THE GALLEY-SLAVE OF PLEASURE
One morning in the month of May, 1879, a young man, elegantly attired,
alighted from a well-appointed carriage before the door of Madame
Desvarennes's house. The young man passed quickly before the porter in
uniform, decorated with a military medal, stationed near the door. The
visitor found himself in an anteroom which communicated with several
corridors. A messenger was seated in the depth of a large armchair,
reading the newspaper, and not even lending an inattentive ear to the
whispered conversation of a dozen canvassers, who were patiently awaiting
their turn for gaining a hearing. On seeing the young man enter by the
private door, the messenger rose, dropped his newspaper on the armchair,
hastily raised his velvet skullcap, tried to smile, and made two steps
forward.
"Good-morning, old Felix," said the young man, in a friendly tone to the
messenger. "Is my aunt within?"
"Yes, Monsieur Savinien, Madame Desvarennes is in her office; but she has
been engaged for more than an hour with the Financial Secretary of the
War Department."
In uttering these words old Felix put on a mysterious and important air,
which denoted how serious the discussions going on in the adjoining room
seemed to his mind.
"You see," continued he, showing Madame Desvarennes's nephew the anteroom
full of people, "madame has kept all these waiting since this morning,
and perhaps she won't see them."
"I must see her though," murmured the young man.
He reflected a moment, then added:
"Is Monsieur Marechal in?"
"Yes, sir, certainly. If you will allow me I will announce you."
"It is unnecessary."
And, stepping forward, he entered the office adjoining that of Madame
Desvarennes.
Seated at a large table of black wood, covered with bundles of papers and
notes, a young man was working. He was thirty years of age, but appeared
much older. His prematurely bald forehead, and wrinkled brow, betokened
a life of severe struggles and privations, or a life of excesses and
pleasures. Still those clear and pure eyes were not those of a
libertine, and the straight nose solidly joined to the face was that of a
searcher. Whatever the cause, the man was old before his time.
On hearing the door of his office open, he raised his eyes, put down his
pen, and was making a movement toward his visitor, when the latter
interrupted him quickly with these words:
"Don't stir, Marechal, or I shall be off! I only came in until Aunt
Desvarennes is at liberty; but if I disturb you I will go and take a
turn, smoke a cigar, and come back in three quarters of an hour."
"You do not disturb me, Monsieur Savinien; at least not often enough,
for be it said, without reproaching you, it is more than three months
since we have seen anything of you. There, the post is finished.
I was writing the last addresses."
And taking a heavy bundle of papers off the desk, Marechal showed them to
Savinien.
"Gracious! It seems that business is going on well here."
"Better and better."
"You are making mountains of flour."
"Yes; high as Mont Blanc; and then, we now have a fleet."
"What! a fleet?" cried Savinien, whose face expressed doubt and
surprise at the same time.
"Yes, a steam fleet. Last year Madame Desvarennes was not satisfied with
the state in which her corn came from the East. The corn was damaged
owing to defective stowage; the firm claimed compensation from the
steamship company. The claim was only moderately satisfied, Madame
Desvarennes got vexed, and now we import our own. We have branches at
Smyrna and Odessa."
"It is fabulous! If it goes on, my aunt will have an administration as
important as that of a European state. Oh! you are happy here, you
people; you are busy. I amuse myself! And if you knew how it wearies
me! I am withering, consuming myself, I am longing for business."
And saying these words, young Monsieur Desvarennes allowed a sorrowful
moan to escape him.
"It seems to me," said Marechal, "that it only depends upon yourself to
do as much and more business than any one?"
"You know well enough that it is not so," sighed Savinien; "my aunt is
opposed to it."
"What a mistake!" cried Marechal, quickly. "I have heard Madame
Desvarennes say more than twenty times how she regretted your being
unemployed. Come into the firm, you will have a good berth in the
counting-house."
"In the counting-house!" cried Savinien, bitterly; "there's the sore
point. Now look here; my friend, do you think that an organization like
mine is made to bend to the trivialities of a copying clerk's work? To
follow the humdrum of every-day routine? To blacken paper? To become a
servant?--me! with what I have in my brain?"
And, rising abruptly, Savinien began to walk hurriedly up and down the
room, disdainfully shaking his little head with its low forehead on which
were plastered a few fair curls (made with curling-irons), with the
indignant air of an Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.
"Oh, I know very well what is at the bottom of the business--my aunt is
jealous of me because I am a man of ideas. She wishes to be the only one
of the family who possesses any. She thinks of binding me down to a
besotting work," continued he, "but I won't have it. I know what I want!
