two men.
"How can I guess, monsieur?"
"I advised him to fall in love with you."
"What bad advice!"
"Why?"
"Because I can never love any one."
"No one?" asked Henri tenderly.
"You have said it. I consider love as a dangerous malady, against which
one should be on guard."
"A malady rarely fatal," said Henri smiling.
"No matter; I am afraid of it."
"A bad sign. It is said that there is much more danger of taking typhus
or cholera when one fears it. It is a bad omen! Jacob"--
"Why, monsieur, why do you speak to me of this philosopher, this
savant?"
"Hardly a philosopher: a mystic, a fanatic."
"Who flies from me," said Muse. "Help me, then, to tame him a little. I
would like to talk with this savage."
"What would I not do for you, mademoiselle? I will bring him to your
feet, be sure of that."
"You wish to marry him," thought Henri. "I will assist you, but I will
claim my reward."
The treaty was concluded without further discussion, without protocol,
between these two congenial spirits. Segel, wishing to hasten the
execution, went to Jacob. He took his arm and said:--
"Come, then, to the divine Muse, who wishes to talk with you about
Italy, with which her imagination is full."
"I fear I am not capable of doing justice to the subject," said Jacob.
"No matter. Come and try." So saying, he led him towards her, almost by
force.
"This Jacob," said he to Muse, "is the most conscientious of tourists;
he has travelled over Italy on foot while I went by the railway. He can
tell you about it a hundred times better than I. He can speak to you of
that land of art of which you have dreamed."
Muse, all smiles, turned to Jacob and said:--
"At last, monsieur, I have caught you, whether you will or not; you
must tell me of that Italy where I am always begging mamma to take me."
"I regret very much not to be enough master of my subject to give you a
just idea of that beautiful land. It is not sufficient merely to have
visited it, one must have lived there to fully appreciate its
beauties."
"Pardon me, but I do not agree with you. Travellers often know more of
a country than its inhabitants."
"Superficially, yes; but the spirit, the soul of a country, only
reveals itself after long study."
"Italy is delightful, is it not?"
This question was not a skilful one. But it was necessary to get Jacob
started on some subject, so that she could exercise all the feminine
seductions of a determined woman, resolved to succeed, and employ all
the resources of her consummate art, aided by her natural charms. What
an actress she was! An actress in every glance, every movement, even in
the inflexions of her voice! She spoke feelingly without the least
inner emotion; she spoke of feelings of which she only knew from
hearsay. Judging all men more or less vain, she sought by delicate
flattery to fascinate and subjugate them. By turns lively or
melancholy, sensible or careless, she was charming under all
circumstances.
However, she made no impression on Jacob, who remained cold and
impassible. As if to alleviate his enforced captivity, he at times
glanced at the chaste and pure woman who was seated not far from him
absorbed in melancholy, and who seemed to him like an ideal queen
covered with a saintly aureola.
Muse was exasperated by Jacob's invulnerable indifference, but desired
more than ever to bring him to her feet. She let her evident efforts to
enslave him be seen. Her mother surveyed the man[oe]uvres of her
daughter, which she found too bold, although she could not help
admiring the audacity with which the attack was made.
Jacob was obliged, at the request of Muse, to conduct her to the piano.
She took off her gloves slowly, and, coquettishly, radiant, continued
her conversation in a low voice, so as to give the idea that a sort of
intimacy was established between them.
"My dear," remarked Madame N. to Madame X., "Emusia is conducting
herself in a scandalous manner."
"Bah! Young ladies of her stamp always succeed in their matrimonial
pursuits."
Just then the mistress of the house came to them, and Madame X. said:--
"We have just been speaking of your charming daughter. She is really
enchanting this evening. Madame N. and I cannot take our eyes off her.
She turns the head of every one,--even the old."
"My Emusia," replied Madame Wtorkowska, "is all simplicity, all
candour, although sometimes her very simplicity and frankness look like
coquetry."
