THE GREAT NOBLEMAN AND THE BARBER
On hearing the knock old Marguerite started affrightedly and looked at
her master, as she faltered,--
"Must we open the door at this time of night, monsieur?"
"Of course, haven't I told you already that I was waiting for a friend?"
replied the barber, putting some more wood on the fire, "go to the door
at once."
The old servant was very fearful; she stood and hesitated; but a single
look from her master decided her; she took a lamp and directed her steps
towards the corridor which opened into the passageway of the house.
Marguerite was sixty-eight years old; work and the weight of years had
long since bent her body and deprived her limbs of their natural
agility; she could only walk slowly, and the high heels of her large
slippers made a uniform flapping noise which the poor old hand-maid
could not prevent and of which she was, indeed, unconscious.
The good woman had shuffled as far as the middle of the passageway, when
another knock, louder than the first one, shook all the windows of the
house.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" said Marguerite; "he's in a great hurry. Which of my
master's friends would allow himself to knock in that manner? There are
some panes broken, I'm sure. Can it be Chaudoreille? Oh, no; he only
gives a very soft little knock. Turlupin? Of course not; I should hear
him sing in the street. Besides, he's not my master's friend. Ah, I'm
very curious to know who it can be."
Despite her curiosity Marguerite did not advance more quickly. However,
she arrived at the door, and, having mentally recommended herself to her
dear patron saint, she decided to open it.
A man wrapped in a large cloak which he held against his face, his head
covered with a hat ornamented on the edge with white feathers, and drawn
well down over his eyes, so that no one could see them, appeared at the
end of the passageway, and asked in a loud voice if this was Barber
Touquet's house.
"Yes, monsieur," said Marguerite, trying, but in vain, to discover the
features of the person before her. "Yes, this is it; and it's you, no
doubt, for whom my master's waiting."
"In that case conduct me to him," said the stranger.
Marguerite closed the door and bade the unknown follow her. While
guiding him along the passageway and the long corridor which they had
to traverse, she turned often and held her lamp to the stranger, under
the pretence of lighting him, but in fact to try to see something by
which she could recognize the person whom she had introduced into the
house. Her efforts were in vain. The stranger walked with his head down,
holding his cloak against his face. Marguerite was reduced to examining
his boots, which were white, with turned-over mushroom-shaped tops, and
garnished with spurs. This seemed to indicate a refined dress; but many
men then wore similar ones, and this part of his dress could not help
Marguerite in her conjectures. They reached the lower room, and the
stranger entered with a light step, while the servant said to her
master,--
"Here's the person who knocked. I do not know if it is the friend you
were waiting for; I was not able to see him."
The barber did not allow Marguerite time to finish her phrase. He ran
toward the stranger and made him come to the fire, saying to him,--
"Thou hast arrived at last, then. I feared that the night, that the bad
weather--But place thyself here; we will sup together."
"Good," said the servant to herself; "in order for him to sup it will be
necessary for him to remove his mantle, and I shall at last be able to
see his face. I don't know why, but I have the greatest curiosity to
know this man. If it is one of my master's friends, it must be that he
has come here very rarely. I did not recognize his voice; his height is
ordinary,--rather tall than short; he should be young. Yes, he's not a
scholar; however, I bet he's a pretty fellow; by his walk I judge him to
be a military man. We shall see if I'm mistaken."
The old maid did not take her eyes from the stranger, who had thrown
himself on a chair, and made no sign that he wished to relieve himself
of his cloak and hat, both of which were drenched with rain.
"If monsieur desires it," said Marguerite, approaching the stranger's
chair, "I will relieve him of his cloak, which is all wet; and I can dry
it while he is supping."
"It is unnecessary," said the barber, putting himself precipitately
between the old woman and the stranger, who had not stirred; "we have no
need of your services. Leave us, and go to rest; I will shut the street
door myself when my friend leaves."
Marguerite seemed petrified on receiving this order. She looked at her
master, and was about to allow herself to indulge in some observations;
but the barber fixed his eyes upon her, and Master Touquet's eyes had at
times an expression which compelled obedience.
"Leave us," said he again to his servant; "and above all, do not come
down again."
Marguerite was silent. She took her lamp, bowed to her master and turned
to leave the room, throwing a last glance on the man of the mantle, who
remained motionless before the fire and whose features she could not
see. She was obliged to go to bed without being able to base her
conjectures on facts, without knowing if she had rightly divined the
age, the condition, the face of the unknown. What a punishment for the
old maid! But her master pointed with his finger to the door of the
room, and Marguerite went at once.
