THE BACHELORS' BREAKFAST.
M. de Lucenay came into the room.
The duke's wound had been so slight, that he did not even carry his arm
in a sling. His countenance was, as usual, mirthful, yet proud; his
motion perpetual; and his restlessness, as usual, unconquerable. In
spite of his awkwardness, his ill-timed pleasantries, and in spite of
his immense nose, which gave his face a grotesque and odd character, M.
de Lucenay was not, as we have already said, a vulgar person, thanks to
a kind of natural dignity and bold impertinence, which never forsook
him.
"How indifferent you must think me to what concerns you, my dear Henry!"
said M. d'Harville, extending his hand to M. de Lucenay; "but it was
only this morning that I heard of your unfortunate adventure."
"Unfortunate! Pooh--pooh, marquis! I had my money's worth, as they say.
I really never laughed so in my life. The worthy M. Robert was so
religiously determined to maintain that he never had a phlegmy cough, in
all his life,--but you do not know! This was the cause of the duel. The
other evening at the ---- embassy, I asked him, before your wife and the
Countess Macgregor, how his phlegmy cough was? _Inde irae!_ for, between
ourselves, he had nothing of the kind; but it was all the same, and, you
may suppose, to have such a thing alluded to before pretty women was
very provoking."
"How foolish! Yet it is so like you! But who is this M. Robert?"
"_Ma foi!_ I have not the slightest idea in the world. He is a person
whom I met at the Spas; he passed by us in the winter garden at the
embassy, and I called to him to play off this foolish jest, to which he
gallantly replied the next day by giving me a touch with his
sword-point. This is the history of our acquaintance. But let us speak
no more of such follies. I have come to ask you for a cup of tea."
So saying, M. de Lucenay flung himself down full length on the sofa;
after which, poking the point of his cane between the wall and the frame
of a picture hanging over his head, he began to move it about, and try
and balance the frame.
"I expected you, my dear Henry; and I have got up a surprise for you,"
said M. d'Harville.
"Ah, bah! and in what way?" exclaimed M. de Lucenay, giving to the
picture a very doubtful kind of balance.
"You will unquestionably unhook that picture, and let it down on your
head."
"_Pardieu!_ I believe you are right. What an eagle's eye you have! But,
tell me, what is this surprise of yours?"
"I have invited some of our friends to come and breakfast with us!"
"Really! Well, that is capital! Bravo, marquis,--bravissimo!
ultra-bravissimo!" exclaimed M. de Lucenay, in a lusty voice, and
beating the sofa cushions with his cane with all his might. "And who
shall we have,--Saint-Remy? No, I recollect; he has been in the country
for some days. What the devil can he be pattering about in the country
in the mid-winter for?"
"Are you sure he is not in Paris?"
"Quite sure; for I wrote to him to go out with me, and learned he was
absent; and so I fell back upon Lord Douglas, and Sezannes."
"Nothing can be better; they breakfast with us."
"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" exclaimed M. de Lucenay again, with lusty lungs;
and then, wriggling and twisting himself on the sofa, he accompanied his
cries with a series of fishlike bounds and springs, which would have
made a boatman envious. The acrobatic exercises of the Duke de Lucenay
were interrupted by the arrival of M. de Saint-Remy.
"There was no occasion to ask if Lucenay was here," said the viscount,
gaily; "one could hear him below stairs."
"What! Is it you, graceful sylvan, country swain,--wolf of the woods?"
exclaimed the duke, in his surprise, and sitting up suddenly. "I thought
you were in the country!"
"I came back yesterday; and, having this instant received D'Harville's
invitation, I have hastened hither, quite delighted to make one in so
pleasant a surprise." And M. de Saint-Remy extended his hand to M. de
Lucenay, and then to the marquis.
"Let me thank you for your speed, my dear Saint-Remy. Is it not natural?
The friends of Lucenay ought to rejoice in the fortunate result of this
duel, which, after all, might have had very serious results."
"But," resumed the duke, doggedly, "what on earth have you been doing in
the country in the middle of winter, Saint-Remy? It mystifies me."
"How inquisitive he is!" said the viscount, addressing M. d'Harville;
and then, turning to the duke, "I am anxious to wean myself gradually
from Paris, as I am soon to quit it."
