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diff --git a/3967-0.txt b/3967-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..97f08c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/3967-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10183 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cosmopolis, Complete, by Paul Bourget + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cosmopolis, Complete + +Author: Paul Bourget + +Release Date: October 4, 2006 [EBook #3967] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOPOLIS, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +COSMOPOLIS + +By Paul Bourget + + + +With a Preface by JULES LEMAITRE, of the French academy, + + + + +PAUL BOURGET + +Born in Amiens, September 2, 1852, Paul Bourget was a pupil at the +Lycee Louis le Grand, and then followed a course at the Ecole des Hautes +Etudes, intending to devote himself to Greek philology. He, however, +soon gave up linguistics for poetry, literary criticism, and fiction. +When yet a very young man, he became a contributor to various journals +and reviews, among others to the ‘Revue des deux Mondes, La Renaissance, +Le Parlement, La Nouvelle Revue’, etc. He has since given himself up +almost exclusively to novels and fiction, but it is necessary to mention +here that he also wrote poetry. His poetical works comprise: ‘Poesies +(1872-876), La Vie Inquiete (1875), Edel (1878), and Les Aveux (1882)’. + +With riper mind and to far better advantage, he appeared a few years +later in literary essays on the writers who had most influenced his +own development--the philosophers Renan, Taine, and Amiel, the poets +Baudelaire and Leconte de Lisle; the dramatist Dumas fils, and the +novelists Turgenieff, the Goncourts, and Stendhal. Brunetiere says +of Bourget that “no one knows more, has read more, read better, or +meditated, more profoundly upon what he has read, or assimilated it +more completely.” So much “reading” and so much “meditation,” even when +accompanied by strong assimilative powers, are not, perhaps, the most +desirable and necessary tendencies in a writer of verse or of fiction. +To the philosophic critic, however, they must evidently be invaluable; +and thus it is that in a certain self-allotted domain of literary +appreciation allied to semi-scientific thought, Bourget stands to-day +without a rival. His ‘Essais de Psychologie Contemporaine (1883), +Nouveaux Essais (1885), and Etudes et Portraits (1888)’ are certainly +not the work of a week, but rather the outcome of years of self-culture +and of protracted determined endeavor upon the sternest lines. In fact, +for a long time, Bourget rose at 3 a.m. and elaborated anxiously study +after study, and sketch after sketch, well satisfied when he sometimes +noticed his articles in the theatrical ‘feuilleton’ of the ‘Globe’ and +the ‘Parlement’, until he finally contributed to the great ‘Debats’ +itself. A period of long, hard, and painful probation must always be +laid down, so to speak, as the foundation of subsequent literary fame. +But France, fortunately for Bourget, is not one of those places where +the foundation is likely to be laid in vain, or the period of probation +to endure for ever and ever. + +In fiction, Bourget carries realistic observation beyond the externals +(which fixed the attention of Zola and Maupassant) to states of the +mind: he unites the method of Stendhal to that of Balzac. He is always +interesting and amusing. He takes himself seriously and persists in +regarding the art of writing fiction as a science. He has wit, humor, +charm, and lightness of touch, and ardently strives after philosophy and +intellectuality--qualities that are rarely found in fiction. It may well +be said of M. Bourget that he is innocent of the creation of a single +stupid character. The men and women we read of in Bourget’s novels are +so intellectual that their wills never interfere with their hearts. + +The list of his novels and romances is a long one, considering the fact +that his first novel, ‘L’Irreparable,’ appeared as late as 1884. It +was followed by ‘Cruelle Enigme (1885); Un Crime d’Amour (1886); Andre +Cornelis and Mensonges (1887); Le Disciple (1889); La Terre promise; +Cosmopolis (1892), crowned by the Academy; Drames de Famille (1899); +Monique (1902)’; his romances are ‘Une Idylle tragique (1896); La +Duchesse Bleue (1898); Le Fantome (1901); and L’Etape (1902)’. + +‘Le Disciple’ and ‘Cosmopolis’ are certainly notable books. The latter +marks the cardinal point in Bourget’s fiction. Up to that time he had +seen environment more than characters; here the dominant interest is +psychic, and, from this point on, his characters become more and more +like Stendhal’s, “different from normal clay.” Cosmopolis is perfectly +charming. Bourget is, indeed, the past-master of “psychological” + fiction. + +To sum up: Bourget is in the realm of fiction what Frederic Amiel is +in the realm of thinkers and philosophers--a subtle, ingenious, highly +gifted student of his time. With a wonderful dexterity of pen, a very +acute, almost womanly intuition, and a rare diffusion of grace about all +his writings, it is probable that Bourget will remain less known as a +critic than as a romancer. Though he neither feels like Loti nor sees +like Maupassant--he reflects. + + JULES LEMAITRE + de l’Academie Francaise. + + + + +AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION + +I send you, my dear Primoli, from beyond the Alps, the romance of +international life, begun in Italy almost under your eyes, to which I +have given for a frame that ancient and noble Rome of which you are so +ardent an admirer. + +To be sure, the drama of passion which this book depicts has no +particularly Roman features, and nothing was farther from my thoughts +than to trace a picture of the society so local, so traditional, which +exists between the Quirinal and the Vatican. The drama is not even +Italian, for the scene might have been laid, with as much truth, at +Venice, Florence, Nice, St. Moritz, even Paris or London, the various +cities which are like quarters scattered over Europe of the fluctuating +‘Cosmopolis,’ christened by Beyle: ‘Vengo adesso da Cosmopoli’. It is +the contrast between the rather incoherent ways of the rovers of high +life and the character of perennity impressed everywhere in the great +city of the Caesars and of the Popes which has caused me to choose the +spot where even the corners speak of a secular past, there to evoke some +representatives of the most modern, as well as the most arbitrary and +the most momentary, life. You, who know better than any one the motley +world of cosmopolites, understand why I have confined myself to painting +here only a fragment of it. That world, indeed, does not exist, it can +have neither defined customs nor a general character. It is composed +of exceptions and of singularities. We are so naturally creatures of +custom, our continual mobility has such a need of gravitating around one +fixed axis, that motives of a personal order alone can determine us upon +an habitual and voluntary exile from our native land. It is so, now in +the case of an artist, a person seeking for instruction and change; now +in the case of a business man who desires to escape the consequences of +some scandalous error; now in the case of a man of pleasure in search +of new adventures; in the case of another, who cherishes prejudices +from birth, it is the longing to find the “happy mean;” in the case of +another, flight from distasteful memories. The life of the cosmopolite +can conceal all beneath the vulgarity of its whims, from snobbery +in quest of higher connections to swindling in quest of easier prey, +submitting to the brilliant frivolities of the sport, the sombre +intrigues of policy, or the sadness of a life which has been a failure. +Such a variety of causes renders at once very attractive and almost +impracticable the task of the author who takes as a model that +ever-changing society so like unto itself in the exterior rites +and fashions, so really, so intimately complex and composite in its +fundamental elements. The writer is compelled to take from it a series +of leading facts, as I have done, essaying to deduce a law which governs +them. That law, in the present instance, is the permanence of race. +Contradictory as may appear this result, the more one studies the +cosmopolites, the more one ascertains that the most irreducible idea +within them is that special strength of heredity which slumbers beneath +the monotonous uniform of superficial relations, ready to reawaken as +soon as love stirs the depths of the temperament. But there again a +difficulty, almost insurmountable, is met with. Obliged to concentrate +his action to a limited number of personages, the novelist can not +pretend to incarnate in them the confused whole of characters which the +vague word race sums up. Again, taking this book as an example, you and +I, my dear Primoli, know a number of Venetians and of English women, +of Poles and of Romans, of Americans and of French who have nothing +in common with Madame Steno, Maud and Boleslas Gorka, Prince d’Ardea, +Marquis Cibo, Lincoln Maitland, his brother-in-law, and the Marquis de +Montfanon, while Justus Hafner only represents one phase out of twenty +of the European adventurer, of whom one knows neither his religion, +his family, his education, his point of setting out, nor his point of +arriving, for he has been through various ways and means. My ambition +would be satisfied were I to succeed in creating here a group of +individuals not representative of the entire race to which they belong, +but only as possibly existing in that race--or those races. For several +of them, Justus Hafner and his daughter Fanny, Alba Steno, Florent +Chapron, Lydia Maitland, have mixed blood in their veins. May these +personages interest you, my dear friend, and become to you as real as +they have been to me for some time, and may you receive them in your +palace of Tor di Nona as faithful messengers of the grateful affection +felt for you by your companion of last winter. + + PAUL BOURGET. + +PARIS, November 16, 1892. + + + + +COSMOPOLIS + + + + +BOOK 1. + + + + +CHAPTER I. A DILETTANTE AND A BELIEVER + +Although the narrow stall, flooded with heaped-up books and papers, left +the visitor just room enough to stir, and although that visitor was one +of his regular customers, the old bookseller did not deign to move from +the stool upon which he was seated, while writing on an unsteady desk. +His odd head, with its long, white hair, peeping from beneath a once +black felt hat with a broad brim, was hardly raised at the sound of +the opening and shutting of the door. The newcomer saw an emaciated, +shriveled face, in which, from behind spectacles, two brown eyes +twinkled slyly. Then the hat again shaded the paper, which the knotty +fingers, with their dirty nails, covered with uneven lines traced in +a handwriting belonging to another age, and from the thin, tall form, +enveloped in a greenish, worn-out coat, came a faint voice, the voice of +a man afflicted with chronic laryngitis, uttering as an apology, with a +strong Italian accent, this phrase in French: + +“One moment, Marquis, the muse will not wait.” + +“Very well, I will; I am no muse. Listen to your inspiration +comfortably, Ribalta,” replied, with a laugh, he whom the vendor of +old books received with such original unconstraint. He was evidently +accustomed to the eccentricities of the strange merchant. In Rome--for +this scene took place in a shop at the end of one of the most ancient +streets of the Eternal City, a few paces from the Place d’Espagne, so +well known to tourists--in the city which serves as a confluent for so +many from all points of the world, has not that sense of the odd been +obliterated by the multiplicity of singular and anomalous types stranded +and sheltering there? You will find there revolutionists like boorish +Ribalta, who is ending in a curiosity-shop a life more eventful than the +most eventful of the sixteenth century. + +Descended from a Corsican family, this personage came to Rome when very +young, about 1835, and at first became a seminarist. On the point of +being ordained a priest, he disappeared only to return, in 1849, +so rabid a republican that he was outlawed at the time of the +reestablishment of the pontifical government. He then served as +secretary to Mazzini, with whom he disagreed for reasons which clashed +with Ribalta’s honor. Would passion for a woman have involved him in +such extravagance? In 1870 Ribalta returned to Rome, where he opened, +if one may apply such a term to such a hole, a book-shop. But he is an +amateur bookseller, and will refuse you admission if you displease him. +Having inherited a small income, he sells or he does not, following his +fancy or the requirements of his own purchases, to-day asking you twenty +francs for a wretched engraving for which he paid ten sous, to-morrow +giving you at a low price a costly book, the value of which he knows. +Rabid Gallophobe, he never pardoned his old general the campaign of +Dijon any more than he forgave Victor Emmanuel for having left the +Vatican to Pius IX. “The house of Savoy and the papacy,” said he, when +he was confidential, “are two eggs which we must not eat on the same +dish.” And he would tell of a certain pillar of St. Peter’s hollowed +into a staircase by Bernin, where a cartouch of dynamite was placed. +If you were to ask him why he became a book collector, he would bid you +step over a pile of papers, of boarding and of folios. Then he would +show you an immense chamber, or rather a shed, where thousands of +pamphlets were piled up along the walls: “These are the rules of all +the convents suppressed by Italy. I shall write their history.” Then he +would stare at you, for he would fear that you might be a spy sent +by the king with the sole object of learning the plans of his most +dangerous enemy--one of those spies of whom he has been so much in awe +that for twenty years no one has known where he slept, where he ate, +where he hid when the shutters of his shop in the Rue Borgognona were +closed. He expected, on account of his past, and his secret manner, +to be arrested at the time of the outrage of Passanante as one of the +members of those Circoli Barsanti, to whom a refractory corporal gave +his name. + +But, on examining the dusty cartoons of the old book-stall, the police +discovered nothing except a prodigious quantity of grotesque verses +directed against the Piedmontese and the French, against the Germans and +the Triple Alliance, against the Italian republicans and the ministers, +against Cavour and Signor Crispi, against the University of Rome and the +Inquisition, against the monks and the capitalists! It was, no doubt, +one of those pasquinades which his customers watched him at work upon, +thinking, as he did so, how Rome abounded in paradoxical meetings. + +For, in 1867, that same old Garibaldian exchanged shots at Mentana with +the Pope’s Zouaves, among whom was Marquis de Montfanon, for so was +called the visitor awaiting Ribalta’s pleasure. Twenty-three years had +sufficed to make of the two impassioned soldiers of former days two +inoffensive men, one of whom sold old volumes to the other! And there +is a figure such as you will not find anywhere else--the French nobleman +who has come to die near St. Peter’s. + +Would you believe, to see him with his coarse boots, dressed in a simple +coat somewhat threadbare, a round hat covering his gray head, that you +have before you one of the famous Parisian dandies of 1864? Listen +to this other history. Scruples of devoutness coming in the wake of a +serious illness cast at one blow the frequenter of the ‘Cafe Anglais’ +and gay suppers into the ranks of the pontifical zouaves. A first +sojourn in Rome during the last four years of the government of Pius IX, +in that incomparable city to which the presentiment of the approaching +termination of a secular rule, the advent of