At this reply from the mother, her two guests exchanged glances behind
her back.
"Why, she has taken Jacob by storm," cried his former guardian to Mann.
"This Muse outdoes herself on his account. She did not trouble herself
to amuse him before he got his fortune. It was not worth while to
notice the poor beggar for whose education I paid."
"The Berlin banker's legacy has made him a desirable match. She will
finish by capturing him," said Mann.
"I don't believe it, for I know my Jacob. He is not at ease in her
society. You cannot catch all fish with the same hook. My son-in-law,
Henri, would have taken the bait immediately. Jacob is afraid of her.
He likes quiet women who are modest and timid. He is a poet."
"Certainly the creature is far from that, and I congratulate the man
who"--
Mann did not finish his remark, for suddenly the music ceased. Jacob
was free from the chains of courtesy. He seated himself near Mathilde,
who received him with a smile.
The pale moonlight streamed in from the windows which opened on the
veranda, and the light was softened by the leaves of the wild vines,
which, with their long serpentine clusters, climbed over everything.
They both wished to fly from this crowd, both wished to be alone; but
to put this project into execution was not easy.
Again Muse played, and under her skilful fingers the notes wept,
groaned, sang, murmured, and sighed. It was Liszt's music. Every one
was enchanted.
"She is wonderful," said Mathilde. "As for myself, when I have been a
half-hour at the piano I am fatigued. It seems to me that my tired soul
flies away with the sounds. But what power she has! She laughs at
difficulties, and rises even fresher and more radiant."
"It is there, truly, that one finds the difference between her playing
and yours. You put your soul into it. Her playing does not affect me at
all. It is as if the piano played alone. With you, the soul sings to
me."
"No, she is a true artiste. I am only a musician."
"I cannot admire the artists of the present day. They are but the
masters of their art, skilled workmen who know all the tricks of their
trade. The shepherd who by inspiration plays on his bagpipe a simple
air, be it very simple, very primitive, is much more an artist than
this or that fashionable performer. Like everything else, art has been
profaned in these days; it has become mercenary; it is a bread-winner,
and not a priesthood. The artist of to-day strives for the fame that
pays best, and not for the contentment of his soul. Who, then,
now-a-days would paint frescoes for nothing but piety and for the love
of God? Music, literature, painting, all at present go to the highest
bidder. Muse belongs to the modern school. She has art, but art without
soul. She plays Liszt and Walberg, but Chopin is inaccessible to her.
She seizes the _bizarre_ side of Schumann, but the pathetic side,
never!"
"You judge her a little too severely. There is in the depths of her
heart a little divine light, on her brow a little flame. But, alas! the
unfortunates are not sure of to-morrow's bread, and I cannot help
regarding with pity this woman and her daughter, for I know their
situation."
"Are they not rich?"
"No! They are poor, very poor, though they affect riches."
"This is frightful. This comedy of luxury is odious. The tears of dupes
will pay for it. Indigence with courageous labour is a hundred times to
be admired."
"It is true, but false pride"--
"That word tells all; it is real deceit."
"She pains me," said Mathilde. "Under the velvet there must be tears
and anxiety; at the door poverty waits while they serve a sumptuous
repast; to-morrow, solitude after the brilliant reunion of to-day. What
a tragedy! It pains me even to think of it."
Muse ceased to play.
Every one applauded, and Henri hastened to kiss the artiste's hand.
Mathilde, who was stifling in this atmosphere, said to Jacob,--
"Let us go out a moment and get some fresh air. No one will miss us. I
cannot breathe."
They passed through the crowd and reached the veranda. Muse followed
them with her eyes, and turned ironically upon Henri.
"I see," replied he to the mute question, "that my wife was too warm.
She has gone out on the veranda with Jacob."
"Then you are not jealous?"
"Near you, mademoiselle, I think of you alone."
"You have no right to talk thus."
"Do you not know that that which is illegal is most attractive to men?"