It is independence of thought, bent on the solution of great problems--
that is, a wide field to apply my discoveries. But a fixed rule, common
law, I could not submit to it."
"It is like the examinations," observed Marechal, looking slyly at young
Desvarennes, who was drawing himself up to his full height; "examinations
never suited you."
"Never," said Savinien, energetically. "They wished to get me into the
Polytechnic School; impossible! Then the Central School; no better.
I astonished the examiners by the novelty of my ideas. They refused me."
"Well, you know," retorted Marechal, "if you began by overthrowing their
theories--"
"That's it!" cried Savinien, triumphantly. "My mind is stronger than I;
I must let my imagination have free run, and no one will ever know what
that particular turn of mind has cost me. Even my family do not think me
serious. Aunt Desvarennes has forbidden any kind of enterprise, under
pretence that I bear her name, and that I might compromise it because I
have twice failed. My aunt paid, it is true. Do you think it is
generous of her to take advantage of my situation, and prohibit my trying
to succeed? Are inventors judged by three or four failures? If my aunt
had allowed me I should have astonished the world."
"She feared, above all," said Marechal, simply, "to see you astonishing
the Tribunal of Commerce."
"Oh! you, too," moaned Savinien, "are in league with my enemies; you
make no account of me."
And young Desvarennes sank as if crushed into an armchair and began to
lament. He was very unhappy at being misunderstood. His aunt allowed
him three thousand francs a month on condition that he would not make use
of his ten fingers. Was it moral? Then he with such exuberant vigor had
to waste it on pleasure and seeing life to the utmost. He passed his
time in theatres, at clubs, restaurants, in boudoirs. He lost his time,
his money, his hair, his illusions. He bemoaned his lot, but continued,
only to have something to do. With grim sarcasm he called himself the
galley-slave of pleasure. And notwithstanding all these consuming
excesses, he asserted that he could not render his imagination barren.
Amid the greatest follies at suppers, during the clinking of glasses; in
the excitement of the dance-inspirations came to him in flashes, he made
prodigious discoveries.
And as Marechal ventured a timid "Oh!" tinged with incredulity, Savinien
flew into a passion. Yes; he had invented something astonishing; he saw
fortune within reach, and he thought the bargain made with his aunt very
unjust. Therefore he had come to break it, and to regain his liberty.
Marechal looked at the young man while he was explaining with animation
his ambitious projects. He scrutinized that flat forehead within which
the dandy asserted so many good ideas were hidden. He measured that slim
form bent by wild living, and asked himself how that degenerate being
could struggle against the difficulties of business. A smile played on
his lips. He knew Savinien too well not to be aware that he was a prey
to one of those attacks of melancholy which seized on him when his funds
were low.
On these occasions, which occurred frequently, the young man had longings
for business, which Madame Desvarennes stopped by asking: "How much?"
Savinien allowed himself to be with difficulty induced to consent to
renounce the certain profits promised, as he said, by his projected
enterprise. At last he would capitulate, and with his pocket well lined,
nimble and joyful, he returned to his boudoirs, race-courses, fashionable
restaurants, and became more than ever the galley-slave of pleasure.
"And Pierre?" asked young Desvarennes, suddenly and quickly changing the
subject. "Have you any news of him?"
Marechal became serious. A cloud seemed to have come across his brow; he
gravely answered Savinien's question.
Pierre was still in the East. He was travelling toward Tunis, the coast
of which he was exploring. It was a question of the formation of an
island sea by taking the water through the desert. It would be a
colossal undertaking, the results of which would be considerable as
regarded Algeria. The climate would be completely changed, and the value
of the colony would be increased tenfold, because it would become the
most fertile country in the world. Pierre had been occupied in this
undertaking for more than a year with unequalled ardor; he was far from
his home, his betrothed, seeing only the goal to be attained; turning a
deaf ear to all that would distract his attention from the great work, to
the success of which he hoped to contribute gloriously.
"And don't people say," resumed Savinien with an evil smile, "that during
his absence a dashing young fellow is busy luring his betrothed away from
him?"
At these words Marechal made a quick movement.
"It is false," he interrupted; "and I do not understand how you, Monsieur
Desvarennes, should be the bearer of such a tale. To admit that
Mademoiselle Micheline could break her word or her engagements is to
slander her, and if any one other than you--"
"There, there, my dear friend," said Savinien, laughing, "don't get into
a rage. What I say to you I would not repeat to the first comer;
besides, I am only the echo of a rumor that has been going the round
during the last three weeks. They even give the name of him who has been
chosen for the honor and pleasure of such a brilliant conquest. I mean
Prince Serge Panine."
