STRIKE NOT WOMAN, EVEN WITH ROSES.
"Stop a bit," said M. Cantagnac, pulling a newspaper out of his pocket.
"This is a journal I picked up in the cars. I always do that. There is
sure to be some passenger to throw them down and so I never buy any
myself when I am traveling, ha, ha! Well, in this very sheet, there is a
long article about you. It is called 'The Ideal Cannon' and the writer
declares that the experiment was a great hit, ha, ha! and he undertakes
to explain the new system."
Clemenceau smiled contemptuously. He was not one of those to make a
secret public property on which a nation's salvation might depend. In
such momentous matters, he would have had arsenals, armories, navy yards
and military museums labeled over the door:
"Speech is silver, silence is of gold;
Death unto him who dares the tale unfold!"
"Ah, he wouldn't know everything, of course. However, he makes out that
you obtain the wonderful result by fixing essential oils in a special
magazine and that you managed to project a solid shot to the prodigious
distance of--of--" he referred to the newspaper--"fifteen miles by means
of--of--I do not understand these jaw-breaking scientific terms. Is it
not nitroglycerine?"
"I do not use them myself," remarked Clemenceau, dryly.
"But he adds--look here!" continued the worthy Man from Marseilles,
regretfully, "that what you managed to perform with your model and
material, specially prepared by yourself, could not be attained on the
proper scale in a war campaign. He goes on to say that the scientific
world await the explanation of the means to obtain such power as,
heretofore, the pressure of liquefied gases has been but some five
hundred pounds to the square inch, about a tenth of that of explosives
now used. It is admitted, however, that there may be something in your
increase of effectiveness by reiterated emissions--" He began to
stammer, as if he were speaking too glibly, but his auditor took no
alarm. "He continues that, up to this day, gases have failed as
propelling powers from their instantaneous explosions."
"The writer is correct," said Clemenceau, a little warmed, "or, rather,
he had foundation for his criticism when he wrote. The powerful agent
was not perfectly controllable at the period of my last official
experiments, but that is not the case at present. This enormous, almost
incalculable power is so perfectly under my thumb, monsieur, that not
only is it manageable in the largest cannon, but it is suitable for a
parlor pistol, which a child might play with."
"Wonderful!" ejaculated Cantagnac, with undoubted sincerity, for his
eyes gleamed.
"In solving that last enigma, I found the power became more strong when
curbed. Consequently, the gun that would before have carried fifteen
miles, may send twenty, and the ball, if not explosible, might ricochet
three."
"Wonderful!" cried the Marseillais again, who displayed very deep
interest in the abstruse subject for a retired notary.
"The bullet, or shell, or ball--all the projectiles are perfected now!"
went on Clemenceau, triumphantly, "and were I surrounded by a million of
men, or had I an impregnable fortress before me, a battery of my cannon
would finish the struggle in not more than four hours."
"Why, this is a force of nature, not man's work," said Cantagnac,
through his grating teeth, as though the admiration were extracted from
him. "I do not see how any army or any fort could resist such
instruments."
"No, monsieur, not one."
"Would not all the other nations unite against your country?"
"What would that matter, when, I repeat, the number of adversaries would
not affect the question?"
"What a dreadful thing! I beg your pardon, but I go to church and I have
had 'Love one another!' dinned into my ears. What is to become of that
precept, eh?"
"It is what I should diffuse by my cannon," returned Clemenceau.
"By scattering the limbs of thousands of men, ha, ha!" but his laugh
sounded very hollow, indeed.
"Not so; by destroying warfare," was the inventor's reply. "War is
impious, immoral and monstrous, and not the means employed in it. The
more terrible they are, the sooner will come the millennium. On the day
when men find that no human protection, no rank, no wealth, no
influential connections, nothing can shield them from destruction by
hundreds of thousands, not only on the battlefield, but in their houses,
within the highest fortified ramparts, they will no longer risk their
country, homes, families and bodies, for causes often insignificant or
dishonest. At present, all reflecting men who believe that the divine
law ought to rule the earth, should have but one thought and a single
aim: to learn the truth, speak it and impress it by all possible means
wherever it is not recognized. I am a man who has frittered away too
much of his time on personal tastes and emotions, and I vow that I shall
never let a day pass without meditating upon the destination whither all
the world should move, and I mean to trample over any obstacle that
rises before me. The time is one when men could carouse, amuse
themselves, doze and trifle--or keep in a petty clique. The real society
will be formed of those who toil and watch, believe and govern."
"I see, monsieur, that you cherish a hearty hatred for the enemies of
the student and the worker," said the ex-notary, not without an
inexplicable bitterness, "and that you seek the suppression of the
swordsman."