"You are perversity in person!"
"Alas! a god would succumb before you, how much more a simple mortal."
"Truly, monsieur, you flatter me."
"No, mademoiselle, I assure you."
Then he spoke to her in a low voice with much familiarity, and with a
perfect understanding.
When Mathilde left the _salon_ she gave her hand to Jacob at the
threshold.
"What is the matter, my child?" said he tenderly.
"I feel very happy," said she; "I know not why, and very calm. I desire
nothing. It seems as if my life were slipping away little by little.
You are by my side; I am sure of your affection. What further happiness
can I have?"
"There would be very few who would be satisfied with a chaste love like
ours. When I observe in the world the different personalities,
different characters, I think, mademoiselle"--
"Why do you call me mademoiselle?"
"I think, I say, that there are in each human being two powers who are
antagonistic, like God and Satan. The contrasts are often striking. For
example, you and Muse."
"Do not judge her so harshly; you should be indulgent to all."
"Very well. Who, then, are pure and innocent in the depths of their
souls around us? Life is short. Every one must taste the bitter cup.
Every one has his troubles, and most men, instead of seeking happiness
in their own souls, seek it elsewhere and find it not. The world
terrifies me with its variety of elements where evil predominates over
good. I cannot understand this predominance of evil."
"That is one of God's secrets, incomprehensible to our finite
intelligence. What good will it do us to try, like the Titans, by force
to pierce the closed heavens? Man seems to be the plaything of an
implacable irony. He bears within him the sparks of an ardent fire, but
he does not succeed in developing a large flame, for the wind of his
passions scatters the firebrands. In his heart exist noble sentiments
which are changed into gross appetite. Man grows more corrupt instead
of purer. All is surprise in life; all an enigma. Then this dream of
immortality and a future existence. Can we believe it?"
She smiled sadly, and Jacob listened. Under their eyes lay a superb
view. A light breeze murmured through the dark foliage of the old trees
in the avenue. In the sky, the moon glided through the deep azure, and
the stars twinkled as if to shake slumber from their eyelids. In the
distance could be heard the faint sound of the city.
"In contemplating creation," said Jacob, "do you not hear something
within you say that we shall live beyond the tomb? That thought should
destroy all fear for the future. Even if thousands of years of faith do
not confirm this hope, it shines in the reply of the soul like stars in
the depths of a well."
"It is impossible," said Mathilde. "In any case, the other life will
not be like this. My future will not be a continuation of this
miserable existence. Perhaps I shall come again to live on earth. Oh,
who knows anything about it?"
"This death, so terrible to most of us, is represented in our Hebrew
books as a sweet, an easy, passage to another existence. The Talmud,
Berakhot 5, calls it the kiss of God."
"How sorry I am not to have read those books, and to know so little of
the Hebrew language! I have been educated for the world. My soul has
not been nourished. The tempest of doubt has overthrown it."
"There is yet time, dear Mathilde."
"No, it is too late. Faith is the beverage of youthful souls. When
unbelief is developed, the ground is dried up and a new graft cannot
shoot forth. But God is full of mercy and pity. He will not punish us
when we are not in fault. He will make allowances for our education."
They were silent, but had no desire to return to the _salon_, where
Muse, at the piano, was playing one of Liszt's most brilliant
compositions.
"Come, Jacob," said Mathilde, "you must do your duty. Go and compliment
Muse. I will not be jealous. She is on the wrong path; you can convert
and save her."
"It is too late; that which you falsely said about yourself applies to
her. Her intelligence and her heart have matured, and her character is
already formed."
They entered the _salon_. Mathilde's first glance showed her husband
leaning on the back of Muse's chair, and his tender glances told that
he was very much impressed. She did not feel the slightest chagrin. She
was completely indifferent to Henri, and she rejoiced to think that he
amused himself elsewhere, provided he spared her all importunate
tenderness.