"Ah, yes, the beautiful idea of attaching you to the legation from
France to Gerolstein! Pray leave off those silly ideas of diplomacy! You
will never go. My wife says so, everybody says the same."
"I assure you that Madame de Lucenay is mistaken, as well as all the
rest of the world."
"She told you, in my presence, that it was a folly."
"How many have I committed in my life?"
"Yes, elegant, charming follies, true;--such as people said would ruin
you in your Sardanapalian magnificences,--that I admit. But to go and
bury yourself alive in such a court,--at Gerolstein! What an idea! Psha!
It is a folly, an absurdity; and you have too much good sense to commit
absurdities."
"Take care, my dear Lucenay. When you abuse this German court, you will
get up a quarrel with D'Harville, the intimate friend of the grand duke
regnant, who, moreover, received me with the best possible grace at the
embassy, where I was presented to him."
"Really, my dear Henry," said M. d'Harville, "if you knew the grand duke
as I know him, you would understand that Saint-Remy could have no
repugnance to passing some time at Gerolstein."
"I believe you, marquis, although they do say that he is very haughty
and very peculiar, your grand duke; but that will not hinder a don like
Saint-Remy, the finest sifting of the finest flour, from being unable to
live anywhere but in Paris. It is in Paris only that he is duly
appreciated."
The other guests of M. d'Harville now arrived, when Joseph entered, and
said a few words in a low voice to his master.
"Gentlemen," said the marquis, "will you allow me?--it is my wife's
jeweller, who has brought some diamonds to select for her,--a surprise.
You understand that, Lucenay? We are husbands of the old sort, you and
I."
"Ah, _pardieu_! If it is a surprise you mean," shouted the duke, "my
wife gave me one yesterday, and a famous one too!"
"Some magnificent present?"
"She asked me for a hundred thousand francs (4,000_l._)."
"And you are such a magnifico--you--"
"Lent them to her; they are advanced as mortgage on her Arnouville
estate. Right reckonings make good friends,--but that's by the by. To
lend in two hours a hundred thousand francs to a friend who requires
that sum is what I call pretty, but rare. Is it not prodigal, you who
are a connoisseur in loans?" said the duke, laughingly, to Saint-Remy,
little thinking of the cutting purport of his words.
In spite of his effrontery, the viscount blushed slightly, and then
replied, with composure:
"A hundred thousand francs?--that is immense! What could a woman ever
want with such a sum as a hundred thousand francs? As for us men, that
is quite a different matter."
"_Ma foi!_ I really do not know what she could want with such a sum as
that. But that's not my affair. Some arrears for the toilet, probably?
The tradespeople hungry and annoying,--that's her affair. And, as you
know very well, my dear Saint-Remy, that, as it was I who lent my wife
the money, it would have been in the worst possible taste in me to have
inquired the purpose for which she required it."
"Yet," said the viscount, with a laugh, "there is usually a singular
curiosity on the part of those who lend money to know what is done with
it."
"_Parbleu!_ Saint-Remy," said M. d'Harville, "you have such exquisite
taste, that you must help me to choose the ornament I intend for my
wife. Your approbation will consecrate my choice; your decisions are
sovereign in all that concerns the fashion."
The jeweller entered, bringing with him several caskets of gems in a
large leather bag.
"Ah, it is M. Baudoin!" said M. de Lucenay.
"At your grace's service."
"I am sure that it is you who ruined my wife with your dazzling and
infernal temptations," said M. de Lucenay.
"Madame la Duchesse has only had her diamonds reset this winter," said
the jeweller, slightly embarrassed; "and now, as I came to M. le
Marquis, I left them with her grace."
M. de Saint-Remy knew that Madame de Lucenay, to aid him, had changed
her jewels for false stones. He was disagreeably embarrassed at this
rencontre, but said, boldly:
"How curious these husbands are!--don't answer any inquisitive
interrogatories, M. Baudoin."
"Curious; _ma foi!_ no," said the duke; "it is my wife who pays. She can
afford all her whims, for she is much richer than I am."
During this conversation, M. Baudoin had displayed on a table several
superb necklaces of rubies and diamonds.
"What a fine water, and how exquisitely those stones are cut!" said Lord
Douglas.
"Alas, sir!" said the jeweller, "I employed in this work one of the most
skilful lapidaries in Paris, named Morel; but, unfortunately, he has
become insane, and I shall never find such another workman. My matcher
of stones says that, in all probability, it was his wretched condition
that deprived the man of his senses, poor fellow!"