"As you have mentioned Prince Panine," replied Marechal, "allow me to
tell you that he has not put his foot inside Madame Desvarennes's door
for three weeks. This is not the way of a man about to marry the
daughter of the house."
"My dear fellow, I only repeat what I have heard. As for me, I don't
know any more. I have kept out of the way for more than three months.
And besides, it matters little to me whether Micheline be a commoner or a
princess, the wife of Delarue or of Panine. I shall be none the richer
or the poorer, shall I? Therefore I need not care. The dear child will
certainly have millions enough to marry easily. And her adopted sister,
the stately Mademoiselle Jeanne, what has become of her?"
"Ah! as to Mademoiselle de Cernay, that is another affair," cried
Marechal.
And as if wishing to divert the conversation in an opposite direction to
which Savinien had led it a moment before, he spoke readily of Madame
Desvarennes's adopted daughter. She had made a lively impression on one
of the intimate friends of the house--the banker Cayrol, who had offered
his name and his fortune to the fair Jeanne.
This was a cause of deep amazement to Savinien. What! Cayrol! The
shrewd close--fisted Auvergnat! A girl without a fortune! Cayrol Silex
as he was called in the commercial world on account of his hardness.
This living money-bag had a heart then! It was necessary to believe it
since both money-bag and heart had been placed at Mademoiselle de
Cernay's feet. This strange girl was certainly destined to millions.
She had just missed being Madame Desvarennes's heiress, and now Cayrol
had taken it into his head to marry her.
But that was not all. And when Marechal told Savinien that the fair
Jeanne flatly refused to become the wife of Cayrol, there was an outburst
of joyful exclamations. She refused! By Jove, she was mad! An
unlooked-for marriage--for she had not a penny, and had most extravagant
notions. She had been brought up as if she were to live always in velvet
and silks--to loll in carriages and think only of her pleasure. What
reason did she give for refusing him! None. Haughtily and disdainfully
she had declared that she did not love "that man," and that she would not
marry him.
When Savinien heard these details his rapture increased. One thing
especially charmed him: Jeanne's saying "that man," when speaking of
Cayrol. A little girl who was called "De Cernay" just as he might call
himself "Des Batignolles" if he pleased: the natural and unacknowledged
daughter of a Count and of a shady public singer! And she refused
Cayrol, calling him "that man." It was really funny. And what did
worthy Cayrol say about it?
When Marechal declared that the banker had not been damped by this
discouraging reception, Savinien said it was human nature. The fair
Jeanne scorned Cayrol and Cayrol adored her. He had often seen those
things happen. He knew the baggages so well! Nobody knew more of women
than he did. He had known some more difficult to manage than proud
Mademoiselle Jeanne.
An old leaven of hatred had festered in Savinien's heart against Jeanne
since the time when the younger branch of the Desvarennes had reason to
fear that the superb heritage was going to the adopted daughter.
Savinien had lost the fear, but had kept up the animosity. And
everything that could happen to Jeanne of a vexing or painful nature
would be witnessed by him with pleasure.
He was about to encourage Marechal to continue his revelations, and had
risen and was leaning on the desk. With his face excited and eager, he
was preparing his question, when, through the door which led to Madame
Desvarennes's office, a confused murmur of voices was heard. At the same
time the door was half opened, held by a woman's hand, square, with short
fingers, a firm-willed and energetic hand. At the same time, the last
words exchanged between Madame Desvarennes and the Financial Secretary of
the War Office were distinctly audible. Madame Desvarennes was speaking,
and her voice sounded clear and plain; a little raised and vibrating.
There seemed a shade of anger in its tone.
"My dear sir, you will tell the Minister that does not suit me. It is
not the custom of the house. For thirty-five years I have conducted
business thus, and I have always found it answer. I wish you good-
morning."
The door of the office facing that which Madame Desvarennes held closed,
and a light step glided along the corridor. It was the Financial
Secretary's. The mistress appeared.
Marechal rose hastily. As to Savinien, all his resolution seemed to have
vanished at the sound of his aunt's voice, for he had rapidly gained a
corner of the room, and seated himself on a leather-covered sofa, hidden
behind an armchair, where he remained perfectly quiet.
"Do you understand that, Marechal?" said dame Desvarennes; "they want to
place a resident agent at the mill on pretext of checking things. They
say that all military contractors are obliged to submit to it. My word,
do they take us for thieves, the rascals? It is the first time that
people have seemed to doubt me. And it has enraged me. I have been
arguing for a whole hour with the man they sent me. I said to him, 'My
dear sir, you may either take it or leave it. Let us start from this
point: I can do without you and you cannot do without me. If you don't
buy my flour, somebody else will. I am not at all troubled about it.