the Council, and the French +occupation gave a still more peculiar character, was enchantment. All +the germs of piety instilled in the nobleman by the education of the +Jesuits of Brughetti ended by reviving a harvest of noble virtues, +in the days of trial which came only too quickly. Montfanon made the +campaign of France with the other zouaves, and the empty sleeve which +was turned up in place of his left arm attested with what courage he +fought at Patay, at the time of that sublime charge when the heroic +General de Sonis unfurled the banner of the Sacred Heart. He had been a +duelist, sportsman, gambler, lover, but to those of his old companions +of pleasure whom chance brought to Rome he was only a devotee who lived +economically, notwithstanding the fact that he had saved the remnants of +a large fortune for alms, for reading and for collecting. + +Every one has that vice, more or less, in Rome, which is in itself the +most surprising museum of history and of art. Montfanon is collecting +documents in order to write the history of the French nobility and of +the Church. His mistresses of the time when he was the rival of the +Gramont-Caderousses and the Demidoffs would surely not recognize him +any more than he would them. But are they as happy as he seems to have +remained through his life of sacrifice? There is laughter in his blue +eyes, which attest his pure Germanic origin, and which light up his +face, one of those feudal faces such as one sees in the portraits hung +upon the walls of the priories of Malta, where plainness has race. A +thick, white moustache, in which glimmers a vague reflection of gold, +partly hides a scar which would give to that red face a terrible look +were it not for the expression of those eyes, in which there is fervor +mingled with merriment. For Montfanon is as fanatical on certain +subjects as he is genial and jovial on others. If he had the power he +would undoubtedly have Ribalta arrested, tried, and condemned within +twenty-four hours for the crime of free-thinking. Not having it, he +amused himself with him, so much the more so as the vanquished Catholic +and the discontented Socialists have several common hatreds. Even on +this particular morning we have seen with what indulgence he bore the +brusqueness of the old bookseller, at whom he gazed for ten minutes +without disconcerting him in the least. At length the revolutionist +seemed to have finished his epigram, for with a quiet smile he carefully +folded the sheet of paper, put it in a wooden box which he locked. Then +he turned around. + +“What do you desire, Marquis?” he asked, without any further +preliminary. + +“First of all, you will have to read me your poem, old redshirt,” said +Montfanon, “which will only be my recompense for having awaited your +good pleasure more patiently than an ambassador. Let us see whom are you +abusing in those verses? Is it Don Ciccio or His Majesty? You will not +reply? Are you afraid that I shall denounce you at the Quirinal?” + +“No flies enter a closed mouth,” replied the old conspirator, justifying +the proverb by the manner in which he shut his toothless mouth, into +which, indeed, at that moment, neither a fly nor the tiniest grain of +dust could enter. + +“An excellent saying,” returned the Marquis, with a laugh, “and one I +should like to see engraved on the facade of all the modern parliaments. +But between your poetry and your adages have you taken the time to +write for me to that bookseller at Vienna, who owns the last copy of the +pamphlet on the trial of the bandit Hafner?” + +“Patience,” said the merchant. “I will write.” + +“And my document on the siege of Rome, by Bourbon, those three notarial +deeds which you promised me, have you dislodged them?” + +“Patience, patience,” repeated the merchant, adding, as he pointed with +a comical mixture of irony and of despair to the disorder in his shop, +“How can you expect me to know where I am in the midst of all this?” + +“Patience, patience,” repeated Montfanon. “For a month you have been +singing that old refrain. If, instead of composing wretched verses, +you would attend to your correspondence, and, if, instead of buying +continually, you would classify this confused mass.... But,” said he, +more seriously, with a brusque gesture, “I am wrong to reproach you for +your purchases, since I have come to speak to you of one of the last. +Cardinal Guerillot told me that you showed him, the other day, an +interesting prayer-book, although in very bad condition, which you found +in Tuscany. Where is it?” + +“Here it is,” said Ribalta, who, leaping over several piles of volumes +and thrusting aside with his foot an enormous heap of cartoons, opened +the drawer of a tottering press. In that drawer he rummaged among an +accumulation of odd, incongruous objects: old medals and old nails, +bookbindings and discolored engravings, a large leather box gnawed by +insects, on the outside of which could be distinguished a partly effaced +coat-of-arms. He opened that box and extended toward Montfanon a volume +covered with leather and studded. One of the clasps was broken, and when +the Marquis began to turn over the pages, he could see that the interior +had not been better taken care of than the exterior. Colored prints had +originally ornamented the precious work; they were almost effaced. The +yellow parchment had been torn in places. Indeed, it was a shapeless +ruin which the curious nobleman examined, however, with the greatest +care, while Ribalta made up his mind to speak. + +“A widow of Montalcino, in Tuscany, sold it to me. She asked me an +enormous price, and it is worth it, although it is slightly damaged. For +those are miniatures by Matteo da Siena, who made them for Pope Pius +II Piccolomini. Look at the one which represents Saint Blaise, who is +blessing the lions and panthers. It is the best preserved. Is it not +fine?” + +“Why try to deceive me, Ribalta?” interrupted Montfanon, with a gesture +of impatience. “You know as well as I that these miniatures are very +mediocre, and that they do not in the least resemble Matteo’s compact +work; and another proof is that the prayerbook is dated 1554. See!” + and, with his remaining hand, very adroitly he showed the merchant the +figures; “and as I have quite a memory for dates, and as I am interested +in Siena, I have not forgotten that Matteo died before 1500. I did not +go to college with Machiavelli,” continued he, with some brusqueness, +“but I will tell you that which the Cardinal would have told you if you +had not deceived him by your finesse, as you tried to deceive me just +now. Look at this partly effaced signature, which you have not been able +to read. I will decipher it for you. Blaise de Mo, and then a c, with +several letters missing, just three, and that makes Montluc in the +orthography of the time, and the b is in a handwriting which you might +have examined in the archives of that same Siena, since you come from +there. Now, with regard to this coat-of-arms,” and he closed the book to +detail to his stupefied companion the arms hardly visible on the cover, +“do you see a wolf, which was originally of gold, and turtles of gales? +Those are the arms which Montluc has borne since the year 1554, when he +was made a citizen of Siena for having defended it so bravely against +the terrible Marquis de Marignan. As for the box,” he took it in its +turn to study it, “these are really the half-moons of the Piccolominis. +But what does that prove? That after the siege, and just as it was +necessary to retire to Montalcino, Montluc gave his prayer-book, as a +souvenir, to some of that family. The volume was either lost or stolen, +and finally reduced to the state in which it now is. This book, too, is +proof that a little French blood was shed in the service of Italy. But +those who have sold it have forgotten that, like Magenta and Solferino, +you have only memory for hatred. Now that you know why I want your +prayer-book, will you sell it to me for five hundred francs?” + +The bookseller listened to that discourse with twenty contradictory +expressions upon his face. From force of habit he felt for Montfanon a +sort of respect mingled with animosity, which evidently rendered it very +painful for him to have been surprised in the act of telling an untruth. +It is necessary, to be just, to add that in speaking of the great +painter Matteo and of Pope Pius II in connection with that unfortunate +volume, he had not thought that the Marquis, ordinarily very economical +and who limited his purchases to the strict domain of ecclesiastical +history, would have the least desire for that prayer-book. He had +magnified the subject with a view to forming a legend and to taking +advantage of some rich, unversed amateur. + +On the other hand, if the name of Montluc meant absolutely nothing to +him, it was not the same with the direct and brutal allusion which his +interlocutor had made to the war of 1859. It is always a thorn in the +flesh of those of our neighbors from beyond the Alps who do not love us. +The pride of the Garibaldian was not far behind the generosity of the +former zouave. With an abruptness equal to that of Montfanon, he took +up the volume and grumbled as he turned it over and over in his inky +fingers: + +“I would not sell it for six hundred francs. No, I would not sell it for +six hundred francs.” + +“It is a very large sum,” said Montfanon. + +“No,” continued the good man, “I would not sell it.” Then extending it +to the Marquis, in evident excitement, he cried: “But to you I will sell +it for four hundred francs.” + +“But I have offered you five hundred francs for it,” said the nonplussed +purchaser. “You know that is a small sum for such a curiosity.” + +“Take it for four,” insisted Ribalta, growing more and more eager, “not +a sou less, not a sou more. It is what it cost me. And you shall have +your documents in two days and the Hafner papers this week. But was +that Bourbon who sacked Rome a Frenchman?” he continued. “And Charles +d’Anjou, who fell upon us to make himself King of the two Sicilies? And +Charles VIII, who entered by the Porte du Peuple? Were they Frenchmen? +Why did they come to meddle in our affairs? Ah, if we were to calculate +closely, how much you owe us! Was it not we who gave you Mazarin, +Massena, Bonaparte and many others who have gone to die in your army in +Russia, in Spain and elsewhere? And at Dijon? Did not Garibaldi stupidly +fight for you, who would have taken from him his country? We are quits +on the score of service.... But take your prayer-book-good-evening, +good-evening. You can pay me later.” + +And he literally pushed the Marquis out of the stall, gesticulating and +throwing down books on all sides. Montfanon found himself in the street +before having been able to draw from his pocket the money he had got +ready. + +“What a madman! My God, what a madman!” said he to himself, with a +laugh. He left the shop at a brisk pace, with the precious book under +his arm. He understood, from having frequently come in contact with +them, those southern natures, in which swindling and chivalry elbow +without harming one another--Don Quixotes who set their own windmills in +motion. He asked himself: + +“How much would he still make after playing the magnamimous with me?” + His question was never to be answered, nor was he to know that Ribalta +had bought the rare volume among a heap of papers, engravings, and old +books, paying twenty-five francs for all. Moreover, two encounters which +followed one upon the other on leaving the shop, prevented him from +meditating on that problem of commercial psychology. He paused for a +moment at the end of the street to cast a glance at the Place d’Espagne, +which he loved as one of those corners unchanged for the last thirty +years. On that morning in the early days of May, the square, with its +sinuous edge, was indeed charming with bustle and light, with the +houses which gave it a proper contour, with the double staircase of La +Trinite-des-Monts lined with idlers, with the water which gushed from +a large fountain in the form of a bark placed in the centre-one of +the innumerable caprices in which the fancy of Bernin, that illusive +decorator, delighted to indulge. Indeed, at that hour and in that light, +the fountain was as natural in effect as were the nimble hawkers who +held in their extended arms baskets filled with roses, narcissus, red +anemones, fragile cyclamens and dark pansies. Barefooted, with sparkling +eyes, entreaties upon their lips, they glided among the carriages which +passed along rapidly, fewer than in the height of the season, still +quite numerous, for spring was very late this year, and it came +with delightful freshness. The flower-sellers besieged the hurried +passers-by, as well as those who paused at the shop-windows, and, devout +Catholic as Montfanon was, he tasted, in the face of the picturesque +scene of a beautiful morning in his favorite city, the pleasure of +crowning that impression of a bright moment by a dream of eternity. +He had only to turn his eyes to the right, toward the College de la +Propagande, a seminary from which all the missions of the world set out. + +But it was decreed that the impassioned nobleman should not enjoy +undisturbed the bibliographical trifle obtained so cheaply and which he +carried under his arm, nor that feeling so thoroughly Roman; a sudden +apparition surprised him at the corner of a street, at an angle of the +sidewalk. His bright eyes lost their serenity when a carriage passed by +him, a carriage, perfectly appointed, drawn by two black horses, and +in which, notwithstanding the early hour, sat two ladies. The one was +evidently an inferior, a companion who acted as chaperon to the other, +a young girl of almost sublime beauty, with large black eyes, which +contrasted strongly with a pale complexion, but a pallor in which there +was warmth and life. Her profile, of an Oriental purity, was so much +on the order of the Jewish type that it left scarcely a doubt as to the +Hebrew origin of the creature, a veritable vision of loveliness, who +seemed created, as the poets say, “To draw all hearts in her wake.” + But no! The jovial, kindly face of the Marquis suddenly darkened as he +watched the girl about to turn the corner of the street, and who +bowed to a very fashionable young man, who undoubtedly knew the late +pontifical zouave, for he approached him familiarly, saying, in a +mocking tone and in a French which came direct from France: + +“Well! Now I have caught you, Marquis Claude-Francois de Montfanon!... +She has come, you have seen her, you have been conquered. Have your eyes +feasted upon divine Fanny Hafner? Tremble! I shall denounce you to his +Eminence, Cardinal Guerillot; and if you malign his charming catechist +I will be there to testify that I saw you hypnotized as she passed, as +were the people of Troy by Helen. And I know very positively that Helen +had not so modern a grace, so beautiful a mind, so ideal a profile, so +deep a glance, so dreamy a mouth and such a smile. Ah, how lovely she +is! When shall you call?” + +“If Monsieur Julien Dorsenne,” replied Montfanon, in the same mocking +tone, “does not pay more attention to his new novel than he is doing +at this moment, I pity his publisher. Come here,” he added, brusquely, +dragging the young man to the angle of Rue Borgognona. “Did you see the +victoria stop at No. 13, and the divine Fanny, as you call her, alight? +.... She has entered the shop of that old rascal, Ribalta. She will not +remain there long. She will come out, and she will drive away in her +carriage. It is a pity she will not pass by us again. We should have +had the pleasure of seeing her disappointed air. This is what she is in +search of,” added he, with a gay laugh, exhibiting his purchase, “but +which she could not have were she to offer all the millions which her +honest father has stolen in Vienna. Ha, ha!” he concluded, laughing +still more heartily, “Monsieur de Montfanon rose first; this morning +has not been lost, and you, Monsieur, can see what I obtained at the +curiosity-shop of that old fellow who will not make a plaything of this +object, at least,” he added, extending the book to his interlocutor, at +whom he glanced with a comical expression of triumph. + +“I do not wish to look at it,” responded Dorsenne. “But, yes,” he +continued, as Montfanon shrugged his shoulders, “in my capacity of +novelist and observer, since you cast it at my head, I know already what +it is. What do you bet?... It is a prayer-book which bears the signature +of Marshal de Montluc, and which Cardinal Guerillot discovered. Is that +true? He spoke to Mademoiselle Hafner about it, and he thought he would +mitigate your animosity toward her by telling you she was an enthusiast +and wished to buy it. Is that true as well? And you, wretched man, had +only one thought, to deprive that poor little thing of the trifle. +Is that true? We spent the evening before last together at Countess +Steno’s; she talked to me of nothing but her desire to have the book on +which the illustrious soldier, the great believer, had prayed. She told +me of all her heroic resolutions. Later she went to buy it. But the +shop was closed; I noticed it on passing, and you certainly went there, +too.... Is that true?... And, now that I have detailed to you the story, +explain to me, you who are so just, why you cherish an antipathy so +bitter and so childish--excuse the word!