"Wretched condition! What! do you trust diamonds to people in distress?"
"Certainly, sir; and there is no instance of a lapidary having ever
pilfered anything, however miserable and destitute his condition."
"How much for this necklace?" inquired M. d'Harville.
"M. le Marquis will observe that the stones are of a splendid water and
cut, and nearly all of a size."
"These oratorical prefaces threaten your purse," said M. de Saint-Remy,
with a laugh. "Now, my dear D'Harville, look out for a high price."
"Come, M. Baudoin, have a conscience, and ask the price you mean to
take!" said M. d'Harville.
"I will not haggle with your lordship. The lowest price is forty-two
thousand francs (11,680_l._)."
"Gentlemen," exclaimed M. de Lucenay, "let us who are married admire
D'Harville in silence. A man who contrives a surprise for his wife to
the amount of forty-two thousand francs! _Diable!_ we must not noise
that abroad, or it would be a detestable precedent."
"Laugh on, gentlemen, as much as you please," said the marquis, gaily.
"I love my wife, and am not ashamed to confess it; on the contrary, I
boast of it."
"It is plain enough to be seen," said M. de Saint-Remy; "such a present
speaks more eloquently than all the protestation in the world."
"I will take this necklace, then," said M. d'Harville, "if the setting
of black enamel seems to you in good taste, Saint-Remy."
"Oh, it sets off the brilliancy of the stones; it is exquisitely
devised."
"Then this it shall be," said M. d'Harville. "You will settle, M.
Baudoin, with M. Doublet, my man of business."
"M. Doublet told me as much, my lord marquis," said the jeweller, who
quitted the apartment, after having packed up his bag without counting
the jewels which he had brought (such was his confidence), and
notwithstanding M. de Saint-Remy had for a long time and curiously
handled and examined them during the interview.
M. d'Harville gave the necklace to Joseph, who was waiting, and said to
him, in a low tone:
"Mlle. Juliette must put these diamonds cleverly away with those of her
mistress, so that la marquise may not suspect; and then her surprise
will be the greater."
At this moment the _maitre d'hotel_ announced that the breakfast was
ready; and the guests, passing into the dining-room, seated themselves.
"Do you know, my dear D'Harville," said M. de Lucenay, "that this house
is one of the most elegant and best arranged in Paris?"
"It is very convenient, certainly, but we want room; I have a plan to
add a gallery on the garden. Madame d'Harville wishes to give some grand
balls, and our salons are not large enough. Then, I think, nothing is
more inconvenient than the encroachments of fetes on the apartments one
usually occupies, and from which, on such occasions, you are necessarily
driven."
"I am quite of D'Harville's opinion," said M. de Saint-Remy; "nothing is
more wretched, more tradesmanlike, than these movings, compelled by the
coming of balls and concerts. To give fetes, really of the first class,
without inconveniencing oneself, there must be devoted to their uses
peculiar and special suites of apartments; and then vast and splendid
rooms, devoted to a magnificent ball, ought to assume an appearance
wholly distinct from that of ordinary salons. There is the same
difference between these two sets of apartments as between a monumental
fresco-painting and a sketch on a painter's easel."
"He is right," said M. d'Harville. "What a pity, gentlemen, that
Saint-Remy has not twelve or fifteen hundred thousand livres a year!
What wonders he would create for our admiration!"
"Since we have the happiness to possess a representative government,"
said the Duke de Lucenay, "the country ought to vote a million or two a
year to Saint-Remy, and authorise him to represent in Paris the French
taste and elegance, which should decide the taste and elegance of all
Europe,--all the world."
"Adopted!" cried the guests in chorus.
"And we would raise these annual millions as compulsory taxes on those
abominable misers, who, being possessors of colossal fortunes, should be
marked down, accused, and convicted of living like gripe-farthings,"
added M. de Lucenay.
"And as such," added M. d'Harville, "condemned to defray those
splendours which they ought to display."
"Not including that these functions of high priest, or, rather, grand
master of elegance, which would devolve on Saint-Remy," continued M. de
Lucenay, "would have, by imitation, an enormous influence on the general
taste."
"He would be the type which all would seek to resemble."
"That is evident."
