Painful Separation—Arrival at Bellevue—Powers given to
Cooper—His Swindling—The Ills he made me suffer—Fresh Attempts
of Alquier-Caze—Distraint on my Effects—My Move to the Hôtel
Britannique—Letters from my Husband and my Son—My Grief and my
Resolves.
Immediately after Cooper’s departure I began to prepare. The owner of
Coligny was inexorable; I had to pay him the whole year’s rent.
But this loss was very small compared with another much greater one. It
would be vain to try to describe how my maternal heart was torn, when I
thought I was forsaking my dear son. How difficult it was, what restraint
I had to use, what efforts to make, not to break down when the dear boy
asked me with sorrowful and almost prophetic voice: “Maman, Maman, what
are you going to do?”
And all I could say in answer was: “My darling, I am going to work for
the good of you and your dear brothers.”
Before the fatal day he spent two with me, and his loving caresses were
sweet but incurable wounds to my soul.
No—I will not attempt to describe that cruel parting; I will not speak
of it. I will only say that, absorbed in my own thoughts, despite the
numerous requests to do so, I could not bear once to look at the sublime
and delightful beauties of nature, which had always had so great a charm
for me.
After a journey of four days we passed through Paris, and arrived at
Bellevue near Meudon.
One of the chief reasons that had induced me to go to the scene of
action was the inclination my husband and his confidant had shown to try
the plan of compromise with my adversary; and I was quite resolved to
make an eternal protest against that kind of baseness. But once on the
spot, I thought there was nothing to fear. Deeds, papers, documents, got
together with difficulty by my constant care—all were handed over without
misgiving, and the full powers demanded by Cooper at once given him.
But that was not enough; he must seize my whole fortune. My income was
now reduced to £1,700 sterling a year; he had already taken £1000 for
the rent of the house; but he could not be satisfied till he got hold of
the £700 I still had to dispose of.
To this end, he got together some infamous assistants, with whom he
worked upon the Baron’s mind with shameless cunning, and they came all
together to propose my giving the rogue fresh powers to raise my funds in
England, under pretext of the enormous expenses my case would entail.
No more powerful motive could have been offered me; after a few short
explanations, I signed a paper, which I had not even been asked to read.
So now Cooper was absolute master of my property; there was nothing more
for him to ask for: he had got it all.
And now the important trial for which I had already made such great
sacrifices would surely make mighty strides towards the desired event?
By no means; Cooper isn’t even giving it a thought; anyhow there is
nothing to prove that he is. But he is always talking to me in a hopeful
strain, so important is it to him to keep his post as director of a
sham piece of work which, without care or trouble, ought to bring him in
45,000 francs a year!
But the agreement as to rent and stewardship was very ill carried
out; for several weeks carriage, horses, servants could not be found;
our rooms lacked the most necessary pieces of furniture, and my table
displayed such parsimony that I should infallibly have died of hunger if
I had not taken care to get in from outside something to live upon.
I might have borne with this economical diet patiently if I could have
got any satisfaction about the great business; but nothing was got
ready, nothing begun. At last I saw that I was the victim of the basest
imposture; and when I reflected on all the deeds my weakness had allowed
to be extorted from me, I realized all the horror of my position.
Forthwith I burst into bitter complaints. Cooper, in a rage, threw away
his mask, and might have said—
_“C’est à vous de sortir, vous qui parlez en maître;_
_La maison m’appartient.…”_
And truly, my own agreement in his hand, he ruled like a despot over the
house he had let to me for 25,000 francs; and to make me feel the full
weight of his authority, he redoubled his economies, kept under lock and
key even the garden seeds which I was no longer allowed to gather for my
birds; spoke haughtily to me; poured out abuse on me, and, in a sort of
way, kept me under close surveillance.
He had then his mother and sister with him, two veritable furies who
joined in all his excesses; and as on every occasion they gave way to
their fiery passions, several conflicts took place.
No—I can never understand how my husband could restrain himself under
such circumstances!
While I was being thus tormented by my new swindler, Alquier-Caze did not
lose sight of me, and still speculating brilliantly on my easy credulity,
he endeavoured to approach me once more through this very specious
preamble.
“Milady, no doubt you will be astonished at receiving a letter
from me; this is what has induced me to write to you.
“This morning a person I do not know, and who would not tell
me his name, came to see me. He told me where you are living,
and talked a great deal about your case. I cannot and will
not trust to paper the communications he made me. They are of
importance to you and your position.
“Although I cannot feel much flattered that, being in this
country, you have not come to see one who took so much trouble
for you, I can never cease to participate in your troubles, and
I believe it will be in your interest to tell you what I have
learnt.
“I am free only on Sunday. If you think it well for me to come
and see you, answer at once, and the day after to-morrow I will
be with you.
“Please be prudent and tell no one of my letter, etc.”
Curiosity to see him rather than any hope of hearing anything useful
decided me to allow him to come. He came, and his constrained manner and
ambiguous language soon betraying to me his deceitful plot, I treated him
with icy coldness, and made him clearly see that for the future I would
have nothing more to do with him. I heard afterwards that his numerous
misdeeds had forced him to leave France.
In the meantime I had written to England with orders that the last power
of attorney I had so rashly given to the cheat Cooper should not be
honoured.
On the first hint of this being learned by my odious agent, he flew into
a frightful rage; loaded me with insults, threatened me with his wrath,
and put in a distraint on all my effects, to which I responded by a
revocation of all the powers I had given him.
We could no longer live with such a scoundrel; so we left Meudon on
September 1, 1828, and established ourselves in the Hôtel Britannique.
I need hardly say that on the day we left we had to submit to the
grossest of insults in the shape of a ridiculous and minute examination
to make sure, as they said, _that we had committed no theft_.
As I pretty often reproached the Baron for having caused me so many
discomforts, I thought I saw that my words had a great effect on him,
and his mind seemed much upset. On the fourth day after our change of
residence, I saw him go out with a paper in his hand, and asking him
when he would be back, he said: “In an hour’s time.”
While waiting, I went for a walk with my son’s former tutor, and on
getting back, my first question to the portress was whether my husband
had come in.
As she answered in the negative, I ordered dinner to be put off; but
the Baron did not return. I began to feel great anxiety, fearing that
something had happened to him; but at eight o’clock in the evening I
received a packet containing a power of attorney for Ragazzini and a
letter for me in these words—
“MY DEAR WIFE,
“I am distressed at having to leave you just now; but business
I can’t put off longer calls me to Russia. I beg your pardon
for not having told you sooner; but I acted in this way so
as to avoid the harrowing scenes that would have followed.
My agitation is so great that I can say nothing to you but
that my conscience does not accuse me of all the wrongs you
impute to me. I have told M. Ragazzini to act for you against
Driver-Cooper. Some day, I hope, we shall meet again under a
more lucky star than the present one. I participate in all your
troubles, but I cannot help you. Adieu; _tout à vous_.
“B. DE STERNBERG.”
It will well be believed that I cannot describe the grief I felt at
finding myself forsaken by him who had so disastrously involved me in so
grievous a strife. But his pitiless hand was to strike me a still harder
blow.