--for an innocent, young girl, +who has never speculated on ‘Change, who is as charitable as a whole +convent, and who is fast becoming as devout as yourself. Were it not +for her father, who will not listen to the thought of conversion before +marriage, she would already be a Catholic, and--Protestants as they are +for the moment--she would never go anywhere but to church... When she is +altogether a Catholic, and under the protection of a Sainte-Claudine and +a Sainte-Francoise, as you are under the protection of Saint-Claude and +Saint-Francois, you will have to lay down your arms, old leaguer, and +acknowledge the sincerity of the religious sentiments of that child who +has never harmed you.” + +“What! She has done nothing to me?”... interrupted Montfanon. “But it is +quite natural that a sceptic should not comprehend what she has done to +me, what she does to me daily, not to me personally, but to my opinions. +When one has, like you, learned intellectual athletics in the circus of +the Sainte-Beuves and Renans, one must think it fine that Catholicism, +that grand thing, should serve as a plaything for the daughter of a +pirate who aims at an aristocratic marriage. It may, too, amuse you +that my holy friend, Cardinal Guerillot, should be the dupe of that +intriguer. But I, Monsieur, who have received the sacrament by the side +of a Sonis, I can not admit that one should make use of what was the +faith of that hero to thrust one’s self into the world. I do not admit +that one should play the role of dupe and accomplice to an old man whom +I venerate and whom I shall enlighten, I give you my word.” + +“And as for this ancient relic,” he continued, again showing the +volume, “you may think it childish that I do not wish it mixed up in the +shameful comedy. But no, it shall not be. They shall not exhibit with +words of emotion, with tearful eyes, this breviary on which once prayed +that grand soldier; yes, Monsieur, that great believer. She has done +nothing to me,” he repeated, growing more and more excited, his red +face becoming purple with rage, “but they are the quintessence of what +I detest the most, people like her and her father. They are the +incarnation of the modern world, in which there is nothing more +despicable than these cosmopolitan adventurers, who play at grand +seigneur with the millions filibustered in some stroke on the Bourse. +First, they have no country. What is this Baron Justus Hafner--German, +Austrian, Italian? Do you know? They have no religion. The name, the +father’s face, that of the daughter, proclaim them Jews, and they are +Protestants--for the moment, as you have too truthfully said, while they +prepare themselves to become Mussulmen or what not. For the moment, +when it is a question of God!... They have no family. Where was this man +reared? What did his father, his mother, his brothers, his sisters do? +Where did he grow up? Where are his traditions? Where is his past, all +that constitutes, all that establishes the moral man?... Just look. All +is mystery in this personage, excepting this, which is very clear: if he +had received his due in Vienna, at the time of the suit of the ‘Credit +Austro-Dalmate’, in 1880, he would be in the galleys, instead of in +Rome. The facts were these: there were innumerable failures. I know +something about it. My poor cousin De Saint-Remy, who was with the Comte +de Chambord, lost the bread of his old age and his daughter’s dowry. +There were suicides and deeds of violence, notably that of a certain +Schroeder, who went mad on account of that crash, and who killed +himself, after murdering his wife and his two children. And the Baron +came out of it unsullied. It is not ten years since the occurrence, and +it is forgotten. When he settled in Rome he found open doors, extended +hands, as he would have found them in Madrid, London, Paris, or +elsewhere. People go to his house; they receive him! And you wish me +to believe in the devoutness of that man’s daughter!... No, a thousand +times no; and you yourself, Dorsenne, with your mania for paradoxes and +sophisms, you have the right spirit in you, and these people horrify you +in reality, as they do me.” + +“Not the least in the world,” replied the writer, who had listened to +the Marquis’s tirade; with an unconvinced smile, he repeated: “Not +the least in the world.... You have spoken of me as an acrobat or an +athlete. I am not offended, because it is you, and because I know that +you love me dearly. Let me at least have the suppleness of one. First, +before passing judgment on a financial affair I shall wait until I +understand it. Hafner was acquitted. That is enough, for one thing. Were +he even the greatest rogue in the universe, that would not prevent his +daughter from being an angel, for another. As for that cosmopolitanism +for which you censure him, we do not agree there; it is just that which +interests me in him. Thirdly,... I should not consider that I had lost +the six months spent in Rome, if I had met only him. Do not look at +me as if I were one of the patrons of the circus, Uncle Beuve, or poor +Monsieur Renan himself,” he continued, tapping the Marquis’s shoulder. +“I swear to you that I am very serious. Nothing interests me more than +these exceptions to the general rule--than those who have passed through +two, three, four phases of existence. Those individuals are my +museum, and you wish me to sacrifice to your scruples one of my finest +subjects.... Moreover,”--and the malice of the remark he was about to +make caused the young man’s eyes to sparkle “revile Baron Hafner as much +as you like,” he continued; “call him a thief and a snob, an intriguer +and a knave, if it pleases you. But as for being a person who does not +know where his ancestors lived, I reply, as did Bonhomet when he +reached heaven and the Lord said to him: ‘Still a chimney-doctor, +Bonhomet?’--‘And you, Lord?’. For you were born in Bourgogne, Monsieur +de Montfanon, of an ancient family, related to all the nobility-upon +which I congratulate you--and you have lived here in Rome for almost +twenty-four years, in the Cosmopolis which you revile.” + +“First of all,” replied the Pope’s former soldier, holding up his +mutilated arm, “I might say that I no longer count, I do not live. And +then,” his face became inspired, and the depths of that narrow mind, +often blinded but very exalted, suddenly appeared, “and then, my Rome +to me, Monsieur, has nothing in common with that of Monsieur Hafner nor +with yours, since you are come, it seems, to pursue studies of moral +teratology. Rome to me is not Cosmopolis, as you say, it is Metropolis, +it is the mother of cities.... You forget that I am a Catholic in every +fibre, and that I am at home here. I am here because I am a monarchist, +because I believe in old France as you believe in the modern world; and +I serve her in my fashion, which is not very efficacious, but which is +one way, nevertheless.... The post of trustee of Saint Louis, which I +accepted from Corcelle, is to me my duty, and I will sustain it in the +best way in my power.... Ah! that ancient France, how one feels her +grandeur here, and what a part she is known to have had in Christianity! +It is that chord which I should like to have heard vibrate in a fluent +writer like you, and not eternally those paradoxes, those sophisms. But +what matters it to you who date from yesterday and who boast of it,” + he added, almost sadly, “that in the most insignificant corners of this +city centuries of history abound? Does your heart blush at the sight of +the facade of the church of Saint-Louis, the salamander of Francois I +and the lilies? Do you know why the Rue Bargognona is called thus, +and that near by is Saint-Claudedes-Bourguignons, our church? Have +you visited, you who are from the Vosges, that of your province, +Saint-Nicolas-des-Lorrains? Do you know Saint-Yves-des-Bretons?” + +“But,” and here his voice assumed a gay accent, “I have thoroughly +charged into that rascal of a Hafner. I have laid him before you without +any hesitation. I have spoken to you as I feel, with all the fervor of +my heart, although it may seem sport to you. You will be punished, for +I shall not allow you to escape. I will take you to the France of other +days. You shall dine with me at noon, and between this and then we will +make the tour of those churches I have just named. During that time we +will go back one hundred and fifty years in the past, into that world +in which there were neither cosmopolites nor dilettantes. It is the old +world, but it is hardy, and the proof is that it has endured; while your +society-look where it is after one hundred years in France, in Italy, in +England--thanks to that detestable Gladstone, of whom pride has made a +second Nebuchadnezzar. It is like Russia, your society; according to the +only decent words of the obscene Diderot, ‘rotten before mature!’ Come, +will you go?” + +“You are mistaken,” replied the writer, “in thinking that. I do not love +your old France, but that does not prevent me from enjoying the new. One +can like wine and champagne at the same time. But I am not at liberty. I +must visit the exposition at Palais Castagna this morning.” + +“You will not do that,” exclaimed impetuous Montfanon, whose severe face +again expressed one of those contrarieties which caused it to brighten +when he was with one of whom he was fond as he was of Dorsenne. “You +would not have gone to see the King assassinated in ‘93? The selling at +auction of the old dwelling of Pope Urban VII is almost as tragical! It +is the beginning of the agony of what was Roman nobility. I know. They +deserve it all, since they were not killed to the last man on the steps +of the Vatican when the Italians took the city. We should have done +it, we who had no popes among our grand-uncles, if we had not been busy +fighting elsewhere. But it is none the less pitiful to see the hammer of +the appraisers raised above a palace with which is connected centuries +of history. Upon my life, if I were Prince d’Ardea--if I had inherited +the blood, the house, the titles of the Castagnas, and if I thought I +should leave nothing behind me of that which my fathers had amassed--I +swear to you, Dorsenne, I should die of grief. And if you recall the +fact that the unhappy youth is a spoiled child of eight-and-twenty, +surrounded by flatterers, without parents, without friends, without +counsellors, that he risked his patrimony on the Bourse among thieves of +the integrity of Monsieur Hafner, that all the wealth collected by that +succession of popes, of cardinals, of warriors, of diplomatists, +has served to enrich ignoble men, you would think the occurrence too +lamentable to have any share in it, even as a spectator. Come, I will +take you to Saint-Claude.” + +“I assure you I am expected,” replied Dorsenne, disengaging his arm, +which his despotic friend had already seized. “It is very strange that I +should meet you on the way, having the rendezvous I have. I, who dote +on contrasts, shall not have lost my morning. Have you the patience to +listen to the enumeration of the persons whom I shall join immediately? +It will not be very long, but do not interrupt me. You will be angry if +you will survive the blow I am about to give you. Ah, you do not wish +to call your Rome a Cosmopolis; then what do you say to the party with +which, in twenty minutes, I shall visit the ancient palace of Urban +VII? First of all, we have your beautiful enemy, Fanny Hafner, and +her father, the Baron, representing a little of Germany, a little of +Austria, a little of Italy and a little of Holland. For it seems the +Baron’s mother was from Rotterdam. Do not interrupt. We shall have +Countess Steno to represent Venice, and her charming daughter, Alba, to +represent a small corner of Russia, for the Chronicle claims that she +was the child, not of the defunct Steno, but of Werekiew-Andre, you +know, the one who killed himself in Paris five or six years ago, by +casting himself into the Seine, not at all aristocratically, from the +Pont de la Concorde. We shall have the painter, the celebrated Lincoln +Maitland, to represent America. He is the lover of Steno, whom he +stole from Gorka during the latter’s trip to Poland. We shall have the +painter’s wife, Lydia Maitland, and her brother, Florent Chapron, to +represent a little of France, a little of America, and a little of +Africa; for their grandfather was the famous Colonel Chapron mentioned +in the Memorial, who, after 1815, became a planter in Alabama. That old +soldier, without any prejudices, had, by a mulattress, a son whom he +recognized and to whom he left--I do not know how many dollars. ‘Inde’ +Lydia and Florent. Do not interrupt, it is almost finished. We shall +have, to represent England, a Catholic wedded to a Pole, Madame Gorka, +the wife of Boleslas, and, lastly, Paris, in the form of your servant. +It is now I who will essay to drag you away, for were you to join our +party, you, the feudal, it would be complete.... Will you come?” + +“Has the blow satisfied you?” asked Montfanon. “And the unhappy man has +talent,” he exclaimed, talking of Dorsenne as if the latter were not +present, “and he has written ten pages on Rhodes which are worthy of +Chateaubriand, and he has received from God the noblest gifts--poetry, +wit, the sense of history; and in what society does he delight! But, +come, once for all, explain to me the pleasure which a man of your +genius can find in frequenting that international Bohemia, more or less +gilded, in which there is not one being who has standing or a history. +I no longer allude to that scoundrel Hafner and his daughter, since you +have for her, novelist that you are, the eyes of Monsieur Guerillot. +But that Countess Steno, who must be at least forty, who has a grown +daughter, should she not remain quietly in her palace at Venice, +respectably, bravely, instead of holding here that species of salon for +transients, through which pass all the libertines of Europe, instead of +having lover after lover, a Pole after a Russian, an American after a +Pole? And that Maitland, why did he not obey the only good sentiment +with which his compatriots are inspired, the aversion to negro blood, +an aversion which would prevent them from doing what he has done--from +marrying an octoroon? If the young woman knows of it, it is terrible, +and if she does not it is still more terrible. And Madame Gorka, that +honest creature, for I believe she is, and truly pious as well, who has +not observed for the past two years that her husband was the