As soon as the old servant had departed, and when the sound of her steps
was no longer heard, the stranger burst into a shout of laughter and
threw his hat and his cloak far from him. Then one perceived a man of
thirty-six years or thereabouts; his features were fine, noble and
spirituel. His brown mustache was lightly outlined above his mouth,
which in smiling disclosed very beautiful teeth. His expressive eyes, in
turn tender, proud and passionate, denoted one who was in the habit of
expressing all his sentiments; but the disgust, the weariness, which
were depicted also on the pale and worn features of the stranger seemed
to indicate that, having once indulged his passion, it was only with an
effort that he could bring himself to experience it again.
His costume was rich and tasteful; the color of his doublet was a light
blue; silver and silk were blended on the velvet which formed the
foundation; superb lace bordered the collar which fell on his
shoulders; a large white belt surrounded his figure, and a sword
ornamented with precious stones glittered at his side.
Since the departure of his servant the barber had changed his tone
toward the stranger. Respect, humility, had replaced the familiarity
which Touquet had affected in Marguerite's presence.
"Deign to excuse me, monsieur le marquis," said he, bowing profoundly to
his guest, "if I permitted myself to be too familiar, with my thee-ing
and thou-ing; but it was only according to your orders, the better to
deceive my servant and prevent her from having any suspicions as to your
rank."
"That's all right, my dear Touquet," said the marquis, displaying
himself before the fire; "I assure you I had the greatest trouble to
maintain my gravity before the poor woman, who did not know by what ruse
she could see my face, which would not have been a very great matter,
for it is hardly presumable that she would have known me."
"No, monseigneur, she does not know you; I think so at least, for M. le
Marquis de Villebelle has made so much talk about himself with his
gallantry, his conquests, his feats of arms. His name has become so
famous, his adventures have made so much noise, that the lowest classes
of society know him,--the bugbear of fathers, of tutors, of husbands,
of lovers even; for monseigneur knows no rival. Your name is spoken with
terror by all the men, and makes all the women sigh, some with hope and
the others in remembrance; besides, as monsieur le marquis sought
pleasure wherever he found beauty, since he sometimes stooped to the
humble middle classes, and has deigned to honor with his regards some
pretty shop girl or simple villager, it would not be impossible that my
old Marguerite might have served with some house where monsieur le
marquis had left souvenirs. It was, therefore, much better that she
should not see monseigneur when he came to my house incognito."
"Yes, certainly; I wish to remain unknown; it is necessary now that I
should put more mystery into my love affairs. Be seated, Touquet; I have
many things to tell you."
"Monseigneur--"
"Be seated; I wish it. Here I lay aside my rank and my grandeur; in you
I see the first confidant of my loves, the clever servant of my
passions, the audacious rascal for whom gold excited the imagination,
and who knew no obstacle when a purse filled with pistoles was the
recompense of his services. You are still the same, I am certain."
"Ah, monsieur, age makes us more reasonable. Seventeen years have passed
since I had the honor of serving you for the first time; but since that
time my head is steadier; I have learned to reflect."
"Do you wish to become an honest man? But it is not more than ten years
ago that you were serving me; you were still a knave then. Does your
conversion date from that epoch?"
"Monsieur le marquis is incessantly joking. He calls those services
knaveries which I rendered to him because I was so strongly attached to
him."
"Call it what you will, it matters little to me. It's not necessary with
me, Master Touquet, to play the hypocrite, and man of scruples. In fact,
are you disposed to be useful to me? Is your genius extinguished, and
will gold no longer resuscitate it?"
"To serve you, monsieur le marquis, I shall be always the same; you need
not doubt my zeal or my devotion."
"All in good time. That is all that I ask of you; be a saint with other
people if that pleases you, but see that I always find you the same to
me as you were formerly."
Touquet did not answer, but he turned his head and his features seemed
to grow sad. However, he soon recovered himself and turned smilingly
toward his guest, who was tapping the wall of the chimney with his feet,
and who remained for some time silent, as if he had forgotten that he
was still at the barber's. The latter waited with impatience for the
marquis to resume his discourse. At the end of five minutes the noble
seigneur broke the silence.
"My dear Touquet, when I recall the events of my life to my memory, I am
truly astonished that I am still in the world. Why, during all this
time, has not the dagger of a jealous husband or father fallen upon my
head? How many men have sworn to ruin me! And the women,--if all those I
have betrayed had executed their projects of vengeance! Thanks to
Heaven, we are not in Italy or in Spain; and, while we have among the
French some vindictive spirits, who hold rancor toward one who has
betrayed them, the total is small. Inconstancy is not an unforgivable
crime among these ladies, who deign sometimes to put themselves in our
places and say they would not have done differently to us."