Madame Wtorkowska was very nervous; she feared that the entertainment
would not lead to the desired results. Jacob seemed absolutely
indifferent to her daughter's charms; as for the other young men, they
all admired her, but at a distance; and the marked attentions of Henri
Segel displeased her because they came from a married man. With music,
singing, cards, tea, and supper, the _soiree_ was prolonged to a late
hour. The elder guests took leave under pretext of engagements in the
morning. Mathilde went home, as she had a headache, and left the field
free to her husband. Jacob had accompanied her to her door, and had
received his orders to return. This thinning out of the rooms favoured
the charmer's plans.
The young man carelessly turned the leaves of an album; his conduct
during the evening had strictly conformed to the rules of politeness.
Yet this cold observation of the proprieties exasperated Madame
Wtorkowska, who resolved to undertake his subjugation herself. She drew
near him, and, as Jacob rose to give her his seat she said, taking his
arm:--
"Monsieur, let us walk a little, and tell me about yourself. Now that
you have returned to us, what do you intend to do?"
Surprised by these attentions, he replied:--
"I intend to study and lead a life of leisure."
"We have heard so much in your praise," said she, "that we were very
desirous of knowing you."
"I am infinitely obliged, madame."
"Especially, Emusia. She admires such men."
She could not find an adjective to designate exactly what kind of men,
and added after a moment of hesitation:--
"I mean superior men. For, you see, my Emusia is a young girl of
talent. What intelligence, what gifts! She devours an incredible
quantity of books. Her memory is prodigious. Her wit is of the finest
quality. In short, if she were not my daughter I would say that she is
a marvel."
"That is what I hear from every one," said Jacob politely.
"My situation," continued she, "is an anxious one, for I have a
mother's heart. To whom will my cherished one give herself? Will he
appreciate her? Alas, the young men of to-day are so frivolous!"
"Mademoiselle Emusia has but to choose."
"How little you know the young men, monsieur!"
For want of breath the mother stopped. She had commenced the battle
with so much impetuosity that she was already worn out. She could think
of nothing more to say. She was driven to her last intrenchments, and,
on his side, Jacob had exhausted all his praises. Notwithstanding,
after a moment of reflection she took breath and continued:--
"You, who are so great a connoisseur, what do you think of Emusia's
playing?"
"It is truly marvellous, madame."
"Liszt, the master, was stupefied with astonishment when my daughter
played for him his overture to _Guillaume Otello_. He watched her
execute this, that, all the most difficult parts, and was wild with
enthusiasm. It was at Spa. There was such clapping of hands, bravos
that almost shook the house, an avalanche of bouquets! What an ovation,
_mon Dieu!_"
"It was merited, no doubt."
"Oh, yes," said the mother. "An Erard piano fairly spoke under her
fingers. She has such strength and incredible power."
She was thus extolling her daughter when the young lady herself came to
join in the conversation. Her eyes shone wrathfully. The more
invulnerable Jacob showed himself, the more she was determined to bring
him to her feet. Henri had given her the key to the character of this
man, whom he called a religious fanatic. She resolved to read and study
the Bible, and even the Talmud, if necessary. Already she commenced to
play her new role.
"I detest these noisy pleasures," said she. "Reading, meditation,
quiet, they are the things that I love. And you?"
"I also love study and tranquillity," said Jacob.
"You men," said Muse, "have everything in your favour. You can, at your
pleasure, devote yourselves to intellectual occupations; you are not
slaves to the obligations of society, as we poor women are. You cannot
imagine what a humiliation it is for a young girl to be taken
continually here and there, and shown like merchandise."
"Mademoiselle, although what you say is partly true, I assure you that
the mothers and daughters exaggerate these pretended obligations. Our
poet, Krasicki, has said somewhere, 'Nothing ever comes of a dialogue
prepared with too much care.'"
"That is very true, monsieur. Also most matches that end happily are
made without thought, and as it were by a miracle."
"Yes, I am convinced of that."