"And, in endeavouring to imitate him, taste would become purified."
"At the time of the Renaissance taste became universally excellent,
because it was modelled on that of the aristocracy, which was
exquisite."
"By the serious turn which the question has taken," said M. d'Harville,
gaily, "I see that we have only to address a petition to the Chambers
for the establishment of the office of grand master of French elegance."
"And as the Deputies have credit for possessing very elevated, very
artistic, and very magnificent ideas, of course it will be voted by
acclamation."
"Whilst we are waiting the decision which shall establish as a right the
supremacy which Saint-Remy exercises in fact," said M. d'Harville, "I
will ask him his opinion as to the gallery which I propose to erect; for
I have been struck with his ideas as to the right splendour of fetes."
"My faint lights are at your service, D'Harville."
"And when shall we commence our magnificences, my dear fellow?"
"Next year, I suppose, for I intend to begin my works without delay."
"How full of projects you are!"
"_Ma foi!_ I have others also; I contemplate an entire alteration of
Val-Richer."
"Your estate in Burgundy?"
"Yes; there is much that may be done there, if, indeed, God grants me
life."
"Poor old fellow!"
"Have you not recently bought a farm near Val-Richer to complete your
ring-fence?"
"Yes, a very nice thing, to which I was advised by my notary."
"And who is this rare and precious notary who advises such admirable
purchases?"
"M. Jacques Ferrand."
At this name a slight shudder came over M. de Saint-Remy, and he frowned
imperceptibly.
"Is he really the honest man they call him?" he inquired, carelessly, of
M. d'Harville, who then remembered what Rodolph had related to Clemence
about the notary.
"Jacques Ferrand? What a question! Why, his honesty is a proverb," said
M. de Lucenay.
"As respected as respectable."
"And very pious; which does him no harm."
"Excessively stingy; which is a guarantee for his clients."
"In fact, he is one of the notaries of the 'old rock,' who ask you whom
you take them for when you ask them for a receipt for the money which
you place in their hands."
"That would have no effect on me; I would trust him with my whole
fortune."
"But where the deuce did Saint-Remy imbibe his doubts with respect to
this honest man, whose integrity is proverbial?"
"I am but the echo of certain vague reports; besides, I have no reason
for running down this phoenix of notaries. But to return to your
plans, D'Harville, what is it you wish to build at Val-Richer? I have
heard that the chateau is excessively beautiful."
"Make yourself easy, my dear Saint-Remy, for you shall be consulted, and
sooner than you expect, perhaps, for I take much pleasure in such works.
I think that there is nothing more interesting than to have those
affairs in hand, which expand as you examine them, and they advance,
giving you occupation for years to come. To-day one project, next year
another, after that something else springs up. Add to this a charming
woman whom one adores, and who shares your every taste and pleasure,
then, _ma foi!_ life passes sweetly enough."
"I think so, _pardieu_! Why, it then makes earth a perfect paradise."
"Now, gentlemen," said D'Harville, when the breakfast was finished, "if
you will smoke a cigar in my cabinet, you will find some excellent
Havannahs there."
They rose from the table, and returned to the cabinet of the marquis.
The door of his bedchamber, which communicated with it, was open. We
have said the only decoration of the room consisted of two small racks
of very beautiful arms.
M. de Lucenay, having lighted a cigar, followed the marquis into his
room.
"You see, I am still a great lover of good weapons," said D'Harville to
him.
"Yes, and I see you have here some splendid English and French guns. _Ma
foi!_ I hardly know which to admire most. Douglas," exclaimed M. de
Lucenay, "come and see if these fowling-pieces are not equal to your
crack Mantons."
Lord Douglas, Saint-Remy, and the two other guests went into the
marquis's room to examine the arms.
M. d'Harville, taking down a duelling-pistol, cocked it, and said,
laughingly:
"Here, gentlemen, is the universal panacea for all the ills,--spleen,
disgust, weariness."
And as he spoke, jestingly, he placed the muzzle to his lips.
"_Ma foi!_ I prefer another specific," said Saint-Remy; "that is only
good in the most desperate cases."
"Yes, but it is so speedy," said M. d'Harville. "Click! and it is done!"
"Pray be cautious, D'Harville; these jokes are always so rash and
dangerous; and accident happens in an instant," said M. de Lucenay.
"My dear fellow, do you think I would do so if it were loaded?"