"You mistake--I hate nobody," loftily answered Clemenceau. "If I thought
that my country would use my discovery to wage an unjust war, I declare
that I should annihilate the invention. But whatever rulers may intend,
my country will never long carry on an unfair war and it is only to make
right prevail that France should be furnished with irresistible power."
While listening, Cantagnac had probably considered that raillery was not
proper to treat such exaltation, for he changed his tone and noisily
applauded the sentiments.
"Capital, capital! that's what I call sensible talk! And do you believe
that I would leave a man, a patriot, in temporary embarrassment when he
has discovered the salvation of our country? Why, this house will become
a sight for the world and his wife to flock unto! I am proud that I have
stood within the walls and I shall tell the domino-players of the
Café--but never mind that now! To business! Between ourselves, are you
particularly fond of this house?"
"It is my only French home, where I brought my bride, where my child was
born--where the great child of my brain came forth--"
"Enough! we can arrange this neatly. It is my element to smooth matters
over. Something is in the air about a company to 'work' your minor
inventions in firearms, eh? good! I engage, from my financial
connections, to find you all funds required; I shall charge twenty-five
per cent. on the profits, and never interfere with your scientific
department, which I do not understand, anyway. There is no necessity of
our seeing one another in the business, but I do want to put my shoulder
to the wheel--_wheel_ of Fortune, eh? ha, ha!" and he rubbed his large
hands gleefully till they fairly glowed.
There was no resisting openness like this, and Clemenceau heartily
thanked the volunteer "backer," as is said in monetary circles.
"That's very kind; but the proposal has previously been made to me by an
old friend, an Israelite who also has connections with the principal
bankers. But these transactions take time, on a large scale and to
embrace the world. Meanwhile, although he would readily and easily find
me temporary accommodation, the pressure on me is not acute enough for
me to accept a helping hand."
"I understand: you would not be in difficulties if you were another kind
of man. Let us say no more about it. As the company will be a public
one, I suppose, I can take shares. About this mortgage over our heads,
is some bank holding it?"
"Well, no; my wife has it, as part of the marriage portion, or rather
my gift. I have sent for her to step down to discuss the matter with
you."
"Happy to see the lady," said Cantagnac, pulling out his whiskers and
adjusting the points of his collar. "We will discuss it, with an eye to
your interests, monsieur."
It was clear that M. Cantagnac had not enchanted Antonino, for he had
taken care not to bring the plan of the house; it was brought, but by
another hand. On seeing the lady, the Marseillais bowed with exaggerated
politeness of the old school and stammered his compliments.
"No, no;" Clemenceau hastened to say, "this is not the lady of the
house, but a guest who, however, will show you the place."
It was Rebecca Daniels. As always happens with the Jews, whose long,
oval faces are not improved by mental trouble, she looked less
captivating than when she had shone as the star of the Harmonista
Music-hall; but, nevertheless, she was, for the refined eye, very
alluring. She accepted the task imposed on her with a gentle smile,
although it was evident that in her quick glance she had summed up the
visitor's qualities without much favor for him.
While Cantagnac was bowing again and fumbling confusedly with his hat,
Rebecca laid the plan on the table and whispered to Clemenceau:
"Do you know that she is here again?"
He nodded, whereupon her features, which had been animated, fell back
into habitual calm.
"She sends word by Hedwig, whom I intercepted, that she wants to see you
before seeing this purchaser of the house. I need not urge you to keep
calm?"
"No!"
"Come this way, please, monsieur," said Rebecca, lightly, as if fully at
ease, and she led Cantagnac out of the room.
Left to himself, with the notification of the important interview
overhanging him, the host pondered. He had at the first loved Rebecca,
and it was strange to him now that he had let Césarine outshine her. He
had acted like an observer, who takes a comet for a planet shaken out of
its course. Since he loved the Jewess with a holier flame than ever the
Russian kindled, he perceived which was the true love. This is not an
earthly fire, but a divine spirit; not a chance shock, but the union of
two souls in unbroken harmony.
It is possible that Von Sendlingen in transmitting to Clemenceau the
notice by the butler's wife, that the Viscount Gratian was to aid her in
flight, but which as plainly revealed the wife's flight, had expected
the angered husband to execute justice on the betrayer. Human laws could
have absolved him if he had slain the couple at sight, but Clemenceau,
after the example of his father, had resolved not to transgress the
divine mandate again, even in this cause. He would have separated the
congenial spirits of cunning and deceit, but not by striking a blow, and
the rebuke to Césarine would have been so scathing she would never have
had the impudence to see him again. Not by murder did he mean to
liberate himself.
On seeing that heaven had taken the parting of the gallant and the
wanton into its hand, he had simply forbore to intervene. On the one
hand, he let Gratian's mysterious and stealthy assassins stifle him and
the other, Césarine, run to the railroad station unhailed. The one
deserved death as the other deserved oblivion.