"And it is probably by a miracle also," added the elder woman, "that
marriages are maintained."
"Have you been in the Orient?" asked Emusia, to change the
conversation.
"Yes, mademoiselle, and I bring back a sad impression. The land of
poetry is to-day the land of misery. The cradle of civilization has
become the tomb."
"But there are still traces there of biblical times, are there not?"
asked Muse.
"Certainly. The costumes, the habits, the landscape, all remind one of
the Bible. As in old days, Rachel still leads her flocks to water, and
the white-bearded patriarchs still welcome you to their tents."
"All that must be very interesting."
"Not for the children of a civilization, enervated and weakened. We can
no longer live this poetical life. It is rigid, painful, grave,
primitive, and laborious. It impresses us, notwithstanding its poetry,
with a strange emotion toward the fountains which now are dried up."
"And the old biblical traditions?"
"They clash on all sides. With us the old traditions are preserved,
like withered plants in an herbarium; while there they still live,
mixed with the daily existence. With what emotion one contemplates
stones taken from the aqueducts of Solomon, the ruins of the temple,
the places sanctified by the patriarchs! Christians and Jews both find
there the cradle of their faith. In Europe we are only colonists."
Emusia had taken a reclining attitude near Jacob, and listened with
great attention. The mother profited by the occasion, and left them
alone. Thus these two, in the midst of a crowd, found themselves alone.
Simple politeness forbade Jacob's retreat. Muse attempted to magnetize
him by her glances, by her gestures, by the sight of her gleaming
shoulders, by her beauty, while she idly played with her bracelet, her
rings, and her embroidered handkerchief, useless for any other purpose.
The young man scarcely perceived these affected and enticing airs.
"I know not," said she with hesitation, "if it be owing to the blood
that flows in my veins, but this Orient has for me a certain
attraction. It is thither that my desires tend. It has been torn from
us, and we have been forced to forget it. It is a source of sadness for
me that I know a mass of useless things, and that I am ignorant of that
which most interests me."
"What, for example?" asked Jacob, interested in spite of himself.
"I will tell you," replied she, in a low voice with a feigned alarm,
"provided mamma does not hear me. I am curious about all that concerns
us that is Jewish. A Christian nominally, I am of Jewish blood, and
Jesus has declared that he did not come to destroy the ancient law.
Mamma, like many of our race, avoids and forbids all allusion to the
past."
"If you really wish it, mademoiselle, you can easily become familiar
with our traditions; you have only to consult several books."
"Alas! I do not know Hebrew."
"There are translations in many languages."
"Really? Could you not secretly lend me one or two? I would be very
grateful to you; but it must remain a secret between us."
This was a skilful move. Mystery brought them together. Emusia quietly
put her little hand into Jacob's, and pressed it warmly as if to thank
him. This grasp produced on the young man the effect of an electric
current. He felt uneasy, troubled, and confused, as if he had committed
a sin.
"I will send you some volumes," murmured he.
"That is not all," said she sweetly, still keeping her hand in his.
"Guide me in the study for which I thirst. I have hours of liberty;
mamma goes out often, and I am at home alone. I depend on you to be my
master, my instructor, in the first principles of the faith of our
ancestors. This may appear a little odd on my part, but you will excuse
my ardent desire for light."
"I fear"--
"No scruples, monsieur! If I have appeared impressed by you, I assure
you it was only because I wish to learn from you something of Judaism."
A slight feeling of suspicion entered Jacob's mind, but he thrust it
away from him with contempt. He would not admit that acting could be
carried so far. He believed that Muse was sincere, and he arose to go
with a much better opinion of her than when he came. She seemed to him
more beautiful than before, and with something poetical about her. He
sought already in his imagination for the biblical type to which this
strayed lamb of the fold of Israel belonged. He felt no sympathy for
her yet, but his curiosity was awakened and his repugnance had
disappeared.
Emusia was radiant, and in her triumph said to herself:--
"I have hit Achilles in the heel."