"Of course not, but it is always imprudent."
"See, gentlemen, how it is done. You introduce the muzzle delicately
between the teeth, and then--"
"How foolish you are, D'Harville, to place it so!" said M. de Lucenay.
"You place your finger on the trigger--" continued M. d'Harville.
"What a child! What folly at your age!"
"A small touch on the lock," added the marquis, "and one goes--"
As he spoke the pistol went off. M. d'Harville had blown his brains out.
It is impossible to paint the horror,--the stupor, of M. d'Harville's
guests.
[Illustration: _M. d'Harville had blown his brains out._
Original Etching by Mercier.]
Next day the following appeared in one of the newspapers:
"Yesterday an event, as unforeseen as deplorable, put all the
Faubourg St. Germain in a state of excitement. One of those
imprudent acts, which every year produce such sad accidents, has
caused this terrible misfortune. The following are the facts
which we have gathered, the authenticity of which may be relied
upon.
"The Marquis d'Harville, the possessor of an immense fortune,
and scarcely twenty-six years of age, universally known for his
kind-hearted benevolence, and married but a few years to a wife
whom he idolised, had some friends to breakfast with him; on
leaving the table, they went into M. d'Harville's sleeping
apartment, where there were several firearms of considerable
value. Whilst the guests were looking at some choice
fowling-pieces, M. d'Harville in jest took up a pistol which he
thought was not loaded, and placed the muzzle to his lips.
Though warned by his friends, he pressed on the trigger,--the
pistol went off, and the unfortunate young gentleman dropped
down dead, with his skull horribly fractured. It is impossible
to describe the extreme consternation of the friends of M.
d'Harville, with whom but a few instants before he had been
talking of various plans and projects, full of life, spirits,
and animation. In fact, as if all the circumstances of this sad
event must be still more cruel by the most painful contrasts,
that very morning M. d'Harville, desirous of agreeably
surprising his wife, had purchased a most expensive ornament,
which he intended as a present to her. It was at this very
moment, when, perhaps, life had never appeared more smiling and
attractive, that he fell a victim to this most distressing
accident.
"All reflections on such a dreadful event are useless. We can
only remain overwhelmed at the inscrutable decrees of
Providence."
We quote this journal in order to show the general opinion which
attributed the death of Clemence's husband to fatal and lamentable
imprudence.
Is there any occasion to say that M. d'Harville alone carried with him
to the tomb the mysterious secret of his voluntary death,--yes,
voluntary and calculated upon, and meditated with as much calmness as
generosity, in order that Clemence might not conceive the slightest
suspicion as to the real cause of his suicide?
Thus the projects of which M. d'Harville had talked with his steward and
his friends,--those happy confidences to his old servant, the surprise
which he proposed for his wife, were all but so many precautions for the
public credulity.
How could it be supposed that a man so preoccupied as to the future, so
anxious to please his wife, could think of killing himself? His death
was, therefore, attributed to imprudence, and could not be attributed to
anything else.
As to his determination, an incurable despair had dictated that. By
showing herself as affectionate towards him, and as tender as she had
formerly been cold and disdainful, by again appearing to entertain a
high regard, Clemence had awakened in the heart of her husband deep
remorse.
Seeing her so sadly resigned to a long life without love, passed with a
man visited by an incurable and frightful malady, and utterly persuaded
that, after her solemn conversation, Clemence could never subdue the
repugnance with which he inspired her, M. d'Harville was seized with a
profound pity for his wife, and an entire disgust for himself and for
life.
In the exasperation of his anguish, he said to himself:
"I only love,--I never can love,--but one woman in the world, and she is
my own wife. Her conduct, full of noble-heartedness and high mind, would
but increase my mad passion, if it be possible to increase it. And she,
my wife, can never belong to me! She has a right to despise,--to hate
me! I have, by base deceit, chained this young creature to my hateful
lot! I repent it bitterly. What, then, should I do for her? Free her
from the hateful ties which my selfishness has riveted upon her. My
death alone can break those rivets; and I must, therefore, die by my own
hand!"
This was why M. d'Harville had accomplished this great,--this terrible
sacrifice.
The inexorable immutability of the law sometimes makes certain terrible
positions irremediable, and, as in this case (as divorce was
unattainable), only allows the injury to be effaced by an additional
crime.