This woman was of the world and would be a clod when no longer
living--her essence would remain to inspirit some other evil woman--the
same malignity in a beautiful shape which appeared in Lais, Messalina,
Lucrezia Borgia, the Medici, Ninon, Lecouvreur, Iza, not links of a
chain, but the same gem, a little differently set.
But Rebecca's was an ethereal spirit eternal. Thinking of her he could
believe himself young and comely again and loving forever in another
sphere. This was the being whom he would eternally adore, whether he or
she were the first to quit the earth.
Here lay the consolation. Césarine, like all evil, was transient;
Rebecca, like all good, everlasting.
"Let her come," said he at last, lifting his head slowly and no longer
troubled. "She need not fear. I shall bear in mind the Oriental proverb
Daniels quoted: 'Do not beat a woman, even with roses!'"
Hardly were the words formed in his mind than his wife appeared as
though by that mind reading, frequent in married couples--she had waited
for this assurance of her personal safety to be mentally formed.
In the short time given her toilet, she had performed wonders. Perhaps,
with a surprising effort of her will, she had snatched some rest, for
her eyes wore the fresh, pellucid gleam after prolonged slumber. Her
cheeks were smooth and by artifice, seemed to wear the virginal down.
Easy and graceful as ever, she affected a slight constraint, which
agreed with a pretence of avoiding his glances.
"You must be astonished to see me!" she exclaimed, for he did not say a
word of greeting.
No man could have looked less astonished, and, with the greatest
evenness of tone, he answered:
"You ought to know that nothing you do astonishes me."
"But I remember--I wrote you a long letter explaining my absence and the
necessity of my sudden departure--the despatch from my poor uncle's
secretary--I ordered it to be given you--it explained my sudden
departure--"
"Hedwig gave me the paper," he said shortly.
"But my letter, saying I had nursed him to convalescence and had fallen
ill myself? You had time to reply but you did not do so."
"I received no letter," he said, like a speaking machine.
"Dear, dear, how could that be!" she muttered, tapping her foot on the
head of the tiger-skin rug.
"Perhaps it arises from your never writing me any," he said, but without
bitterness.
"Oh, I could swear--"
"It is of no consequence either way."
"Since you did not reply, I came to you although it was at a great risk.
I would not tell you that I was leaving a sickroom for fear it would
fill you with too great pain or too great hope."
"How witty you are!"
"Would you not be happy if I died?"
"If you were in a dying state, somebody might have written for
you--Madame Lesperon or your uncle," speaking as if the persons were
fabulous creatures.
"Oh, my granduncle is well known at the Russian Embassy, and Madame and
M. Lesperon remember your lamented father distinctly."
He bit his lip as if he detested hearing his father spoken of by her.
"Madame wanted to write to you--she expected you to come for me, like
any other husband, but I knew you were not like other husbands, and
would not come."
She was sincere; women always speak out when boldness is an excuse.
"You mistake," he interrupted, "I would have come, under the belief that
on your death bed, you would have confession to make or desires to
express which a husband alone should hear."
"What do you suppose?" cried Césarine, trying to forget that the speaker
must have seen the death of her lover--whether he connived at it or
not--and her flight, whether he facilitated it or not.
"I do not suppose anything, but I remember and I forsee."
"Do you mean to say that you do not feel ill-will because I have come
back?"
"Madame Clemenceau, this house is ours--as much yours as mine. That is
why I asked you to come down here, for it is necessary to sell it."
"Why am I charged with the business?"
"Because you have an interest in it. Half of all I own is yours."
"But you long ago repaid my share, and generously!"
"Not in the eyes of the law, and it pleases me that you should do this."
"But I do not need anything. My uncle was pleased at my nursing him back
to health; his children have been unkind to him, and he has transferred
to me some property in France, a handsome income! Grant to me a great
pleasure--of which I am not worthy," she went on tearfully, "but you
will have the more merit, then! Let me lend you any sum of which you
have need."
"I thank you, but I have already refused a thousand times the amount
from an unsullied hand!" returned Clemenceau, emphatically.
"That Jewess'!" she exclaimed, with a great change in her bearing.
"Hush! strangers present!" and in uttering this talismanic cue between
married people, he pointed to the shadow on the curtains.
Rebecca had concluded her pilotage of M. Cantagnac and it was he whom
Clemenceau soon after presented to his wife.
"Let me add, M. Cantagnac, that you must be my guest as long as you stay
at Montmorency, for the hotels are conducted solely for the
excursionists who come out of Paris and their accommodations would not
please you. You are expected to sit down to dinner with us at one
o'clock, country fashion and I will order a bedroom ready also."
"Gracious heavens! you are really too good!" exclaimed Cantagnac,
lifting his hands almost devoutly.