"Certainly, monseigneur, your life, at least since I have had the honor
to be attached to you, has been a continued series of very spicy
adventures, and some very dangerous ones. Abductions, seductions, duels,
attacks with force, made openly,--nothing stopped you when you had
resolved upon anything. Could you find any obstacles? Rich, noble,
generous, fortune and nature have done everything for you, monsieur le
marquis. You have profited by it; you have enjoyed life; many men have
envied you your good fortune."
"My good fortune! Do you truly imagine that I have been happy?"
"And what should have prevented your being so, monseigneur?"
"Nothing; and that is perhaps why weariness and disgust have often
attacked me in the midst of the pleasures, the voluptuousness, I have
tasted. Sometimes, without doubt, I have felt happiness, but it has been
so short and has fled so rapidly. The appearance of beauty has inflamed
my senses and made my heart palpitate. The charming sex, which I
idolize, has always exercised an absolute empire over me. At the sight
of a pretty woman I love, or at least believe I love; but no sooner are
my desires satisfied than my love expires, and I am obliged to seek a
new object to reanimate my benumbed senses."
"Happily, this capital contains any quantity of pretty faces; the city
and the court afford you sufficient to vary your pleasures."
"Sentiment and memory are alike exhausted. I fear that, having once had
force to take fire, my poor heart has become like those imperfect gun
flints on which the hammer strikes without effect. I am tired of the
intrigues of the court, which are even easier than the others. Where do
you think I could find something more spicy? There everything is done
with etiquette, and everyone is so polished. We know life too well to
get angry at the least infidelity; one leaves or one takes with the most
profound obeisances, and this wearies one to death; courtiers have
nothing new to offer one. What should I accomplish in Marion de Lorme's
circle? I should see always the same faces. When the Cardinal had made
her fashionable, I didn't find the woman so witty that one would wish to
have anything to do with her. How different with this young and
beautiful Ninon! People will long speak of her; her name will go down
the centuries. But she has too much wit and too little love, for me. My
heart, cold before its time, needs to come in contact with a passionate
heart in order to rewarm itself. In the city one does not fare much
better with the women. The little bourgeoises have become coquettes.
Still, if they only knew how to be cruel; but a name, a figure, a rich
cloak, seems to turn their heads. The merchants know how to rob us, and
the grisettes entice us; and in the midst of all that the husbands are
so kind, so complacent; they fear us as they would fire; our titles
render them mute; of honor they are hopeless. If this continues, it will
be necessary to make love a la turque; we should only have then to throw
the handkerchief."
"Then, monsieur le marquis, one always has the resource of wisdom; and,
since I have not had the honor of serving you for ten years, without
doubt you have acquired that."
"My faith, yes; for it's not necessary to speak of common adventures,
which are not worth the trouble of reciting. I have been in the army; I
have been in battle; that afforded me much pleasure, and I would
willingly have stayed there much longer; but peace is made, I have
returned, I have visited my lands, and have laughed with some little
peasants who were sufficiently pleasing, but so awkward, so simple. By
the way, I forgot to tell you; I married."
"Married! What, monseigneur! you?"
"Undoubtedly; my marriage was very necessary; my rank, my place at the
court--and then I was overloaded with debt. That didn't make me uneasy;
but they had arranged this marriage; the Cardinal, the Queen herself,
desired it. I married the daughter of the Count of Laroche. My wife was
very good, of very sweet character; she didn't trouble herself about my
intrigues; she had what was necessary to me. I loved her--very honestly,
as one can love his wife; but she died two years ago and left me no
heir, which is intensely disagreeable. I had an idea that I should love
children very much."
"Then you are a widower, monsieur?"
"Yes; and I find myself the possessor of a considerable fortune, very
well considered at court, in favor with the Cardinal, and even able to
obtain, should I desire it, the most important employment."
"I conceive, then, that monsieur le marquis wishes more secrecy in his
love affairs."
"Ah, my poor Touquet, I don't believe that ambition will ever have much
charm for me, but nobody knows; and there are some convenances at the
court which one must not break; besides, secrecy lends a charm to the
most simple act. But why have you not enrolled yourself under Hymen's
flag? I find that you are more thoughtful, less cheerful, less lively,
than formerly."
"No, monsieur le marquis; I am still a bachelor."
"Oh, well, I believe you are better so. In your position a wife would
restrain you,--you who are so clever, so discreet, in conducting an
intrigue. Women are so curious; she would want to know everything, which
would be troublesome for you. Besides, you have never been very gallant;
you care for nothing but gold. It is your god, your idol; a well-filled
purse makes you inventive, capable of working marvels. It's true that
you play with it a quarter of an hour afterwards and at dice or cards
soon increase the fruit of the efforts of your genius."