Countess’s +lover, and who does not see, moreover, that it is now Maitland’s turn. +And that poor Alba Steno, that child of twenty, whom they drag through +these improper intrigues! Why does not Florent Chapron put an end to +the adultery of her sister’s husband? I know him. He once came to see me +with regard to a monument he was raising in Saint-Louis in memory of his +cousin. He respects the dead, that pleased me. But he is a dupe in this +sinister comedy at which you are assisting, you, who know all, while +your heart does not revolt.” + +“Pardon, pardon!” interrupted Dorsenne, “it is not a question of that. +You wander on and you forget what you have just asked me.... What +pleasure do I find in the human mosaic which I have detailed to you? I +will tell you, and we will not talk of the morals, if you please, when +we are simply dealing with the intellect. I do not pride myself on being +a judge of human nature, sir leaguer; I like to watch and to study it, +and among all the scenes it can present I know of none more suggestive, +more peculiar, and more modern than this: You are in a salon, at a +dining-table, at a party like that to which I am going this morning. You +are with ten persons who all speak the same language, are dressed by the +same tailor, have read the same morning paper, think the same thoughts +and feel the same sentiments.... But these persons are like those I +have just enumerated to you, creatures from very different points of +the world and of history. You study them with all that you know of their +origin and their heredity, and little by little beneath the varnish of +cosmopolitanism you discover their race, irresistible, indestructible +race! In the mistress of the house, very elegant, very cultured, for +example, a Madame Steno, you discover the descendant of the Doges, the +patrician of the fifteenth century, with the form of a queen, strength +in her passion and frankness in her incomparable immorality; while in a +Florent Chapron or a Lydia you discover the primitive slave, the black +hypnotized by the white, the unfreed being produced by centuries of +servitude; while in a Madame Gorka you recognize beneath her smiling +amiability the fanaticism of truth of the Puritans; beneath the artistic +refinement of a Lincoln Maitland you find the squatter, invincibly +coarse and robust; in Boleslas Gorka all the nervous irritability of +the Slav, which has ruined Poland. These lineaments of race are hardly +visible in the civilized person, who speaks three or four languages +fluently, who has lived in Paris, Nice, Florence, here, that same +fashionable, monotonous life. But when passion strikes its blow, when +the man is stirred to his inmost depths, then occurs the conflict of +characteristics, more surprising when the people thus brought together +have come from afar: And that is why,” he concluded with a laugh, “I +have spent six months in Rome without hardly having seen a Roman, busy, +observing the little clan which is so revolting to you. It is probably +the twentieth I have studied, and I shall no doubt study twenty more, +for not one resembles another. Are you indulgently inclined toward +me, now that you have got even with me in making me hold forth at this +corner, like the hero of a Russian novel? Well, now adieu.” + +Montfanon had listened to the discourse with an inpenetrable air. In the +religious solitude in which he was awaiting the end, as he said, nothing +afforded him greater pleasure than the discussion of ideas. But he was +inspired by the enthusiasm of a man who feels with extreme ardor, and +when he was met by the partly ironical dilettanteism of Dorsenne he was +almost pained by it, so much the more so as the author and he had some +common theories, notably an extreme fancy for heredity and race. A sort +of discontented grimace distorted his expressive face. He clicked his +tongue in ill-humor, and said: + +“One more question!... And the result of all that, the object? To what +end does all this observation lead you?” + +“To what should it lead me? To comprehend, as I have told you,” replied +Dorsenne. + +“And then?” + +“There is no then,” answered the young man, “one debauchery is like +another.” + +“But among the people whom you see living thus,” said Montfanon, after +a pause, “there are some surely whom you like and whom you dislike, for +whom you entertain esteem and for whom you feel contempt? Have you not +thought that you have some duties toward them, that you can aid them in +leading better lives?” + +“That,” said Dorsenne, “is another subject which we will treat of some +other day, for I am afraid now of being late.... Adieu.” + +“Adieu,” said the Marquis, with evident regret at parting. Then, +brusquely: “I do not know why I like you so much, for in the main you +incarnate one of those vices of mind which inspire me with the most +horror, that dilettanteism set in vogue by the disciples of Monsieur +Renan, and which is the very foundation of the decline. You will recover +from it, I hope. You are so young!” Then becoming again jovial and +mocking: “May you enjoy yourself in your descent of Courtille; I +almost forgot that I had a message to give to you for one of the +supernumeraries of your troop. Will you tell Gorka that I have dislodged +the book for which he asked me before his departure?” + +“Gorka,” replied Julien, “has been in Poland three months on family +business. I just told you how that trip cost him his mistress.” + +“What,” said Montfanon, “in Poland? I saw him this morning as plainly as +I see you. He passed the Fountain du Triton in a cab. If I had not been +in such haste to reach Ribalta’s in time to save the Montluc, I could +have stopped him, but we were both in too great a hurry.” + +“You are sure that Gorka is in Rome--Boleslas Gorka?” insisted Dorsenne. + +“What is there surprising in that?” said Montfanon. “It is quite natural +that he should not wish to remain away long from a city where he has +left a wife and a mistress. I suppose your Slav and your Anglo-Saxon +have no prejudices, and that they share their Venetian with a +dilettanteism quite modern. It is cosmopolitan, indeed.... Well, once +more, adieu.... Deliver my message to him if you see him, and,” his face +again expressed a childish malice, “do not fail to tell Mademoiselle +Hafner that her father’s daughter will never, never have this volume. It +is not for intriguers!” And, laughing like a mischievous schoolboy, he +pressed the book more tightly under his arm, repeating: “She shall not +have it. Listen.... And tell her plainly. She shall not have it!” + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE BEGINNING OF A DRAMA + +“There is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideas,” said +Dorsenne to himself, when the Marquis had left him. “He is like the +Socialists. What vigor of mind in that old wornout machine!” And for a +brief moment he watched, with a glance in which there was at least as +much admiration as pity, the Marquis, who was disappearing down the Rue +de la Propagande, and who walked at the rapid pace characteristic of +monomaniacs. They follow their thoughts instead of heeding objects. +However, the care he exercised in avoiding the sun’s line for the shade +attested the instincts of an old Roman, who knew the danger of the first +rays of spring beneath that blue sky. For a moment Montfanon paused +to give alms to one of the numerous mendicants who abound in the +neighborhood of the Place d’Espagne, meritorious in him, for with his +one arm and burdened with the prayer-book it required a veritable effort +to search in his pocket. Dorsenne was well enough acquainted with that +original personage to know that he had never been able to say “no” + to any one who asked charity, great or small, of him. Thanks to that +system, the enemy of beautiful Fanny Hafner was always short of cash +with forty thousand francs’ income and leading a simple existence. +The costly purchase of the relic of Montluc proved that the antipathy +conceived for Baron Justus’s charming daughter had become a species of +passion. Under any other circumstances, the novelist, who delighted +in such cases, would not have failed to meditate ironically on that +feeling, easy enough of explanation. There was much more irrational +instinct in it than Montfanon himself suspected. The old leaguer would +not have been logical if he had not had in point of race an inquisition +partiality, and the mere suspicion of Jewish origin should have +prejudiced him against Fanny. But he was just, as Dorsenne had told him, +and if the young girl had been an avowed Jewess, living up zealously to +her religion, he would have respected but have avoided her, and he never +would have spoken of her with such bitterness. + +The true motive of his antipathy was that he loved Cardinal Guerillot, +as was his habit in all things, with passion and with jealousy, and he +could not forgive Mademoiselle Hafner for having formed an intimacy with +the holy prelate in spite of him, Montfanon, who had vainly warned the +old Bishop de Clermont against her whom he considered the most wily of +intriguers. For months vainly did she furnish proofs of her sincerity +of heart, the Cardinal reporting them in due season to the Marquis, who +persisted in discrediting them, and each fresh good deed of his enemy +augmented his hatred by aggravating the uneasiness which was caused him, +notwithstanding all, by a vague sense of his iniquity. + +But Dorsenne no sooner turned toward the direction of the Palais +Castagna than he quickly forgot both Mademoiselle Hafner’s and +Montfanon’s prejudices, in thinking only of one sentence uttered by the +latter that which related to the return of Boleslas Gorka. The news was +unexpected, and it awakened in the writer such grave fears that he +did not even glance at the shop-window of the French bookseller at +the corner of the Corso to see if the label of the “Fortieth thousand” + flamed upon the yellow cover of his last book, the Eclogue Mondaine, +brought out in the autumn, with a success which his absence of six +months from Paris, had, however, detracted from. He did not even think +of ascertaining if the regimen he practised, in imitation of Lord Byron, +against embonpoint, would preserve his elegant form, of which he was so +proud, and yet mirrors were numerous on the way from the Place d’Espagne +to the Palais Castagna, which rears its sombre mass on the margin of the +Tiber, at the extremity of the Via Giulia, like a pendant of the Palais +Sacchetti, the masterwork of Sangallo. Dorsenne did not indulge in his +usual pastime of examining the souvenirs along the streets which met his +eye, and yet he passed in the twenty minutes which it took him to +reach his rendezvous a number of buildings teeming with centuries +of historical reminiscences. There was first of all the vast Palais +Borghese--the piano of the Borghese, as it has been called, from the +form of a clavecin adopted by the architect--a monument of splendor, +which was, less than two years later, to serve as the scene of a +situation more melancholy than that of the Palais Castagna. + +Dorsenne had not an absent glance for the sumptuous building--he passed +unheeding the facade of St.-Louis, the object of Montfanon’s admiration. +If the writer did not profess for that relic of ancient France the +piety of the Marquis, he never failed to enter there to pay his literary +respects to the tomb of Madame de Beaumont, to that ‘quia non sunt’ of +an epitaph which Chateaubriand inscribed upon her tombstone, with more +vanity, alas, than tenderness. For the first time Dorsenne forgot it; he +forgot also to gaze with delight upon the rococo fountain on the Place +Navonne, that square upon which Domitian had his circus, and which +recalls the cruel pageantries of imperial Rome. He forgot, too, the +mutilated statue which forms the angle of the Palais Braschi, two +paces farther--two paces still farther, the grand artery of the Corso +Victor-Emmanuel demonstrated the effort at regeneration of present Rome; +two paces farther yet, the Palais Farnese recalls the grandeur of modern +art, and the tragedy of contemporary monarchies. Does not the thought of +Michelangelo seem to be still imprinted on the sombre cross-beam of that +immense sarcophagus, which was the refuge of the last King of Naples? +But it requires a mind entirely free to give one’s self up to the charm +of historical dilettanteism which cities built upon the past conjure up, +and although Julien prided himself, not without reason, on being above +emotion, he was not possessed of his usual independence of mind during +the walk which took him to his “human mosaic,” as he picturesquely +expressed it, and he pondered and repondered the following questions: + +“Boleslas Gorka returned? And two days ago I saw his wife, who did not +expect him until next month. Montfanon is not, however, imaginative. +Boleslas Gorka returned? At the moment when Madame Steno is mad over +Maitland--for she is mad! The night before last, at her house at dinner, +she looked at him--it was scandalous. Gorka had a presentiment of it +this winter. When the American attempted to take Alba’s portrait the +first time, the Pole put a stop to it. It was fine for Montfanon to talk +of division between these two men. When Boleslas left here, Maitland and +the Countess were barely acquainted and now----If he has returned it +is because he has discovered that he has a rival. Some one has warned +him--an enemy of the Countess, a confrere of Maitland. Such pieces of +infamy occur among good friends. If Gorka, who is a shot like Casal, +kills Maitland in a duel, it will make one deceiver less. If he avenges +himself upon his mistress for that treason, it would be a matter of +indifference to me, for Catherine Steno is a great rogue.... But my +little friend, my poor, charming Alba, what would become of her if there +should be a scandal, bloodshed, perhaps, on account of her mother’s +folly? Gorka returned? And he did not write it to me, to me who have +received several letters from him since he went away; to me, whom he +selected last autumn as the confidant of his jealousies, under the +pretext that I knew women, and, with the vain hope of inspiring me.... +His silence and return no longer seem like a romance; they savor rather +of a drama, and with a Slav, as much a Slav as he is, one may expect +anything. I know not what to think of it, for he will be at the Palais +Castagna. Poor, charming Alba!” + +The monologue did not differ much from a monologue uttered under similar +circumstances by any young man interested in a young girl whose mother +does not conduct herself becomingly. It was a touching situation, but +a very common one, and there was no necessity for the author to come to +Rome to study it, one entire winter and spring. If that interest went +beyond a study, Dorsenne possessed a very simple means of preventing his +little friend, as he said, from being rendered unhappy by the conduct of +that mother whom age did not conquer. Why not propose for her hand? He +had inherited a fortune, and his success as an author had augmented +it. For, since the first book which had established his reputation, the +‘Etudes de Femmes,’ published in 1879, not a single one of the fifteen +novels or selections from novels had remained unnoticed. His personal +celebrity could, strictly speaking, combine with it family celebrity, +for he boasted that his grandfather was a cousin of that brave General +Dorsenne whom Napoleon could only replace at the head of his guard by +Friant. All can be told in a word. Although the heirs of the hero of the +Empire had never recognized the relationship, Julien believed in it, +and when he said, in reply to compliments on his books, “At my age +my grand-uncle, the Colonel of the Guard, did greater things,” he +was sincere in his belief. But it was unnecessary to mention it, for, +situated as he was, Countess Steno would gladly have accepted him as a +son-in-law. As for gaining the love of the young girl, with