The Marquis de Rochebriant is no longer domiciled in an attic in the
gloomy Faubourg. See him now in a charming _appartement de garcon an
premier_ in the Rue du Helder, close by the promenades and haunts of the
mode. It had been furnished and inhabited by a brilliant young
provincial from Bordeaux, who, coming into an inheritance of one hundred
thousand francs, had rushed up to Paris to enjoy himself, and make his
million at the Bourse. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly,--he had been a
darling of the _demi monde_; he had been a successful and an inconstant
gallant. Zelie had listened to his vows of eternal love, and his offers
of unlimited _cachemires_; Desiree, succeeding Zelie, had assigned to him
her whole heart--or all that was left of it--in gratitude for the ardour
of his passion, and the diamonds and coupe which accompanied and attested
the ardour; the superb Hortense, supplanting Desiree, received his visits
in the charming apartment he furnished for her, and entertained him and
his friends at the most delicate little suppers, for the moderate sum of
four thousand francs a month. Yes, he had enjoyed himself thoroughly,
but he had not made a million at the Bourse. Before the year was out,
the one hundred thousand francs were gone. Compelled to return to his
province, and by his hard-hearted relations ordained, on penalty of
starvation, to marry the daughter of an _avoue_, for the sake of her dot
and a share in the hated drudgery of the _avoue's_ business,--his
apartment was to be had for a tenth part of the original cost of its
furniture. A certain Chevalier de Finisterre, to whom Louvier had
introduced the Marquis as a useful fellow who knew Paris, and would save
him from being cheated, had secured this bijou of an apartment for Alain,
and concluded the bargain for the bagatelle of L500. The Chevalier took
the same advantageous occasion to purchase the English well-bred hack and
the neat coupe and horses which the Bordelais was also necessitated to
dispose of. These purchases made, the Marquis had some five thousand
francs (L200) left out of Louvier's premium of L1,000. The Marquis,
however, did not seem alarmed or dejected by the sudden diminution of
capital so expeditiously effected. The easy life thus commenced seemed
to him too natural to be fraught with danger; and easy though it was, it
was a very simple and modest sort of life compared with that of many
other men of his age to whom Enguerrand had introduced him, though most
of them had an income less than his, and few, indeed, of them were his
equals in dignity of birth. Could a Marquis de Rochebriant, if he lived
at Paris at all, give less than three thousand francs a year for his
apartment, or mount a more humble establishment than that confined to a
valet and a tiger, two horses for his _coupe_ and one for the saddle?
"Impossible," said the Chevalier de Finisterre, decidedly; and the
Marquis bowed to so high an authority. He thought within himself, "If I
find in a few months that I am exceeding my means, I can but dispose of
my rooms and my horses, and return to Rochebriant a richer man by far
than I left it."
To say truth, the brilliant seductions of Paris had already produced
their effect, not only on the habits, but on the character and cast of
thought, which the young noble had brought with him from the feudal and
melancholy Bretagne.
Warmed by the kindness with which, once introduced by his popular
kinsmen, he was everywhere received, the reserve or shyness which is the
compromise between the haughtiness of self-esteem and the painful doubt
of appreciation by others rapidly melted away. He caught insensibly the
polished tone, at once so light and so cordial, of his new-made friends.
With all the efforts of the democrats to establish equality and
fraternity, it is among the aristocrats that equality and fraternity are
most to be found. All _gentilshommes_ in the best society are equals;
and whether they embrace or fight each other, they embrace or fight as
brothers of the same family. But with the tone of manners Alain de
Rochebriant imbibed still more insensibly the lore of that philosophy
which young idlers in pursuit of pleasure teach to each other. Probably
in all civilized and luxurious capitals that philosophy is very much the
same among the same class of idlers at the same age; probably it
flourishes in Pekin not less than at Paris. If Paris has the credit, or
discredit, of it more than any other capital, it is because in Paris more
than in any other capital it charms the eye by grace and amuses the ear
by wit. A philosophy which takes the things of this life very easily;
which has a smile and a shrug of the shoulders for any pretender to the
Heroic; which subdivides the wealth of passion into the pocket-money of
caprices, is always in or out of love ankle-deep, never venturing a
plunge; which, light of heart as of tongue, turns "the solemn
plausibilities" of earth into subjects for epigrams and bons mots,--
jests at loyalty to kings and turns up its nose at enthusiasm for
commonwealths, abjures all grave studies and shuns all profound emotions.
We have crowds of such philosophers in London; but there they are less
noticed, because the agreeable attributes of the sect are there dimmed
and obfuscated. It is not a philosophy that flowers richly in the reek
of fogs and in the teeth of east winds; it wants for full development the
light atmosphere of Paris. Now this philosophy began rapidly to exercise
its charms upon Alain de Rochebriant. Even in the society of professed
Legitimists, he felt that faith had deserted the Legitimist creed or
taken refuge only as a companion of religion in the hearts of high-born
women and a small minority of priests. His chivalrous loyalty still
struggled to keep its ground, but its roots were very much loosened. He
saw--for his natural intellect was keen--that the cause of the Bourbon
was hopeless, at least for the present, because it had ceased, at least
for the present, to be a cause. His political creed thus shaken, with it
was shaken also that adherence to the past which had stifled his ambition
of a future. That ambition began to breathe and to stir, though he owned
it not to others, though, as yet, he scarce distinguished its whispers,
much less directed its movements towards any definite object. Meanwhile,
all that he knew of his ambition was the new-born desire for social
success.
We see him, then, under the quick operation of this change in sentiments
and habits, reclined on the _fauteuil_ before his fireside, and listening
to his college friend, of whom we have so long lost sight, Frederic
Lemercier. Frederic had breakfasted with Alain,--a breakfast such as
might have contented the author of the "Almanach des Gourmands," and
provided from the cafe Anglais. Frederic has just thrown aside his
regalia.
"Pardieu! my dear Alain. If Louvier has no sinister object in the
generosity of his dealings with you, he will have raised himself
prodigiously in my estimation. I shall forsake, in his favour, my
allegiance to Duplessis, though that clever fellow has just made a
wondrous coup in the Egyptians, and I gain forty thousand francs by
having followed his advice. But if Duplessis has a head as long as
Louvier's, he certainly has not an equal greatness of soul. Still, my
dear friend, will you pardon me if I speak frankly, and in the way of a
warning homily?"
"Speak; you cannot oblige me more."
"Well, then, I know that you can no more live at Paris in the way you are
doing, or mean to do, without some fresh addition to your income, than a
lion could live in the Jardin des Plantes upon an allowance of two mice a
week."
"I don't see that. Deducting what I pay to my aunt,--and I cannot get
her to take more than six thousand francs a year,--I have seven hundred
napoleons left, net and clear. My rooms and stables are equipped, and I
have twenty-five hundred francs in hand. On seven hundred napoleons a
year, I calculate that I can very easily live as I do; and if I fail--
well, I must return to Pochebriant. Seven hundred napoleons a year will
be a magnificent rental there."
Frederic shook his head. "You do not know how one expense leads to
another. Above all, you do not calculate the chief part of one's
expenditure,--the unforeseen. You will play at the Jockey Club, and lose
half your income in a night."
"I shall never touch a card."
"So you say now, innocent as a lamb of the force of example. At all
events, _beau seigneur_, I presume you are not going to resuscitate the
part of the Ermite de la Chaussee d'Antin; and the fair Parisiennes are
demons of extravagance."
"Demons whom I shall not court."
"Did I say you would? They will court you. Before another month has
flown you will be inundated with billets-doux."
"It is not a shower that will devastate my humble harvest. But, mon
cher, we are falling upon very gloomy topics. _Laissez-moi tranquille_
in my illusions, if illusions they be. Ah, you cannot conceive what a
new life opens to the man who, like myself, has passed the dawn of his
youth in privation and fear, when he suddenly acquires competence and
hope. If it lasts only a year, it will be something to say 'Vixi.'"
"Alain," said Frederic; very earnestly, "believe me, I should not have
assumed the ungracious and inappropriate task of Mentor, if it were only
a year's experience at stake, or if you were in the position of men like
myself,--free from the encumbrance of a great name and heavily mortgaged
lands. Should you fail to pay regularly the interest due to Louvier, he
has the power to put up at public auction, and there to buy in for
himself, your chateau and domain."
"I am aware that in strict law he would have such power, though I doubt
if he would use it. Louvier is certainly a much better and more generous
fellow than I could have expected; and if I believe De Finisterre, he has
taken a sincere liking to me on account of affection to my poor father.
But why should not the interest be paid regularly? The revenues from
Rochebriant are not likely to decrease, and the charge on them is
lightened by the contract with Louvier. And I will confide to you a hope
I entertain of a very large addition to my rental."
"How?"
"A chief part of my rental is derived from forests, and De Finisterre has
heard of a capitalist who is disposed to make a contract for their sale
at the fall this year, and may probably extend it to future years, at a
price far exceeding that which I have hitherto obtained."
"Pray be cautious. De Finisterre is not a man I should implicitly trust
in such matters."
"Why? Do you know anything against him? He is in the best society,--
perfect gentilhomme,--and, as his name may tell you, a fellow-Breton.
You yourself allow, and so does Enguerrand, that the purchases he made
for me--in this apartment, my horses, etc.--are singularly advantageous."
"Quite true; the Chevalier is reputed sharp and clever, is said to be
very amusing, and a first-rate piquet-player. I don't know him
personally,--I am not in his set. I have no valid reason to disparage
his character, nor do I conjecture any motive he could have to injure or
mislead you. Still, I say, be cautious how far you trust to his advice
or recommendation."
"Again I ask why?"
"He is unlucky to his friends. He attaches himself much to men younger
than himself; and somehow or other I have observed that most of them have
come to grief. Besides, a person in whose sagacity I have great
confidence warned me against making the Chevalier's acquaintance, and
said to me, in his blunt way, 'De Finisterre came to Paris with nothing;
he has succeeded to nothing; he belongs to no ostensible profession by
which anything can be made. But evidently now he has picked up a good
deal; and in proportion as any young associate of his becomes poorer, De
Finisterre seems mysteriously to become richer. Shun that sort of
acquaintance.'"
"Who is your sagacious adviser!"
"Duplessis."
"Ah, I thought so. That bird of prey fancies every other bird looking
out for pigeons. I fancy that Duplessis is, like all those money-
getters, a seeker after fashion, and De Finisterre has not returned his
bow."
"My dear Alain, I am to blame; nothing is so irritating as a dispute
about the worth of the men we like. I began it, now let it be dropped;
only make me one promise,--that if you should be in arrear, or if need
presses, you will come at once to me. It was very well to be absurdly
proud in an attic, but that pride will be out of place in your
_appartement au premier_."
"You are the best fellow in the world, Frederic, and I make you the
promise you ask," said Alain, cheerfully, but yet with a secret emotion
of tenderness and gratitude. "And now, _mon cher_, what day will you
dine with me to meet Raoul and Enguerrand, and some others whom you would
like to know?"
"Thanks, and hearty ones, but we move now in different spheres, and I
shall not trespass on yours. _Je suis trop bourgeois_ to incur the
ridicule of _le bourgeois gentilhomme_."
"Frederic, how dare you speak thus? My dear fellow, my friends shall
honour you as I do."
"But that will be on your account, not mine. No; honestly that kind of
society neither tempts nor suits me. I am a sort of king in my own walk;
and I prefer my Bohemian royalty to vassalage in higher regions. Say no
more of it. It will flatter my vanity enough if you will now and then
descend to my coteries, and allow me to parade a Rochebriant as my
familiar crony, slap him on the shoulder, and call him Alain."
"Fie! you who stopped me and the English aristocrat in the Champs
Elysees, to humble us with your boast of having fascinated _une grande
dame_,--I think you said a duchesse."
"Oh," said Lemercier, conceitedly, and passing his hand through his
scented locks, "women are different; love levels all ranks. I don't
blame Ruy Blas for accepting the love of a queen, but I do blame him for
passing himself off as a noble,--a plagiarism, by the by, from an English
play. I do not love the English enough to copy them. _A propos_, what
has become of _ce beau_ Grarm Varn? I have not seen him of late."
"Neither have I."
"Nor the belle Italienne?"
"Nor her," said Alain, slightly blushing.
At this moment Enguerrand lounged into the room. Alain stopped Lemercier
to introduce him to his kinsman. "Enguerrand, I present to you M.
Lemercier, my earliest and one of my dearest friends."
The young noble held out his hand with the bright and joyous grace which
accompanied all his movements, and expressed in cordial words his delight
to make M. Lemercier's acquaintance. Bold and assured as Frederic was in
his own circles, he was more discomposed than set at ease by the gracious
accost of a lion, whom he felt at once to be of a breed superior to his
own. He muttered some confused phrases, in which _ravi_ and _flatte_
were alone audible, and evanished.
"I know M. Lemercier by sight very well," said Enguerrand, seating
himself. "One sees him very often in the Bois; and I have met him in the
Coulisses and the _Bal Mabille_. I think, too, that he plays at the
Bourse, and is _lie_ with M. Duplessis, who bids fair to rival Louvier
one of these days. Is Duplessis also one of your dearest friends?"
"No, indeed. I once met him, and was not prepossessed in his favour."
"Nevertheless, he is a man much to be admired and respected."
"Why so?"
"Because he understands so well the art of making what we all covet,--
money. I will introduce you to him."
"I have been already introduced."
"Then I will re-introduce you. He is much courted in a society which I
have recently been permitted by my father to frequent,--the society, of
the Imperial Court."
"You frequent that society, and the Count permits it?"
"Yes; better the Imperialists than the Republicans; and my father begins
to own that truth, though he is too old or too indolent to act on it."
"And Raoul?"
"Oh, Raoul, the melancholy and philosophical Raoul, has no ambition of
any kind, so long as--thanks somewhat to me--his purse is always
replenished for the wants of his stately existence, among the foremost of
which wants are the means to supply the wants of others. That is the
true reason why he consents to our glove-shop. Raoul belongs, with some
other young men of the Faubourg, to a society enrolled under the name of
Saint Francois de Sales, for the relief of the poor. He visits their
houses, and is at home by their sickbeds as at their stinted boards. Nor
does he confine his visitations to the limits of our Faubourg; he extends
his travels to Montmartre and Belleville. As to our upper world, he does
not concern himself much with its changes. He says that we have
destroyed too much ever to rebuild solidly; and that whatever we do build
could be upset any day by a Paris mob, which he declares to be the only
institution we have left. A wonderful fellow is Raoul,--full of mind,
though he does little with it; full of heart, which he devotes to
suffering humanity, and to a poetic, knightly reverence (not to be
confounded with earthly love, and not to be degraded into that sickly
sentiment called Platonic affection) for the Comtesse di Rimini, who is
six years older than himself, and who is very faithfully attached to her
husband, Raoul's intimate friend, whose honour he would guard as his own.
It is an episode in the drama of Parisian life, and one not so uncommon
as the malignant may suppose. Di Rimini knows and approves of his
veneration; my mother, the best of women, sanctions it, and deems truly
that it preserves Raoul safe from all the temptations to which ignobler
youth is exposed. I mention this lest you should imagine there was
anything in Raoul's worship of his star less pure than it is. For the
rest, Raoul, to the grief and amazement of that disciple of Voltaire, my
respected father, is one of the very few men I know in our circles who is
sincerely religious,--an orthodox Catholic,--and the only man I know who
practises the religion he professes; charitable, chaste, benevolent; and
no bigot, no intolerant ascetic. His only weakness is his entire
submission to the worldly common-sense of his good-for-nothing, covetous,
ambitious brother Enguerrand. I cannot say how I love him for that. If
he had not such a weakness, his excellence would gall me, and I believe I
should hate him."
Alain bowed his head at this eulogium. Such had been the character that
a few months ago he would have sought as example and model. He seemed to
gaze upon a flattered portrait of himself as he had been.
"But," said Enguerrand, "I have not come here to indulge in the overflow
of brotherly affection. I come to take you to your relation, the
Duchesse of Tarascon. I have pledged myself to her to bring you, and she
is at home on purpose to receive you."
"In that case I cannot be such a churl as to refuse. And, indeed, I no
longer feel quite the same prejudices against her and the Imperialists as
I brought from Bretagne. Shall I order my carriage?"
"No; mine is at the door. Yours can meet you where you will, later.
_Allons_."