"Ah, monseigneur!"
"Yes, you are as big a gambler as you are a knave; I remember it very
well. Perhaps in ten years you have become wiser; I almost believe so,
for you appear in very easy circumstances, and this house does not
indicate poverty; this servant, this supper served for you--The deuce! I
must taste your wine."
"Ah, monseigneur, it is not worth offering to you."
"I always like best that which is not offered to me."
While he was saying these words the marquis filled one of the cups with
wine and swallowed it at a draught.
"Really, it's not so very bad."
"Ah, monseigneur, if it were on your table--"
"Then I should find it detestable; but what will you have? Variety is
the spice of life. And you have become rich, then?"
"No, not rich, but well enough off to buy this house."
"What! the house belongs to you?"
"Yes, monsieur le marquis."
"Deuce take it, Master Touquet, it must be that you have made some big
hauls in order to become a proprietor."
The barber's face contracted; his black eyebrows frowned and almost met;
he slowly rolled his eyes around him, and murmured with an effort,--
"Monsieur le marquis, I swear to you--"
"O mon Dieu! I do not ask you to swear, my poor Touquet," said the
marquis, laughing. "You are as uneasy as if you had become a lieutenant
in crime. Do you think that I came here to inquire as to the manner in
which you made your fortune? But by all the devils, I do not believe
that you earned this house in your barber shop."
"Monseigneur, I assure you that my economies--"
"Yes, that's all very well; let's leave all that and speak of the
subject which brought me here, for, of course, I came to you for
something, and I'll be damned if I remember what it was."
The barber appeared to breathe more freely; his face assumed its
habitual expression, and he raised his eyes to the marquis, who seemed
to throw aside his insolence to explain the motive of his nocturnal
visit.
"When I saw you this morning on the Pont-Neuf, I was following a young
girl, a pretty little puss; without being a perfect beauty, she was
graceful and interesting in appearance, with sparkling and very
intelligent eyes. I do not believe that we should have much trouble in
making a conquest of her. However, she walked faster, and would not
answer any of my compliments. I carefully wrapped myself in my cloak,
not wishing to be recognized by our amiable profligates, who would have
made sport of me for running after a grisette. The little girl stopped
to listen for a moment to Tabarin's songs, and it was while she was
before the quack that I saw you and recognized you immediately; you have
one of those faces that nobody forgets."
"I had also recognized you, monseigneur, in spite of the cloak in which
you were enveloped; for ten years have not changed your features,
monsieur le marquis, and one could not easily mistake that noble figure
which captivates all the belles."
"You flatter me, rascal; which means that I have aged. But let's go on.
As soon as you had given me your address, I returned to the side of the
little one."
"If monsieur le marquis had explained to me this morning what he was
after, I would have spared him the trouble of following this young
girl."
"No, I had a good opportunity of examining her further; besides, I had
nothing else to do. She took the road to the city, which she entered by
the Rue de la Calandre, I still talking to her; she only smiled, without
answering me, but her look was not severe. At last she stopped before a
perfumer's shop; I wished to go in with her, but she opposed me, saying
in a very singular tone, 'Monsieur le Marquis de Villebelle is too well
known for him to go into this shop with me; I should lose my reputation,
and I beg monsieur le marquis not to compromise me.' Well now, my dear,
Touquet, can you imagine this grisette who pretends that I should cause
her to lose her reputation? As for me, I confess that I was so much
surprised by finding myself known to the young girl and hearing her
speak thus, that I remained like a fool in the middle of the street;
meanwhile my beautiful conquest had entered, and disappeared by the back
of the shop."
"As I told you, monseigneur, you are known in all classes of society;
even a young girl of twelve years is as much afraid of you as she would
be of Count Ory of gallant memory."
"Better and better! Women are always curious to know these men who have
been pictured to them as so dangerous. Poor parents! When they tell them
to fly from me, it makes them run after me. Here, Touquet; here's some
gold. You will see this young girl, then; since she knows who I am, you
cannot easily promise her that I will be faithful. No matter; promise
her anyhow. In three days let me find her at my little house in the
Faubourg Saint-Antoine; you know it."
"Yes, monseigneur; I remember it; it is the one that you formerly
possessed."
"Yes; but I have made it a delightful retreat. You shall see it;
pictures, mirrors, marble, alabaster, are there mingled with silk,
velvet and the most precious stuffs. I have spent more than fifty
thousand francs upon it. Oh, it is divine! I have had some charming
suppers there with Montglas, Chavagnac, Villempre, Monteille, and some
other profligates of the court."