his handsome +face, intelligent and refined, and his elegant form, which he had +retained intact in spite of his thirty-seven years, he might have done +so. Nothing, however, was farther from his thoughts than such a project, +for, as he ascended the steps of the staircase of the palace formerly +occupied by Urban VII, he continued, in very different terms, +his monologue, a species of involuntary “copy” which is written +instinctively in the brain of the man of letters when he is particularly +fond of literature. + +At times it assumes a written form, and it is the most marked of +professional distortions, the most unintelligible to the illiterate, who +think waveringly and who do not, happily for them, suffer the continual +servitude to precision of word and to too conscientious thought. + +“Yes; poor, charming Alba!” he repeated to himself. “How unfortunate +that the marriage with Countess Gorka’s brother could not have been +arranged four months ago. Connection with the family of her mother’s +lover would be tolerably immoral! But she would at least have had less +chance of ever knowing it; and the convenient combination by which the +mother has caused her to form a friendship with that wife in order the +better to blind the two, would have bordered a little more on propriety. +To-day Alba would be Lady Ardrahan, leading a prosaic English life, +instead of being united to some imbecile whom they will find for her +here or elsewhere. She will then deceive him as her mother deceived the +late Steno--with me, perhaps, in remembrance of our pure intimacy of +to-day. That would be too sad! Do not let us think of it! It is the +future, of the existence of which we are ignorant, while we do know that +the present exists and that it has all rights. I owe to the Contessina +my best impressions of Rome, to the vision of her loveliness in this +scene of so grand a past. And this is a sensation which is enjoyable; to +visit the Palais Castagna with the adorable creature upon whom rests the +menace of a drama. To enjoy the Countess Steno’s kindness, otherwise +the house would not have that tone and I would never have obtained the +little one’s friendship. To rejoice that Ardea is a fool, that he has +lost his fortune on the Bourse, and that the syndicate of his creditors, +presided over by Monsieur Ancona, has laid hands upon his palace. For, +otherwise, I should not have ascended the steps of this papal staircase, +nor have seen this debris of Grecian sarcophagi fitted into the walls, +and this garden of so intense a green. As for Gorka, he may have +returned for thirty-six other reasons than jealousy, and Montfanon is +right: Caterina is cunning enough to inveigle both the painter and him. +She will make Maitland believe that she received Gorka for the sake of +Madame Gorka, and to prevent him from ruining that excellent woman at +gaming. She will tell Boleslas that there was nothing more between her +and Maitland than Platonic discussions on the merits of Raphael and +Perugino.... And I should be more of a dupe than the other two for +missing the visit. It is not every day that one has a chance to see +auctioned, like a simple Bohemian, the grand-nephew of a pope.” + +The second suite of reflections resembled more than the first the real +Dorsenne, who was often incomprehensible even to his best friends. The +young man with the large, black eyes, the face with delicate features, +the olive complexion of a Spanish monk, had never had but one passion, +too exceptional not to baffle the ordinary observer, and developed in +a sense so singular that to the most charitable it assumed either an +attitude almost outrageous or else that of an abominable egotism and +profound corruption. + +Dorsenne had spoken truly, he loved to comprehend--to comprehend as the +gamester loves to game, the miser to accumulate money, the ambitious to +obtain position--there was within him that appetite, that taste, that +mania for ideas which makes the scholar and the philosopher. But a +philosopher united by a caprice of nature to an artist, and by that of +fortune and of education to a worldly man and a traveller. The abstract +speculations of the metaphysician would not have sufficed for him, nor +would the continuous and simple creation of the narrator who narrates +to amuse himself, nor would the ardor of the semi-animal of the +man-of-pleasure who abandons himself to the frenzy of vice. He invented +for himself, partly from instinct, partly from method, a compromise +between his contradictory tendencies, which he formulated in a +fashion slightly pedantic, when he said that his sole aim was to +“intellectualize the forcible sensations;” in clearer terms, he dreamed +of meeting with, in human life, the greatest number of impressions it +could give and to think of them after having met them. + +He thought, with or without reason, to discover in his two favorite +writers, Goethe and Stendhal, a constant application of a similar +principle. His studies had, for the past fourteen years when he had +begun to live and to write, passed through the most varied spheres +possible to him. But he had passed through them, lending his presence +without giving himself to them, with this idea always present in his +mind: that he existed to become familiar with other customs, to watch +other characters, to clothe other personages and the sensations which +vibrated within them. The period of his revival was marked by the +achievement of each one of his books which he composed then, persuaded +that, once written and construed, a sentimental or social experience +was not worth the trouble of being dwelt upon. Thus is explained the +incoherence of custom and the atmospheric contact, if one may so express +it, which are the characteristics of his work. Take, for example, his +first collection of novels, the ‘Etudes de Femmes,’ which made him +famous. They are about a sentimental woman who loved unwisely, and who +spent hours from excess of the romantic studying the avowed or disguised +demi-monde. By the side of that, ‘Sans Dieu,’ the story of a drama +of scientific consciousness, attests a continuous frequenting of the +Museum, the Sorbonne and the College of France, while ‘Monsieur de +Premier’ presents one of the most striking pictures of the contemporary +political world, which could only have been traced by a familiar of the +Palais Bourbon. + +On the other hand, the three books of travel pretentiously named +‘Tourisime,’ ‘Les Profils d’Etrangeres’ and the ‘Eclogue Mondaine,’ +which fluctuated between Florence and London, St.-Moritz and Bayreuth, +revealed long sojourns out of France; a clever analysis of the Italian, +English, and German worlds; a superficial but true knowledge of the +languages, the history and literature, which in no way accords with +‘l’odor di femina’, exhale from every page. These contrasts are brought +out by a mind endowed with strangely complex qualities, dominated by a +firm will and, it must be said, a very mediocre sensibility. The last +point will appear irreconcilable with the extreme and almost morbid +delicacy of certain of Dorsenne’s works. It is thus however. He had very +little heart. But, on the other hand, he had an abundance of nerves +and nerves, and their irritability suffice for him who desires to paint +human passions, above all, love, with its joys and its sorrows, of +which one does not speak to a certain extent when one experiences them. +Success had come to Julien too early not to have afforded him occasion +for several adventures. In each of the centres traversed in the course +of his sentimental vagabondage he tried to find a woman in whom was +embodied all the scattered charms of the district. He had formed +innumerable intimacies. Some had been frankly affectionate. The +majority were Platonic. Others had consisted of the simple coquetry of +friendship, as was the case with Mademoiselle Steno. The young man had +never employed more vanity than enthusiasm. Every woman, mistress or +friend, had been to him, nine times out of ten, a curiosity, then a +model. But, as he held that the model could not be recognized by any +exterior sign, he did not think that he was wrong in making use of his +prestige as a writer, for what he called his “culture.” He was capable +of justice, the defense which he made of Fanny Hafner to Montfanon +proved it; of admiration, his respect for the noble qualities of that +same Montfanon testify to it; of compassion, for without it he would +not have apprehended at once with so much sympathy the result which the +return of Count Gorka would have on the destiny of innocent Alba Steno. + +On reaching the staircase of the Palais Castagna, instead of hastening, +as was natural, to find out at least what meant the return to Rome +of the lover whom Madame Steno deceived, he collected his startled +sensibilities before meeting Alba, and, pausing, he scribbled in a +note-book which he drew from his pocket, with a pencil always within +reach of his fingers, in a firm hand, precise and clear, this note +savoring somewhat of sentimentalism: + +“25 April, ‘90. Palais Castagna.--Marvellous staircase constructed by +Balthazar Peruzzi; so broad and long, with double rows of stairs, like +those of Santa Colomba, near Siena. Enjoyed above all the sight of +an interior garden so arranged, so designed that the red flowers, the +regularity of the green shrubs, the neat lines of the graveled walks +resemble the features of a face. The idea of the Latin garden, opposed +to the Germanic or Anglo-Saxon, the latter respecting the irregularity +of nature, the other all in order, humanizing and administering even to +the flower-garden.” + +“Subject the complexity of life to a thought harmonious and clear, a +constant mark of the Latin genus, for a group of trees as well as an +entire nation, an entire religion--Catholicism. It is the contrary +in the races of the North. Significance of the word: the forests have +taught man liberty.” + +He had hardly finished writing that oddly interpreted memorandum, and +was closing his note-book, when the sound of a familiar voice caused +him to turn suddenly. He had not heard ascend the stairs a personage who +waited until he finished writing, and who was no other than one of the +actors in his “troupe” to use his expression, one of the persons of the +party of that morning organized the day before at Madame Steno’s, and +just the one whom the intolerable marquis had defamed with so much +ardor, the father of beautiful Fanny Hafner, Baron Justus himself. The +renowned founder of the ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate’ was a small, thin +man, with blue eyes of an acuteness almost insupportable, in a face of +neutral color. His ever-courteous manner, his attire, simple and neat, +his speech serious and discreet, gave to him that species of distinction +so common to old diplomatists. But the dangerous adventurer was betrayed +by the glance which Hafner could not succeed in veiling with indifferent +amiability. The man-of-the-world, which he prided himself upon having +become, was visible through all by certain indefinable trifles, and +above all by those eyes, of a restlessness so singular in so wealthy a +man, indicating an enigmatical and obscure past of dark and contrasting +struggles, of covetous sharpness, of cold calculation and indomitable +energy. Fanatical Montfanon, who abused the daughter with such +unjustness, judged the father justly. The son of a Jew of Berlin and +of a Dutch Protestant, Justus Hafner was inscribed on the civil state +registers as belonging to his mother’s faith. But the latter died when +Justus was very young, and he was not reared in any other liturgy than +that of money. From his father, a persevering and skilful jeweller, but +too prudent to risk or gain much, he learned the business of precious +stones, to which he added that of laces, paintings, old materials, +tapestries, rare furniture. + +An infallible eye, the patience of a German united with his Israelitish +and Dutch extraction, soon amassed for him a small capital, which his +father’s bequest augmented. At twenty-seven Justus had not less than +five hundred thousand marks. Two imprudent operations on the Bourse, +enterprises to force fortune and to obtain the first million, ruined the +too-audacious courtier, who began again the building up of his fortune +by becoming a diamond broker. + +He went to Paris, and there, in a wretched little room on the Rue +Montmartre, in three years, he made his second capital. He then managed +it so well that in 1870, at the time of the war, he had made good his +losses. The armistice found him in England, where he had married the +daughter of a Viennese agent, in London, for the purpose of starting +a vast enterprise of revictualing the belligerent armies. The enormous +profits made by the father-in-law and the son-in-law during that year +determined them to found a banking-house which should have its principal +seat in Vienna and a branch in Berlin. Justus Hafner, a passionate +admirer of Herr von Bismarck, controlled, besides, a newspaper. He tried +to gain the favor of the great statesman, who refused to aid the former +diamond merchant in gratifying political ambitions cherished from an +early age. + +It was a bitter disappointment to the persevering man, who, having tried +his luck in Prussia, emigrated definitively to Vienna. The establishment +of the ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate,’ launched with extraordinary claims, +permitted him at length to realize at least one of his chimeras. His +wealth, while not equaling that of the mighty financiers of the epoch, +increased with a rapidity almost magical to a cipher high enough to +permit him, from 1879, to indulge in the luxurious life which can not +be led by any one with an income short of five hundred thousand francs. +Contrary to the custom of speculators of his genus, Hafner in time +invested his earnings safely. He provided against the coming demolition +of the structure so laboriously built up. The ‘Credit Austro-Dalmate’ +had suffered in great measure owing to innumerable public and private +disasters and scandals, such as the suicide and murder in the Schroeder +family. + +Suits were begun against a number of the founders, among them Justus +Hafner. He was acquitted, but with such damage to his financial +integrity and in the face of such public indignation that he abandoned +Austria for Italy and Vienna for Rome. There, heedless of first rebuffs, +he undertook to realize the third great object of his life, the gaining +of social position. To the period of avidity had succeeded, as it +frequently does with those formidable handlers of money, the period of +vanity. Being now a widower, he aimed at his daughter’s marriage with a +strength of will and a complication of combinations equal to his former +efforts, and that struggle for connection with high life was disguised +beneath the cloak of the most systematically adopted politeness of +deportment. How had he found the means, in the midst of struggles and +hardships, to refine himself so that the primitive broker and speculator +were almost unrecognizable in the baron of fifty-four, decorated with +several orders, installed in a magnificent palace, the father of +a charming daughter, and himself an agreeable conversationalist, a +courteous gentleman, an ardent sportsman? It is the secret of those +natures created for social conquest, like a Napoleon for war and +a Talleyrand for diplomacy. Dorsenne asked himself the question +frequently, and he could not solve it. Although he boasted of watching +the Baron with an intellectual curiosity, he could not restrain a +shudder of antipathy each time he met the eyes of the man. + +And on this particular morning it was especially disagreeable to him +that those eyes had seen him making his unoffending notes, although +there was scarcely a shade of gentle condescension--that of a great lord +who patronizes a great artist--in the manner in which Hafner addressed +him. + +“Do not