But as to having any one here who would be as much master as myself, or
perhaps more, never! I am too old to change my customs.' Thereupon the
Financial Secretary left. There! And, besides, they change their
Ministry every fortnight. One would never know with whom one had to
deal. Thank you, no."
While talking thus with Marechal, Madame Desvarennes was walking about
the office. She was still the same woman with the broad prominent
forehead. Her hair, which she wore in smooth plaits, had become gray,
but the sparkle of her dark eyes only seemed the brighter from this. She
had preserved her splendid teeth, and her smile had remained young and
charming. She spoke with animation, as usual, and with the gestures of a
man. She placed herself before her secretary, seeming to appeal to him
as a witness of her being in the right. During the hour with the
official personage she had been obliged to contain herself. She
unburdened herself to Marechal, saying just what she thought.
But all at once she perceived Savinien, who was waiting to show himself
now that she had finished. The mistress turned sharply to the young man,
and frowned slightly:
"Hallo! you are there, eh? How is it that you could leave your fair
friends?"
"But, aunt, I came to pay you my respects."
"No nonsense now; I've no time," interrupted the mistress. "What do you
want?"
Savinien, disconcerted by this rude reception, blinked his eyes, as if
seeking some form to give his request; then, making up his mind, he said:
"I came to see you on business."
"You on business?" replied Madame Desvarennes, with a shade of
astonishment and irony.
"Yes, aunt, on business," declared Savinien, looking down as if he
expected a rebuff.
"Oh, oh, oh!" said Madame Desvarennes, "you know our agreement; I give
you an allowance--"
"I renounce my income," interrupted Savinien, quickly, "I wish to take
back my independence. The transfer I made has already cost me too dear.
It's a fool's bargain. The enterprise which I am going to launch is
superb, and must realize immense profits. I shall certainly not abandon
it."
While speaking, Savinien had become animated and had regained his self-
possession. He believed in his scheme, and was ready to pledge his
future. He argued that his aunt could not blame him for giving proof of
his energy and daring, and he discoursed in bombastic style.
"That's enough!" cried Madame Desvarennes, interrupting her nephew's
oration. "I am very fond of mills, but not word-mills. You are talking
too much about it to be sincere. So many words can only serve to
disguise the nullity of your projects. You want to embark in
speculation? With what money?"
"I contribute the scheme and some capitalists will advance the money to
start with; we shall then issue shares!"
"Never in this life! I oppose it. You! With a responsibility. You!
Directing an undertaking. You would only commit absurdities. In fact,
you want to sell an idea, eh? Well, I will buy it."
"It is not only the money I want," said Savinien, with an indignant air,
"it is confidence in my ideas, it is enthusiasm on the part of my
shareholders, it is success. You don't believe in my ideas, aunt!"
"What does it matter to you, if I buy them from you? It seems to me a
pretty good proof of confidence. Is that settled?"
"Ah, aunt, you are implacable!" groaned Savinien. "When you have laid
your hand upon any one, it is all over. Adieu, independence; one must
obey you. Nevertheless, it was a vast and beautiful conception."
"Very well. Marechal, see that my nephew has ten thousand francs. And
you, Savinien, remember that I see no more of you."
"Until the money is spent!" murmured Marechal, in the ear of Madame
Desvarennes's nephew.
And taking him by the arm he was leading him toward the safe when the
mistress turned to Savinien and said:
"By the way, what is your invention?"
"Aunt, it is a threshing machine," answered the young man, gravely.
"Rather a machine for coining money," said the incorrigible Marechal, in
an undertone.
"Well; bring me your plans," resumed Madame Desvarennes, after having
reflected a moment. "Perchance you may have hit upon something."
The mistress had been generous, and now the woman of business reasserted
herself and she thought of reaping the benefit.
Savinien seemed very confused at this demand, and as his aunt gave him an
interrogative look, he confessed:
"There are no drawings made as yet."
"No drawings as yet?" cried the mistress. "Where then is your
invention?"
"It is here," replied Savinien, and with an inspired gesture he struck
his narrow forehead.
Madame Desvarennes and Marechal could not resist breaking out into a
laugh.
"And you were already talking of issuing shares?" said the mistress.
"Do you think people would have paid their money with your brain as sole
guarantee? You! Get along; I am the only one to make bargains like
that, and you are the only one with whom I make them. Go, Marechal, give
him his money; I won't gainsay it. But you are a trickster, as usual!"