"Was it not there, monsieur le marquis, that I led that young girl whose
abduction made such an uproar? That was, I believe, our first affair of
this kind; you were then a little more than nineteen years of age; and
the little girl--"
"Why the devil do you recall that?" said the marquis, making an angry
movement, and pressing in his hand the purse he was about to take from
his belt, and on which the barber had already laid avaricious eyes.
"Pardon, monsieur le marquis," said Touquet; "but I did not think I
should displease you in recalling the adventure which commenced your
reputation. The young person was beautiful and good, and the father, one
of King Henry's old archers, did not understand joking. His arquebus was
aimed at you, the ball went through your hat; but your sword stopped the
old man, and he fell at your feet, while I bore off in my arms his
insensible daughter."
"Be silent, wretch," cried the marquis, suddenly rising, and looking
angrily at the barber, who received his glances with perfect
indifference.
The conversation was again interrupted; the marquis walked rapidly up
and down the room, and appeared buried in his reflections; soon,
however, broken words escaped him, but they were not addressed to
Touquet. The marquis seemed violently agitated as he said in a low
voice,--
"Poor Estrelle! what has become of you? She loved me--she believed me to
be a simple student. I loved her also; yes, never since that time have I
experienced a feeling which I can compare with the love with which she
inspired me. I was young--ah, Heaven is my witness that I did not wish
to fight with her father. Thanks to Heaven, his wound was very trifling
and was soon cured; but Estrelle, when she learned my name and that
event, cursed me. Yes, I believe I can hear her still. Then she escaped
from that house where I had hidden her. I love her still. Since that
time I have never heard of her; and you, Touquet,--have you never met
her since?"
"Never, monseigneur; I have neither seen her nor heard her speak."
"Poor Estrelle!" said the marquis after a moment; and the barber added
in a low tone,--
"She would now be thirty-four years of age, or very near that."
This remark appeared to lessen somewhat the marquis' regret.
"In fact," said he, again approaching the fire, "she would be nearly
that age if she were living, and would not appear the same to me as the
one I formerly knew. How time passes! Come, let's forget all that; after
all, it is much the same as any other adventure,--a chapter in the
history of my life."
"And did the marquis say that the young girl lived in the Rue de la
Calandre in the city?"
"The young girl? What young girl?"
"The one monseigneur followed this morning."
"Yes, to be sure; I had forgotten. You will easily recognize her: her
figure unconstrained, her walk brisk; twenty years or thereabouts, I
presume; nut-brown hair, black eyes, beautiful teeth, her skin a little
brown. I do not think she's French. Something lively in her
countenance; nothing that indicates timidity or simplicity. This is all
the information which I can give you."
"It is sufficient, monseigneur; in two days I hope that the young person
will be at your little house."
"That's very good.--Wait; this is for your expenses, and I promise you
as much more if you are successful."
While saying these words the marquis threw on the table the purse filled
with gold, which he still held in his hand, and a smile escaped the lips
of the barber. His guest resumed his cloak and replaced his hat on his
head.
"It is late," said the marquis, wrapping himself in his mantle, "and I
must go home. The day after tomorrow, toward ten o'clock, I will return
to learn the result of your proceedings."
"Shall I find anybody at your little house?"
"Yes, Marcel, one of my people, a devoted servant who lives there
constantly. I will warn him."
"That is enough, monseigneur, and I hope that you will be pleased with
me on this occasion."
"I leave it all to your zeal; in fact, the little one is very pleasing,
and ought to amuse me for some time. Come, my dear Touquet, let us
follow our destiny. Gallantry, voluptuousness, pleasure,--that is my
life; that is the road which I follow where my passions lead me. I
should not know how to follow any other walk now; like a blind man who
trusts in Providence, I do not know if this road will lead me to
happiness; but I cannot turn aside from it."
The marquis turned his steps toward the door, and Touquet proposed to
his distinguished guest that he should guide him to his dwelling.
"Thank you," said the marquis, "it is unnecessary; I have my sword, and
I fear nothing."
While uttering these words the marquis had plunged into the street and
disappeared from the barber's sight. The latter closed the door and
returned to the little room. Arrived there, he hastened to take the
purse which lay on the table; he counted the pieces which it contained,
nor could he raise his eyes from the sight of the gold. But soon a dull,
melancholy sound was heard; it was Saint-Eustache's clock striking two.
The barber turned pale; his hair seemed to stand up on his head; he
threw about him gloomy glances, as if he feared to perceive some
frightful object; then he placed the purse in his bosom, took a lamp and
went toward the door at the end of the room, murmuring in a sad voice,--
"Two o'clock! Let's go to bed. Ah, if I could only sleep!"