inconvenience yourself for me, dear sir,” said he to Dorsenne. +“You work from nature, and you are right. I see that your next novel +will touch upon the ruin of our poor Prince d’Ardea. Do not be too hard +on him, nor on us.” + +The artist could not help coloring at that benign pleasantry. It was +all the more painful to him because it was at once true and untrue. How +should he explain the sort of literary alchemy, thanks to which he was +enabled to affirm that he never drew portraits, although not a line +of his fifteen volumes was traced without a living model? He replied, +therefore, with a touch of ill-humor: + +“You are mistaken, my dear Baron. I do not make notes on persons.” + +“All authors say that,” answered the Baron, shrugging his shoulders +with the assumed good-nature which so rarely forsook him, “and they are +right.... At any rate, it is fortunate that you had something to write, +for we shall both be late in arriving at a rendezvous where there are +ladies.... It is almost a quarter past eleven, and we should have been +there at eleven precisely.... But I have one excuse, I waited for my +daughter.” + +“And she has not come?” asked Dorsenne. + +“No,” replied Hafner, “at the last moment she could not make up her +mind. She had a slight annoyance this morning--I do not know what old +book she had set her heart on. Some rascal found out that she wanted +it, and he obtained it first.... But that is not the true cause of her +absence. The true cause is that she is too sensitive, and she finds it +so sad that there should be a sale of the possessions of this ancient +family.... I did not insist. What would she have experienced had she +known the late Princess Nicoletta, Pepino’s mother? When I came to Rome +on a visit for the first time, in ‘75, what a salon that was and what a +Princess!... She was a Condolmieri, of the family of Eugene IV.” + +“How absurd vanity renders the most refined man,” thought Julien, +suiting his pace to the Baron’s. “He would have me believe that he was +received at the house of that woman who was politically the blackest +of the black, the most difficult to please in the recruiting of her +salon.... Life is more complex than the Montfanons even know of! This +girl feels by instinct that which the chouan of a marquis feels by +doctrine, the absurdity of this striving after nobility, with a father +who forgets the broker and who talks of the popes of the Middle Ages +as of a trinket!... While we are alone, I must ask this old fox what he +knows of Boleslas Gorka’s return. He is the confidant of Madame Steno. +He should be informed of the doings and whereabouts of the Pole.” + +The friendship of Baron Hafner for the Countess, whose financial adviser +he was, should have been for Dorsenne a reason for avoiding such a +subject, the more so as he was convinced of the man’s dislike for him. +The Baron could, by a single word perfidiously repeated, injure him very +much with Alba’s mother. But the novelist, similar on that point to the +majority of professional observers, had only the power of analysis of a +retrospective order. Never had his keen intelligence served him to avoid +one of those slight errors of conversation which are important mistakes +on the pitiful checker-board of life. Happily for him, he cherished no +ambition except for his pleasure and his art, without which he would +have found the means of making for himself, gratuitously, enough enemies +to clear all the academies. + +He, therefore, chose the moment when the Baron arrived at the landing on +the first floor, pausing somewhat out of breath, and after the agent had +verified their passes, to say to his companion: + +“Have you seen Gorka since his arrival?” + +“What? Is Boleslas here?” asked Justus Hafner, who manifested his +astonishment in no other manner than by adding: “I thought he was still +in Poland.” + +“I have not seen him myself,” said Dorsenne. He already regretted having +spoken too hastily. It is always more prudent not to spread the first +report. But the ignorance of that return of Countess Steno’s best +friend, who saw her daily, struck the young man with such surprise that +he could not resist adding: “Some one, whose veracity I can not doubt, +met him this morning.” Then, brusquely: “Does not this sudden return +make you fearful?” + +“Fearful?” repeated the Baron. “Why so?” As he uttered those words +he glanced at the writer with his usual impassive expression, which, +however, a very slight sign, significant to those who knew him, belied. +In exchanging those few words the two men had passed into the first room +of “objects of art,” having belonged to the apartment of “His Eminence +Prince d’Ardea,” as the catalogue said, and the Baron did not raise the +gold glass which he held at the end of his nose when near the smallest +display of bric-a-brac, as was his custom. As he walked slowly through +the collection of busts and statues of that first room, called “Marbles” + on the catalogue, without glancing with the eye of a practised judge +at the Gobelin tapestry upon the walls, it must have been that he +considered as very grave the novelist’s revelation. The latter had said +too much not to continue: + +“Well, I who have not been connected with Madame Steno for years, like +you, trembled for her when that return was announced to me. She does not +know what Gorka is when he is jealous, or of what he is capable.” + +“Jealous? Of whom?” interrupted Hafner. “It is not the first time I have +heard the name of Boleslas uttered in connection with the Countess. I +confess I have never taken those words seriously, and I should not have +thought that you, a frequenter of her salon, one of her friends, would +hesitate on that subject. Rest assured, Gorka is in love with his +charming wife, and he could not make a better choice. Countess Caterina +is an excellent person, very Italian. She is interested in him, as in +you, as in Maitland, as in me; in you because you write such admirable +books, in Maitland because he paints like our best masters, in Boleslas +on account of the sorrow he had in the death of his first child, in +me because I have so delicate a charge. She is more than an excellent +person, she is a truly superior woman, very superior.” He uttered his +hypocritical speech with such perfect ease that Dorsenne was surprised +and irritated. That Hafner did not believe one treacherous word of what +he said the novelist was sure, he who, from the indiscreet confidences +of Gorka, knew what to think of the Venetian’s manner, and he; too, +understood the Baron’s glance! At any other time he would have admired +the policy of the old stager. At that moment the novelist was vexed +by it, for it caused him to play a role, very common but not very +elevating, that of a calumniator, who has spoken ill of a woman with +whom he dined the day before. He, therefore, quickened his pace as much +as politeness would permit, in order not to remain tete-a-tete with the +Baron, and also to rejoin the persons of their party already arrived. + +They emerged from the first room to enter a second, marked “Porcelain;” + then a third, “Frescoes of Perino del Vaga,” on account of the ceiling +upon which the master painted a companion to his vigorous piece at +Genoa--“Jupiter crushing the Giants”--and, lastly, into a fourth, called +“The Arazzi,” from the wonderful panels with which it was decorated. + +A few visitors were lounging there, for the season was somewhat +advanced, and the date which M. Ancona had chosen for the execution +proved either the calculation of profound hatred or else the adroit ruse +of a syndicate of retailers. All the magnificent objects in the palace +were adjudged at half the value they would have brought a few months +sooner or later. The small group of curios stood out in contrast to the +profusion of furniture, materials, objects of art of all kinds, which +filled the vast rooms. It was the residence of five hundred years of +power and of luxury, where masterpieces, worthy of the great Medicis, +and executed in their time, alternated with the gewgaws of the +eighteenth century and bronzes of the First Empire, with silver trinkets +ordered but yesterday in London. Baron Justus could not resist these. He +raised his glass and called Dorsenne to show him a curious armchair, +the carving of a cartel, the embroidery on some material. One glance +sufficed for him to judge.... If the novelist had been capable of +observing, he would have perceived in the detailed knowledge the banker +had of the catalogue the trace of a study too deep not to accord with +some mysterious project. + +“There are treasures here,” said he. “See these two Chinese vases with +convex lids, with the orange ground decorated with gilding. Those are +pieces no longer made in China. It is a lost art. And this tete-a-tete +decorated with flowers; and this pluvial cope in this case. What a +marvel! It is as good as the one of Pius Second, which was at Pienza and +which has been stolen. I could have bought it at one time for fifteen +hundred francs. It is worth fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, all of +that. Here is some faience. It was brought from Spain when Cardinal +Castagna came from Madrid, when he took the place of Pius Fifth as +sponsor of Infanta Isabella. Ah, what treasures! But you go like the +wind,” he added, “and perhaps it is better, for I would stop, and +Cavalier Fossati, the auctioneer, to whom those terrible creditors of +Peppino have given charge of the sale, has spies everywhere. You notice +an object, you are marked as a solid man, as they say in Germany. +You are noted. I shall be down on his list. I have been caught by him +enough. Ha! He is a very shrewd man! But come, I see the ladies. +We should have remembered that they were here,” and smiling--but at +whom?--at Fossati, at himself or his companion?--he made the latter +read the notice hung on the door of a transversal room, which bore this +inscription: “Salon of marriage-chests.” + +There were, indeed, ranged along the walls about fifteen of those +wooden cases painted and carved, of those ‘cassoni’ in which it was the +fashion, in grand Italian families, to keep the trousseaux destined for +the brides. Those of the Castagnas proved, by their escutcheons, what +alliances the last of the grand-nephews of Urban VII, the actual Prince +d’Ardea, entered into. Three very elegant ladies were examining the +chests; in them Dorsenne recognized at once fair and delicate Alba +Steno, Madame Gorka, with her tall form, her fair hair, too, and her +strong English profile, and pretty Madame Maitland, with her olive +complexion, who did not seem to have inherited any more negro blood than +just enough to tint her delicate face. Florent Chapron, the painter’s +brother-in-law, was the only man with those three ladies. Countess Steno +and Lincoln Maitland were not there, and one could hear the musical +voice of Alba spelling the heraldry carved on the coffers, formerly +opened with tender curiosity by young girls, laughing and dreaming by +turns like her. + +“Look, Maud,” said she to Madame Gorka, “there is the oak of the Della +Rovere, and there the stars of the Altieri.” + +“And I have found the column of the Colonna,” replied Maud Gorka. + +“And you, Lydia?” said Mademoiselle Steno to Madame Maitland. + +“And I, the bees of the Barberini.” + +“And I, the lilies of the Farnese,” said in his turn Florent Chapron, +who, having raised his head first, perceived the newcomers. He greeted +them with a pleasant smile, which was reflected in his eyes and which +showed his white teeth. “We no longer expected you, sirs. Every one has +disappointed us. Lincoln did not wish to leave his atelier. It seems +that Mademoiselle Hafner excused herself yesterday to these ladies. +Countess Steno has a headache. We did not even count on the Baron, who +is usually promptness personified.” + +“I was sure Dorsenne would not fail us,” said Alba, gazing at the young +man with her large eyes, of a blue as clear as those of Madame Gorka +were dark. “Only that I expected we should meet him on the staircase as +we were leaving, and that he would say to us, in surprise: ‘What, I am +not on time?’ Ah,” she continued, “do not excuse yourself, but reply +to the examination in Roman history we are about to put you through. We +have to follow here a veritable course studying all these old chests. +What are the arms of this family?” she asked, leaning with Dorsenne over +one of the cassoni. “You do not know? The Carafa, famous man! And +what Pope did they have? You do not know that either? Paul Fourth, sir +novelist. If ever you visit us in Venice, you will be surprised at the +Doges.” + +She employed so affectionate a grace in that speech, and she was so +apparently in one of her moods--so rare, alas! of childish joyousness, +that Dorsenne, preoccupied as he was, felt his heart contract on her +account. The simultaneous absence of Madame Steno and Lincoln Maitland +could only be fortuitous. But persuaded that the Countess loved +Maitland, and not doubting that she was his mistress, the absence of +both appeared singularly suspicious to him. Such a thought sufficed +to render the young girl’s innocent gayety painful to him. That gayety +would become tragical if it were true that the Countess’s other lover +had returned unexpectedly, warned by some one. Dorsenne experienced +genuine agitation on asking Madame Gorka: + +“How is Boleslas?” + +“Very well, I suppose,” said his wife. “I have not had a letter to-day. +Does not one of your proverbs say, ‘No news is good news?’” + +Baron Hafner was beside Maud Gorka when she uttered that sentence. +Involuntarily Dorsenne looked at him, and involuntarily, master as he +was of himself, he looked at Dorsenne. It was no longer a question of a +simple hypothesis. That Boleslas Gorka had returned to Rome unknown to +his wife constituted, for any one who knew of his relations with Madame +Steno, and of the infidelity of the latter, an event full of formidable +consequences. Both men were possessed by the same thought. Was +there still time to prevent a catastrophe? But each of them in this +circumstance, as is so often the case in important matters of life, was +to show the deepness of his character. Not a muscle of Hafner’s face +quivered. It was a question, perhaps, of rendering a service to a woman +in danger, whom he loved with all the feeling of which he was capable. +That woman was the mainspring of his social position in Rome. She was +still more. A plan for Fanny’s marriage, as yet secret, but on the +point of being consummated, depended upon Madame Steno. But he felt it +impossible to attempt to render her any service before having spent half +an hour in the rooms of the Palais Castagna, and he began to employ that +half hour in a manner which would be most profitable to his possible +purchases, for he turned to Madame Gorka and said to her, with the +rather exaggerated politeness habitual to him: + +“Countess, if you will permit me to advise you, do not pause so long +before these coffers, interesting as they may be. First, as I have just +told Dorsenne, Cavalier Fossati, the agent, has his spies everywhere +here. Your position has already been remarked, you may be sure, so that +if you take a fancy for one, he will know it in advance, and he will +manage to make you pay double, triple, and more for it. And then we +have to see so much, notably a cartoon of twelve designs by old +masters, which Ardea did not even suspect he had, and which Fossati +discovered--would you believe?--worm-eaten, in a cupboard in one of the +granaries.” + +“There is some one whom your collection would interest,” said Florent, +“my brother-in-law.” + +“Well,” replied Madame Gorka to Hafner with her habitual good-nature, +“there are at least two of these coffers that I like and wish to have. +I said it in so loud a tone that it is not worth the trouble of hoping +that your Cavalier Fossati does not know it, if he really has that +mode of espionage in practice. But forty or fifty pounds more make no +difference--nor forty thousand even.” + +“Baron Hafner will warn you that your tone is not low enough,” laughed +Alba Steno, “and he will add his great phrase: ‘You will never be +diplomatic.’ But,” added the girl, turning toward Dorsenne, having drawn +back from silent Lydia Maitland, and arranging to fall behind with the +young man, “I am about to employ a little diplomacy in order to find +out whether you have any trouble.” And here her mobile face changed its +expression, looking into Julien’s with genuine anxiety. “Yes,” said she, +“I have never seen you so preoccupied as you seem to be this morning. +Do you not feel well? Have you received ill news from Paris? What ails +you?” + +“I preoccupied?” replied Dorsenne. “You are mistaken. There is +absolutely nothing, I assure you.” It was impossible to lie with more +apparent awkwardness, and if any one merited the scorn of Baron Hafner, +it was he. Hardly had Madame Gorka spoken, when he had, with the +rapidity of men of vivid imagination, seen Countess Steno and Maitland +surprised by Gorka, at that very moment, in some place of rendezvous, +and that surprise followed by a challenge, perhaps an immediate murder. +And, as Alba continued to laugh merrily, his presentiment of her sad +fate became so vivid that his face actually clouded over. He felt +impelled to ascertain, when she questioned him, how great a friendship +she bore him. But his effort to hide his emotion rendered his voice so +harsh that the young girl resumed: + +“I have vexed you by my questioning?” + +“Not the least in the world,” he replied, without being able to find a +word of friendship. He felt at that moment incapable of talking, as +they usually did, in that tone of familiarity, partly mocking, partly +sentimental, and he added: “I simply think this exposition somewhat +melancholy, that is all.” And, with a smile, “But we shall lose the +opportunity of having it shown us by our incomparable cicerone,” and +he obliged her, by quickening her pace, to rejoin the group piloted by +Hafner through the magnificence of the almost deserted apartment. + +“See,” said the former broker of Berlin and of Paris, now an enlightened +amateur--“see, how that charlatan of a Fossati has taken care not to +increase the number of trinkets now that we are in the reception-rooms. +These armchairs seem to await invited guests. They are known. They have +been illustrated in a magazine of decorative art in Paris. And that +dining-room through that door, with all the silver on the table, would +you not think a fete had been prepared?” + +“Baron,” said Madame Gorka, “look at this material; it is of the +eighteenth century, is it not?” + +“Baron,” asked Madame Maitland, “is this cup with the lid old Vienna or +Capadimonte?” + +“Baron,” said Florent Chapron, “is this armor of Florentine or Milanese +workmanship?” + +The eyeglass was raised to the Baron’s thin nose, his small eyes +glittered, his lips were pursed up, and he replied, in words as exact +as if he had studied all the details of the catalogue verbatim. Their +thanks were soon followed by many other questions, in which two voices +alone did not join, that of Alba Steno and that of Dorsenne. Under +any other circumstances, the latter would have tried to dissipate the +increasing sadness of the young girl, who said no more to him after +he repulsed her amicable anxiety. In reality, he attached no great +importance to it. Those transitions from excessive gayety to sudden +depression were so habitual with the Contessina, above all when with +him. Although they were the sign of a vivid sentiment, the young man +saw in them only nervous unrest, for his mind was absorbed with other +thoughts. + +He asked himself if, at any hazard, after the manner in which Madame +Gorka had spoken, it would not be more prudent to acquaint Lincoln +Maitland with the secret return of his rival. Perhaps the drama had not +yet taken place, and if only the two persons threatened were warned, no +doubt Hafner would put Countess Steno upon her guard. But when would +he see her? What if he, Dorsenne, should at once tell Maitland’s +brother-in-law of Gorka’s return, to that Florent Chapron whom he saw at +the moment glancing at all the objects of the princely exposition? The +step was an enormous undertaking, and would have appeared so to any +one but Julien, who knew that the relations between Florent Chapron and +Lincoln Maitland were of a very exceptional nature. Julien knew that +Florent--sent when very young to the Jesuits of Beaumont, in England, by +a father anxious to spare him the humiliation which his blood would call +down upon him in America--had formed a friendship with Lincoln, a pupil +in the same school. He knew that the friendship for the schoolmate had +turned to enthusiasm for the artist, when the talent of his old comrade +had begun to reveal itself. He knew that the marriage, which had placed +the fortune of Lydia at the service of the development of the painter, +had been the work of that enthusiasm at an epoch when Maitland, spoiled +by the unwise government of his mother, and unappreciated by the public, +was wrung by despair. The exceptional character of the marriage would +have surprised a man less heeding of moral peculiarities than was +Dorsenne, who had observed, all too frequently, the silence and reserve +of that sister not to look upon her as a sacrifice. He fancied that +admiration for his brother-in-law’s genius had blinded Florent to such a +degree that he was the first cause of the sacrifice. + +“Drama for drama,” said he to himself, as the visit drew near its close, +and after a long debate with himself. “I should prefer to have it one +rather than the other in that family. I should reproach myself all my +life for not having tried every means.” They were in the last room, and +Baron Hafner was just fastening the strings of an album of drawings, +when the conviction took possession of the young man in a definite +manner. Alba Steno, who still maintained silence, looked at him again +with eyes which revealed the struggle of her interest for him and of her +wounded pride. She longed, without doubt, at the moment they were +about to separate, to ask him, according to their intimate and charming +custom, when they should meet again. He did not heed her--any more than +he did the other pair of eyes which told him to be more prudent, and +which were those of the Baron; any more than he did the observation of +Madame Gorka, who, having remarked the ill-humor of Alba, was seeking +the cause, which she had long since divined was the heart of the young +girl; any more than the attitude of Madame Maitland, whose eyes at times +shot fire equal to her brother’s gentleness. He took the latter by the +arm, and said to him aloud: + +“I should like to have your opinion on a small portrait I have noticed +in the other room, my dear Chapron.” Then, when they were before the +canvas which had served as a pretext for the aside, he continued, in a +low voice: “I heard very strange news this morning. Do you know Boleslas +Gorka is in Rome unknown to his wife?” + +“That is indeed strange,” replied Maitland’s brother-in-law, adding +simply, after a silence: “Are you certain of it?” + +“As certain as that we are here,” said Dorsenne. “One of my friends, +Marquis de Montfanon, met him this morning.” + +A fresh silence ensued between the two, during which Julien felt that +the arm upon which he rested trembled. Then they joined the party, while +Florent said aloud: “It is an excellent piece of painting, which has, +unfortunately, been revarnished too much.” + +“May I have done right!” thought Julien. “He understood me.” + + + + +CHAPTER III. BOLESLAS GORKA + +Hardly ten minutes had passed since Dorsenne had spoken as he had to +Florent Chapron, and already the imprudent novelist began to wonder +whether it would not have been wiser not to interfere in any way in an +adventure in which his intervention was of the least importance. + +The apprehension of an immediate drama which had possessed him, for the +first time, after the conversation with Montfanon, for the second time, +in a stronger manner, by proving the ignorance of Madame Gorka on +the subject of the husband’s return--that frightful and irresistible +evocation in a clandestine chamber, suddenly deluged with blood, was +banished by the simplest event. The six visitors exchanged their +last impressions on the melancholy and magnificence of the Castagna +apartments, and they ended by descending the grand staircase with the +pillars, through the windows of which staircase smiled beneath the +scorching sun the small garden which Dorsenne had compared to a face. +The young man walked a little in advance, beside Alba Steno, whom he now +tried, but in vain, to cheer. Suddenly, at the last turn of the broad +steps which tempered the decline gradually, her face brightened with +surprise and pleasure. She uttered a slight cry and said: “There is my +mother!” And Julien saw the Madame Steno, whom he had seen, in an access +of almost delirious anxiety, surprised, assassinated by a betrayed +lover. She was standing upon the gray and black mosaic of the peristyle, +dressed in the most charming morning toilette. Her golden hair was +gathered up under a large hat of flowers, over which was a white veil; +her hand toyed with the silver handle of a white parasol, and in the +reflection of that whiteness, with her clear, fair complexion, with her +lovely blue eyes in which sparkled passion and intelligence, with her +faultless teeth which gleamed when she smiled, with her form still +slender notwithstanding the fulness of her bust, she seemed to be a +creature so youthful, so vigorous, so little touched by age that a +stranger would never have taken her to be the mother of the tall young +girl who was already beside her and who said to her-- + +“What imprudence! Ill as you were this morning, to go out in this sun. +Why did you do so?” + +“To fetch you and to take you home!” replied the Countess gayly. “I +was ashamed of having indulged myself! I rose, and here I am. Good-day, +Dorsenne. I hope you kept your eyes open up there. A story might be +written on the Ardea affair. I will tell it to you. Good-day, Maud. How +kind of you to make lazy Alba exercise a little! She would have quite a +different color if she walked every morning. Goodday, Florent. Good-day, +Lydia. The master is not here? And you, old friend, what have you done +with Fanny?” + +She distributed these simple “good-days” with a grace so delicate, a +smile so rare for each one--tender for her daughter, spirituelle for the +author, grateful for Madame Gorka, amicably surprised for Chapron and +Madame Maitland, familiar and confiding for her old friend, as she +called the Baron. She was evidently the soul of the small party, for her +mere presence seemed to have caused animation to sparkle in every eye. + +All talked at once, and she replied, as they walked toward the +carriages, which waited in a court of honor capable of holding seventy +gala chariots. One after the other these carriages advanced. The horses +pawed the ground; the harnesses shone; the footmen and coachmen were +dressed in perfect liveries; the porter of the Palais Castagna, with his +long redingote, on the buttons of which were the symbolical chestnuts +of the family, had beneath his laced hat such a dignified bearing that +Julien suddenly found it absurd to have imagined an impassioned drama +in connection with such people. The last one left, while watching the +others depart, he once more experienced the sensation so common to those +who are familiar with the worst side of the splendor of society and who +perceive in them the moral misery and ironical gayety. + +“You are becoming a great simpleton, my friend, Dorsenne,” said he, +seating himself more democratically in one of those open cabs called +in Rome a botte. “To fear a tragical adventure for the woman who is +mistress of herself to such a degree is something like casting one’s +self into the water to prevent a shark from drowning. If she had +not upon her lips Maitland’s kisses, and in her eyes the memory of +happiness, I am very much mistaken. She came from a rendezvous. It was +written for me, in her toilette, in the color upon her cheeks, in her +tiny shoes, easy to remove, which had not taken thirty steps. And with +what mastery she uttered her string of falsehoods! Her daughter, Madame +Gorka, Madame Maitland, how quickly she included them all! That is why +I do not like the theatre, where one finds the actress who employs that +tone to utter her: ‘Is the master not here?’” + +He laughed aloud, then his thoughts, relieved of all anxiety, took a new +course, and, using the word of German origin familiar to Cosmopolitans, +to express an absurd action, he said: “I have made a pretty schlemylade, +as Hafner would say, in relating to Florent Gorka’s unexpected arrival. +It was just the same as telling him that Maitland was the Countess’s +lover. That is a conversation at which I should like to assist, that +which will take place between the two brothers-in-law. Should I be very +much surprised to learn that this unattached negro is the confidant of +his great friend? It is a subject to paint, which has never been well +treated; the passionate friendships of a Tattet for a Musset, of an +Eckermann for a Goethe, of an Asselineau for a Beaudelaire, the total +absorption of the admirer in the admired. Florent found that the genius +of the great painter had need of a fortune, and he gave him his sister. +Were he to find that that genius required a passion in order to develop +still more, he would not object. My word of honor! He glanced at the +Countess just now with gratitude! Why not, after all? Lincoln is a +colorist of the highest order, although his desire to be with the tide +has led him into too many imitations. But it is his race. Young Madame +Maitland has as much sense as the handle of a basket; and Madame Steno +is one of those extraordinary women truly created to exalt the ideals of +an artist. Never has he painted anything as he painted the portrait of +Alba. I can hear this dialogue: + +“‘You know the Pole has returned? What Pole? The Countess’s. What? You +believe those calumnies?’ Ah, what comedies here below! ‘Gad! The cabman +has also committed his ‘schlemylade’. I told him Rue Sistina, near La +Trinite-des-Monts, and here he is going through Place Barberini instead +of cutting across Capo le Case. It is my fault as well. I should not +have heeded it had there been an earthquake. Let us at least admire the +Triton of Bernin. What a sculptor that man was! yet he never thought of +nature except to falsify it.” + +These incoherent remarks were made with a good-nature decidedly +optimistic, as could be seen, when the fiacre finally drew up at the +given address. It was that of a very modest restaurant decorated with +this signboard: ‘Trattoria al Marzocco.’ And the ‘Marzocco’, the lion +symbolical of Florence, was represented above the door, resting his paw +on the escutcheon ornamented with the national lys. The appearance of +that front did not justify the choice which the elegant Dorsenne had +made of the place at which to dine when he did not dine in society. +But his dilettantism liked nothing better than those sudden leaps from +society, and M. Egiste Brancadori, who kept the Marzocco, was one of +those unconscious buffoons of whom he was continually in search in real +life, one of those whom he called his “Thebans”, in reference to King +Lear. “I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban,” cried the mad +king, one knows not why, when he meets “poor Tom” on the heath. + +That Dorsenne’s Parisian friends, the Casals, the Machaults, the De +Vardes, those habitues of the club, might not judge him too severely, he +explained that the Theban born in Florence was a cook of the first order +and that the modest restaurant had its story. It amused so paradoxical +an observer as Julien was. He often said, “Who will ever dare to write +the truth of the history?” This, for example: Pope Pius IX, having asked +the Emperor to send him some troops to protect his dominions, the latter +agreed to do so--an occupation which bore two results: a Corsican hatred +of the half of Italy against France and the founding of the Marzocco +by Egiste Brancadori, says the Theban or the doctor. It was one of the +pleasantries of the novelist to pretend to have cured his dyspepsia in +Italy, thanks to the wise and wholesome cooking of the said Egiste. In +reality, and more simply, Brancadori was the old cook of a Russian lord, +one of the Werekiews, the cousin of pretty Alba Steno’s real father. +That Werekiew, renowned in Rome for the daintiness of his dinners, died +suddenly in 1866. Several of the frequenters of his house, advised by +a French officer of the army of occupation, and tired of clubs, hotels, +and ordinary restaurants, determined to form a syndicate and to employ +his former cook. They, with his cooperation, established a sort of +superior cafe, to which with some pride they gave the name of the +Culinary Club. By assuring to each one a minimum of sixteen meals for +seven francs, they kept for four years an excellent table, at which were +to be found all the distinguished tourists in Rome. The year 1870 had +disbanded that little society of connoisseurs and of conversationalists, +and the club was metamorphosed into a restaurant, almost unknown, +except to a few artists or diplomats who were attracted by the ancient +splendors of the place, and, above all, by the knowledge of the +“doctor’s” talents. + +It was not unusual at eight o’clock for the three small rooms which +composed the establishment to be full of men in white cravats, white +waistcoats and evening coats. To cosmopolitan Dorsenne this was a +singularly interesting sight; a member of the English embassy here, +of the Russian embassy farther on, two German attaches elsewhere, +two French secretaries near at hand from St. Siege, another from the +Quirinal. What interested the novelist still more was the conversation +of the doctor himself, genial Brancadori, who could neither read nor +write. But he had preserved a faithful remembrance of all his old +customers, and when he felt confidential, standing erect upon the +threshold of his kitchen, of the possession of which he was so +insolently proud, he repeated curious stories of Rome in the days of +his youth. His gestures, so conformable to the appearance of things, his +mobile face and his Tuscan tongue, which softened into h all the harsh +e’s between two vowels, gave a savor to his stories which delighted a +seeker after local truths. It was in the morning especially, when there +was no one in the restaurant, that he voluntarily left his ovens to +chat, and if Dorsenne gave the address of the Marzocco to his cabman, it +was in the hope that the old cook would in his manner sketch for him the +story of the ruin of Ardea. Brancadori was standing by the bar where +was enthroned his niece, Signorina Sabatina, with a charming Florentine +face, chin a trifle long, forehead somewhat broad, nose somewhat short, +a sinuous mouth, large, black eyes, an olive complexion and waving hair, +which recalled in a forcible manner the favorite type of the first of +the Ghirlandajos. + +“Uncle,” said the young girl, as soon as she perceived Dorsenne, “where +have you put the letter brought for the Prince?” + +In Italy every foreigner is a prince or a count, and the profound +good-nature which reigns in the habit gives to those titles, in +the mouths of those who employ them, an amiability often free from +calculation. There is no country in the world where there is a truer, a +more charming familiarity of class for class, and Brancadori immediately +gave a proof of it in addressing as “Carolei”--that is to say, “my +dear”--him whom his daughter had blazoned with a coronet, and he cried, +fumbling in the pockets of the alpaca waistcoat which he wore over his +apron of office: + +“The brain is often lacking in a gray head. I put it in the pocket of my +coat in order to be more sure of not forgetting it. I changed my coat, +because it was warm, and left it with the letter in my apartments.” + +“You can look for it after lunch,” said Dorsenne. + +“No,” replied the young girl, rising, “it is not two steps from here; I +will go. The concierge of the palace where your Excellency lives brought +it himself, and said it must be delivered immediately.” + +“Very well, go and fetch it,” replied Julien, who could not suppress a +smile at the honor paid his dwelling, “and I will remain here and +talk with my doctor, while he gives me the prescription for this +morning--that is to say, his bill of fare. Guess whence I come, +Brancadori,” he added, assured of first stirring the cook’s curiosity, +then his power of speech. “From the Palais Castagna, where they are +selling everything.” + +“Ah! Per Bacco!” exclaimed the Tuscan, with evident sorrow upon his +old parchment-like face, scorched from forty years of cooking. “If the +deceased Prince Urban can see it in the other world, his heart will +break, I assure you. The last time he came to dine here, about ten +years ago, on Saint Joseph’s Day, he said to me: ‘Make me some fritters, +Egiste, like those we used to have at Monsieur d’Epinag’s, Monsieur +Clairin’s, Fortuny’s, and poor Henri Regnault’s.’ And he was happy! +‘Egiste,’ said he to me, ‘I can die contented! I have only one son, but +I shall leave him six millions and the palace. If it was Gigi I should +be less easy, but Peppino!’ Gigi was the other one, the elder, who died, +the gay one, who used to come here every day--a fine fellow, but bad! +You should have heard him tell of his visit to Pius Ninth on the day +upon which he converted an Englishman. Yes, Excellency, he converted +him by lending him by mistake a pious book instead of a novel. The +Englishman took the book, read it, read another, a third, and became a +Catholic. Gigi, who was not in favor at the Vatican, hastened to tell +the Holy Father of his good deed. ‘You see, my son,’ said Pius Ninth, +‘what means our Lord God employs!’ Ah, he would have used those +millions for his amusement, while Peppino! They were all squandered +in signatures. Just think, the name of Prince d’Ardea meant money! He +speculated, he lost, he won, he lost again, he drew up bills of exchange +after bills of exchange. And every time he made a move such as I +am making with my pencil--only I can not sign my name--it meant one +hundred, two hundred thousand francs to go into the world. And now he +must leave his house and Rome. What will he do, Excellency, I ask you?” + With a shake of his head he added: “He should reconstruct his fortune +abroad. We have this saying: ‘He who squanders gold with his hands will +search for it with his feet.’ But Sabatino is coming! She has been as +nimble as a cat.” + +The good man’s invaluable mimetic art, his proverbs, the story of the +fete of St. Joseph, the original evocation of the heir of the Castagnas +continually signing and signing, the coarse explanation of his +ruin--very true, however--everything in the recital had amused Dorsenne. +He knew enough Italian to appreciate the untranslatable passages of +the language of the man of the people. He was again on the verge of +laughter, when the fresco madonna, as he sometimes designated the young +girl, handed him an envelope the address upon which soon converted his +smile into an undisguised expression of annoyance. He pushed aside +the day’s bill of fare which the old cook presented to him and said, +brusquely: “I fear I can not remain to breakfast.” Then, opening +the letter: “No, I can not; adieu.” And he went out, in a manner so +precipitate and troubled that the uncle and niece exchanged smiling +glances. Those typical Southerners could not think of any other trouble +in connection with so handsome a man as Dorsenne than that of the heart. + +“Chi ha l’amor nel petto,” said Signorina Sabatina. + +“Ha lo spron nei fianchi,” replied the uncle. + +That naive adage which compares the sharp sting which passion drives +into our breasts to the spurring given the flanks of a horse, was not +true of Dorsenne. The application of the proverb to the circumstance was +not, however, entirely erroneous, and the novelist commented upon it in +his passion, although in another form, by repeating to himself, as he +went along the Rue Sistina: “No, no, I can not interfere in that affair, +and I shall tell him so firmly.” + +He examined again the note, the perusal of which had rendered him more +uneasy than he had been twice before that morning. He had not been +mistaken in recognizing on the envelope the handwriting of Boleslas +Gorka, and these were the terms, teeming with mystery under the +circumstances, in which the brief message was worded: + +“I know you to be such a friend to me, dear Julien, and I have for +your character, so chivalrous and so French, such esteem that I have +determined to turn to you in an era of my life thoroughly tragical. I +wish to see you immediately. I shall await you at your lodging. I have +sent a similar note to the Cercle de la Chasse, another to the bookshop +on the Corso, another to your antiquary’s. Wheresoever my appeal finds +you, leave all and come at once. You will save more for me than life. +For a reason which I will tell you, my return is a profound secret. No +one, you understand, knows of it but you. I need not write more to a +friend as sincere as you are, and whom I embrace with all my heart.” + +“It is unequalled!” said Dorsenne, crumpling the letter with rising +anger. “He embraces me with all his heart. I am his most sincere friend! +I am chivalrous, French, the only person he esteems! What disagreeable +commission does he wish me to undertake for him? Into what scrape is he +about to ask me to enter, if he has not already got me into it? I know +that school of protestation. We are allied for life and death, are we +not? Do me a favor! And they upset your habits, encroach upon your +time, embark you in tragedies, and when you say ‘No’ to them-then they +squarely accuse you of selfishness and of treason! It is my fault, too. +Why did I listen to his confidences? Have I not known for years that a +man who relates his love-affairs on so short an acquaintance as ours is +a scoundrel and a fool? And with such people there can be no possible +connection. He amused me at the beginning, when he told me his sly +intrigue, without naming the person, as they all do at first. He amused +me still more by the way he managed to name her without violating that +which people in society call honor. And to think that the women believe +in that honor and that discretion! And yet it was the surest means of +entering Steno’s, and approaching Alba.... I believe I am about to pay +for my Roman flirtation. If Gorka is a Pole, I am from Lorraine, and +the heir of the Castellans will only make me do what I agree to, nothing +more.” + +In such an ill-humor and with such a resolution, Julien reached the +door of his house. If that dwelling was not the palace alluded to by +Signorina Sabatina, it was neither the usually common house as common +today in new Rome as in contemporary Paris, modern Berlin, and in +certain streets of London opened of late in the neighborhood of Hyde +Park. It was an old building on the Place de la Trinite-des-Monts, at an +angle of the two streets Sistina and Gregoriana. Although reduced to the +state of a simple pension, more or less bourgeoise, that house had its +name marked in certain guide-books, and like all the corners of ancient +Rome it preserved the traces of a glorious, artistic history. The +small columns of the porch gave it the name of the tempietto, or little +temple, while several personages dear to litterateurs had lived there, +from the landscape painter Claude Lorrain to the poet Francois Coppee. +A few paces distant, almost opposite, lived Poussin, and one of the +greatest among modern English poets, Keats, died quite near by, the John +Keats whose tomb is to be seen in Rome, with that melancholy epitaph +upon it, written by himself: + + Here lies one whose name was writ in water. + +It was seldom that Dorsenne returned home without repeating to himself +the translation he had attempted of that beautiful ‘Ci-git un don’t le +nom, jut ecrit sur de l’eau’. + +Sometimes he repeated, at evening, this delicious fragment: + +The sky was tinged with tender green and pink. + +This time he entered in a more prosaic manner; for he addressed the +concierge in the tone of a jealous husband or a debtor hunted by +creditors: + +“Have you given the key to any one, Tonino?” he asked. + +“Count Gorka said that your Excellency asked him to await you here,” + replied the man, with a timidity rendered all the more comical by the +formidable cut of his gray moustache and his imperial, which made him a +caricature of the late King Victor Emmanuel. + +He had served in ‘59 under the Galantuomo, and he paid the homage of a +veteran of Solferino to that glorious memory. His large eyes rolled with +fear at the least confusion, and he repeated: + +“Yes, he said that your Excellency asked him to wait,” while Dorsenne +ascended the staircase, saying aloud: “More and more perfect. But this +time the familiarity passes all bounds; and it is better so. I have been +so surprised and annoyed from the first that I shall be easily able to +refuse the imprudent fellow what he will ask of me.” In his anger the +novelist sought to arm himself against his weakness, of which he +was aware--not the weakness of insufficient will, but of a too vivid +perception of the motives which the person with whom he was in conflict +obeyed. He, however, was to learn that there is no greater dissolvent of +rancor than intelligent curiosity. His was, indeed, aroused by a simple +detail, which consisted in ascertaining under what conditions the Pole +had travelled; his dressing-case, his overcoat and his hat, still white +with the dust of travel, were lying upon the table in the antechamber. + +Evidently he had come direct from Warsaw to the Place de la +Trinite-des-Monts. A prey to what delirium of passion? Dorsenne had +not time to ask the question any more than he had presence of mind +to compose his manner to such severity that it would cut short all +familiarity on the part of his strange visitor. At the noise made by +the opening of the antechamber door, Boleslas started up. He seized +both hands of the man into whose apartments he had obtruded himself. He +pressed them. He gazed at him with feverish eyes, with eyes which had +not closed for hours, and he murmured, drawing the novelist into the +tiny salon: + +“You have come, Julien, you are here! Ah, I thank you for having +answered my call at once! Let me look at you, for I am sure I have +a friend beside me, one in whom I can trust, with whom I can speak +frankly, upon whom I can depend. If this solitude had lasted much longer +I should have become mad.” + +Although Madame Steno’s lover belonged to the class of excitable, +nervous people who exaggerate their feelings by an unconscious wildness +of tone and of manner, his face bore the traces of a trouble too deep +not to be startling. + +Julien, who had seen him set out, three months before, so radiantly +handsome, was struck by the change which had taken place during such a +brief absence. He was the same Boleslas Gorka, that handsome man, that +admirable human animal, so refined and so strong, in which was embodied +centuries of aristocracy--the Counts de Gorka belong to the ancient +house of Lodzia, with which are connected so many illustrious +Polish families, the Opalenice-Opalenskis, the Bnin-Bninskis, the +Ponin-Poniniskis and many others--but his cheeks were sunken beneath his +long, brown beard, in which were glints of gold; his eyes were heavy as +if from wakeful nights, his nostrils were pinched and his face was pale. +The travel-stains upon his face accentuated the alteration. + +Yet the native elegance of that face and form gave grace to his +lassitude. