Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 83
“Pardieu! I believe you are right. What an eagle’s eye you have! But, tell me, what is this surprise of yours?”
“I have invited some of our friends to come and breakfast with us!”
“Really! Well, that is capital! Bravo, marquis, — bravissimo! ultra-bravissimo!” exclaimed M. de Lucenay, in a lusty voice, and beating the sofa cushions with his cane with all his might. “And who shall we have, — Saint-Remy? No, I recollect; he has been in the country for some days. What the devil can he be pattering about in the country in the mid-winter for?”
“Are you sure he is not in Paris?”
“Quite sure; for I wrote to him to go out with me, and learned he was absent; and so I fell back upon Lord Douglas, and Sézannes.”
“Nothing can be better; they breakfast with us.”
“Bravo! bravo! bravo!” exclaimed M. de Lucenay again, with lusty lungs; and then, wriggling and twisting himself on the sofa, he accompanied his cries with a series of fishlike bounds and springs, which would have made a boatman envious. The acrobatic exercises of the Duke de Lucenay were interrupted by the arrival of M. de Saint-Remy.
“There was no occasion to ask if Lucenay was here,” said the viscount, gaily; “one could hear him below stairs.”
“What! Is it you, graceful sylvan, country swain, — wolf of the woods?” exclaimed the duke, in his surprise, and sitting up suddenly. “I thought you were in the country!”
“I came back yesterday; and, having this instant received D’Harville’s invitation, I have hastened hither, quite delighted to make one in so pleasant a surprise.” And M. de Saint-Remy extended his hand to M. de Lucenay, and then to the marquis.
“Let me thank you for your speed, my dear Saint-Remy. Is it not natural? The friends of Lucenay ought to rejoice in the fortunate result of this duel, which, after all, might have had very serious results.”
“But,” resumed the duke, doggedly, “what on earth have you been doing in the country in the middle of winter, Saint-Remy? It mystifies me.”
“How inquisitive he is!” said the viscount, addressing M. d’Harville; and then, turning to the duke, “I am anxious to wean myself gradually from Paris, as I am soon to quit it.”
“Ah, yes, the beautiful idea of attaching you to the legation from France to Gerolstein! Pray leave off those silly ideas of diplomacy! You will never go. My wife says so, everybody says the same.”
“I assure you that Madame de Lucenay is mistaken, as well as all the rest of the world.”
“She told you, in my presence, that it was a folly.”
“How many have I committed in my life?”
“Yes, elegant, charming follies, true; — such as people said would ruin you in your Sardanapalian magnificences, — that I admit. But to go and bury yourself alive in such a court, — at Gerolstein! What an idea! Psha! It is a folly, an absurdity; and you have too much good sense to commit absurdities.”
“Take care, my dear Lucenay. When you abuse this German court, you will get up a quarrel with D’Harville, the intimate friend of the grand duke regnant, who, moreover, received me with the best possible grace at the embassy, where I was presented to him.”
“Really, my dear Henry,” said M. d’Harville, “if you knew the grand duke as I know him, you would understand that Saint-Remy could have no repugnance to passing some time at Gerolstein.”
“I believe you, marquis, although they do say that he is very haughty and very peculiar, your grand duke; but that will not hinder a don like Saint-Remy, the finest sifting of the finest flour, from being unable to live anywhere but in Paris. It is in Paris only that he is duly appreciated.”
The other guests of M. d’Harville now arrived, when Joseph entered, and said a few words in a low voice to his master.
“Gentlemen,” said the marquis, “will you allow me? — it is my wife’s jeweller, who has brought some diamonds to select for her, — a surprise. You understand that, Lucenay? We are husbands of the old sort, you and I.”
“Ah, pardieu! If it is a surprise you mean,” shouted the duke, “my wife gave me one yesterday, and a famous one too!”
“Some magnificent present?”
“She asked me for a hundred thousand francs (4,000l.).”
“And you are such a magnifico — you—”
“Lent them to her; they are advanced as mortgage on her Arnouville estate. Right reckonings make good friends, — but that’s by the by. To lend in two hours a hundred thousand francs to a friend who requires that sum is what I call pretty, but rare. Is it not prodigal, you who are a connoisseur in loans?” said the duke, laughingly, to Saint-Remy, little thinking of the cutting purport of his words.
In spite of his effrontery, the viscount blushed slightly, and then replied, with composure:
“A hundred thousand francs? — that is immense! What could a woman ever want with such a sum as a hundred thousand francs? As for us men, that is quite a different matter.”
“Ma foi! I really do not know what she could want with such a sum as that. But that’s not my affair. Some arrears for the toilet, probably? The tradespeople hungry and annoying, — that’s her affair. And, as you know very well, my dear Saint-Remy, that, as it was I who lent my wife the money, it would have been in the worst possible taste in me to have inquired the purpose for which she required it.”
“Yet,” said the viscount, with a laugh, “there is usually a singular curiosity on the part of those who lend money to know what is done with it.”
“Parbleu! Saint-Remy,” said M. d’Harville, “you have such exquisite taste, that you must help me to choose the ornament I intend for my wife. Your approbation will consecrate my choice; your decisions are sovereign in all that concerns the fashion.”
The jeweller entered, bringing with him several caskets of gems in a large leather bag.
“Ah, it is M. Baudoin!” said M. de Lucenay.
“At your grace’s service.”
“I am sure that it is you who ruined my wife with your dazzling and infernal temptations,” said M. de Lucenay.
“Madame la Duchesse has only had her diamonds reset this winter,” said the jeweller, slightly embarrassed; “and now, as I came to M. le Marquis, I left them with her grace.”
M. de Saint-Remy knew that Madame de Lucenay, to aid him, had changed her jewels for false stones. He was disagreeably embarrassed at this rencontre, but said, boldly:
“How curious these husbands are! — don’t answer any inquisitive interrogatories, M. Baudoin.”
“Curious; ma foi! no,” said the duke; “it is my wife who pays. She can afford all her whims, for she is much richer than I am.”
During this conversation, M. Baudoin had displayed on a table several superb necklaces of rubies and diamonds.
“What a fine water, and how exquisitely those stones are cut!” said Lord Douglas.
“Alas, sir!” said the jeweller, “I employed in this work one of the most skilful lapidaries in Paris, named Morel; but, unfortunately, he has become insane, and I shall never find such another workman. My matcher of stones says that, in all probability, it was his wretched condition that deprived the man of his senses, poor fellow!”
“Wretched condition! What! do you trust diamonds to people in distress?”
“Certainly, sir; and there is no instance of a lapidary having ever pilfered anything, however miserable and destitute his condition.”
“How much for this necklace?” inquired M. d’Harville.
“M. le Marquis will observe that the stones are of a splendid water and cut, and nearly all of a size.”
“These oratorical prefaces threaten your purse,” said M. de Saint-Remy, with a laugh. “Now, my dear D’Harville, look out for a high price.”
“Come, M. Baudoin, have a conscience, and ask the price you mean to take!” said M. d’Harville.
“I will not haggle with your lordship. The lowest price is forty-two thousand francs (11,680l.).”
“Gentlemen,” exclaimed M. de Lucenay, “let us who are married admire D’Harville in silence. A man who contrives a surprise for his wife to the amount of forty-two thousand francs! Diable! we must not noise that abroad, or it would be a detestable precedent.”
“Laugh on, gentlemen, as much as you please,” said the marquis, gaily. “I love my wife, and am not ashamed to confess it; on the contrary, I boast of it.”
“It is plain enough to be seen,” said M. de Saint-Remy; “such a present speaks more eloquently than all the protestation in the world.”
“I will take this necklace, then,” said M. d’Harville, “if the setting of black enamel seems to you in good taste, Saint-Remy.”
“Oh, it sets off the brilliancy of the stones; it is exquisitely devised.”
“Then this it shall be,” said M. d’Harville. “You will settle, M. Baudoin, with M. Doublet, my man of business.”
“M. Doublet told me as much, my lord marquis,” said the jeweller, who quitted the apartment, after having packed up his bag without counting the jewels which he had brought (such was his confidence), and notwithstanding M. de Saint-Remy had for a long time and curiously handled and examined them during the interview.
M. d’Harville gave the necklace to Joseph, who was waiting, and said to him, in a low tone:
“Mlle. Juliette must put these diamonds cleverly away with those of her mistress, so that la marquise may not suspect; and then her surprise will be the greater.”
At this moment the maître d’hôtel announced that the breakfast was ready; and the guests, passing into the dining-room, seated themselves.
“Do you know, my dear D’Harville,” said M. de Lucenay, “that this house is one of the most elegant and best arranged in Paris?”
“It is very convenient, certainly, but we want room; I have a plan to add a gallery on the garden. Madame d’Harville wishes to give some grand balls, and our salons are not large enough. Then, I think, nothing is more inconvenient than the encroachments of fêtes on the apartments one usually occupies, and from which, on such occasions, you are necessarily driven.”
“I am quite of D’Harville’s opinion,” said M. de Saint-Remy; “nothing is more wretched, more tradesmanlike, than these movings, compelled by the coming of balls and concerts. To give fêtes, really of the first class, without inconveniencing oneself, there must be devoted to their uses peculiar and special suites of apartments; and then vast and splendid rooms, devoted to a magnificent ball, ought to assume an appearance wholly distinct from that of ordinary salons. There is the same difference between these two sets of apartments as between a monumental fresco-painting and a sketch on a painter’s easel.”
“He is right,” said M. d’Harville. “What a pity, gentlemen, that Saint-Remy has not twelve or fifteen hundred thousand livres a year! What wonders he would create for our admiration!”
“Since we have the happiness to possess a representative government,” said the Duke de Lucenay, “the country ought to vote a million or two a year to Saint-Remy, and authorise him to represent in Paris the French taste and elegance, which should decide the taste and elegance of all Europe, — all the world.”
“Adopted!” cried the guests in chorus.
“And we would raise these annual millions as compulsory taxes on those abominable misers, who, being possessors of colossal fortunes, should be marked down, accused, and convicted of living like gripe-farthings,” added M. de Lucenay.
“And as such,” added M. d’Harville, “condemned to defray those splendours which they ought to display.”
“Not including that these functions of high priest, or, rather, grand master of elegance, which would devolve on Saint-Remy,” continued M. de Lucenay, “would have, by imitation, an enormous influence on the general taste.”
“He would be the type which all would seek to resemble.”
“That is evident.”
“And, in endeavouring to imitate him, taste would become purified.”
“At the time of the Renaissance taste became universally excellent, because it was modelled on that of the aristocracy, which was exquisite.”
“By the serious turn which the question has taken,” said M. d’Harville, gaily, “I see that we have only to address a petition to the Chambers for the establishment of the office of grand master of French elegance.”
“And as the Deputies have credit for possessing very elevated, very artistic, and very magnificent ideas, of course it will be voted by acclamation.”
“Whilst we are waiting the decision which shall establish as a right the supremacy which Saint-Remy exercises in fact,” said M. d’Harville, “I will ask him his opinion as to the gallery which I propose to erect; for I have been struck with his ideas as to the right splendour of fêtes.”
“My faint lights are at your service, D’Harville.”
“And when shall we commence our magnificences, my dear fellow?”
“Next year, I suppose, for I intend to begin my works without delay.”
“How full of projects you are!”
“Ma foi! I have others also; I contemplate an entire alteration of Val-Richer.”
“Your estate in Burgundy?”
“Yes; there is much that may be done there, if, indeed, God grants me life.”
“Poor old fellow!”
“Have you not recently bought a farm near Val-Richer to complete your ring-fence?”
“Yes, a very nice thing, to which I was advised by my notary.”
“And who is this rare and precious notary who advises such admirable purchases?”
“M. Jacques Ferrand.”
At this name a slight shudder came over M. de Saint-Remy, and he frowned imperceptibly.
“Is he really the honest man they call him?” he inquired, carelessly, of M. d’Harville, who then remembered what Rodolph had related to Clémence about the notary.
“Jacques Ferrand? What a question! Why, his honesty is a proverb,” said M. de Lucenay.
“As respected as respectable.”
“And very pious; which does him no harm.”
“Excessively stingy; which is a guarantee for his clients.”
“In fact, he is one of the notaries of the ‘old rock,’ who ask you whom you take them for when you ask them for a receipt for the money which you place in their hands.”
“That would have no effect on me; I would trust him with my whole fortune.”
“But where the deuce did Saint-Remy imbibe his doubts with respect to this honest man, whose integrity is proverbial?”
“I am but the echo of certain vague reports; besides, I have no reason for running down this phœnix of notaries. But to return to your plans, D’Harville, what is it you wish to build at Val-Richer? I have heard that the château is excessively beautiful.”
“Make yourself easy, my dear Saint-Remy, for you shall be consulted, and sooner than you expect, perhaps, for I take much pleasure in such works. I think that there is nothing more interesting than to have those affairs in hand, which expand as you examine them, and they advance, giving you occupation for years to come. To-day one project, next year another, after that something else springs up. Add to this a charming woman whom one adores, and who shares your every taste and pleasure, then, ma foi! life passes sweetly enough.”
“I think so, pardieu! Why, it then makes earth a perfect paradise.”
“Now, gentlemen,” said D’Harville, when the breakfast was finished, “if you will smoke a cigar in my cabinet, you will find some excellent Havannahs there.”
They rose from the table, and returned to the cabinet of the marquis. The door of his bedchamber, which communicated with it, was open. We have said the only decoration of the room consisted of two small racks of very beautiful arms.
M. de Lucenay, having lighted a cigar, followed the marquis into his room.
“You see, I am still a great lover of good weapons,” said D’Harville to him.
“Yes, and I see you have here some splendid English and French guns. Ma foi! I hardly know which to admire most. Douglas,” exclaimed M. de Lucenay, “come and see if these fowling-pieces are not equal to your crack Mantons.”
Lord Douglas, Saint-Remy, and the two other guests went into the marquis’s room to examine the arms.
M. d’Harville, taking down a duelling-pistol, cocked it, and said, laughingly:
“Here, gentlemen, is the universal panacea for all the ills, — spleen, disgust, weariness.”
And as he spoke, jestingly, he placed the muzzle to his lips.
“Ma foi! I prefer another specific,” said Saint-Remy; “that is only good in the most desperate cases.”
“Yes, but it is so speedy,” said M. d’Harville. “Click! and it is done!”
“Pray be cautious, D’Harville; these jokes are always so rash and dangerous; and accident happens in an instant,” said M. de Lucenay.
“My dear fellow, do you think I would do so if it were loaded?”
“Of course not, but it is always imprudent.”
“See, gentlemen, how it is done. You introduce the muzzle delicately between the teeth, and then—”
“How foolish you are, D’Harville, to place it so!” said M. de Lucenay.
“You place your finger on the trigger—” continued M. d’Harville.
“What a child! What folly at your age!”
“A small touch on the lock,” added the marquis, “and one goes—”
As he spoke the pistol went off. M. d’Harville had blown his brains out.
It is impossible to paint the horror, — the stupor, of M. d’Harville’s guests.
M. d’Harville had blown his brains out.
Original Etching by Mercier.
Next day the following appeared in one of the newspapers:
“Yesterday an event, as unforeseen as deplorable, put all the Faubourg St. Germain in a state of excitement. One of those imprudent acts, which every year produce such sad accidents, has caused this terrible misfortune. The following are the facts which we have gathered, the authenticity of which may be relied upon.
“The Marquis d’Harville, the possessor of an immense fortune, and scarcely twenty-six years of age, universally known for his kind-hearted benevolence, and married but a few years to a wife whom he idolised, had some friends to breakfast with him; on leaving the table, they went into M. d’Harville’s sleeping apartment, where there were several firearms of considerable value. Whilst the guests were looking at some choice fowling-pieces, M. d’Harville in jest took up a pistol which he thought was not loaded, and placed the muzzle to his lips. Though warned by his friends, he pressed on the trigger, — the pistol went off, and the unfortunate young gentleman dropped down dead, with his skull horribly fractured. It is impossible to describe the extreme consternation of the friends of M. d’Harville, with whom but a few instants before he had been talking of various plans and projects, full of life, spirits, and animation. In fact, as if all the circumstances of this sad event must be still more cruel by the most painful contrasts, that very morning M. d’Harville, desirous of agreeably surprising his wife, had purchased a most expensive ornament, which he intended as a present to her. It was at this very moment, when, perhaps, life had never appeared more smiling and attractive, that he fell a victim to this most distressing accident.
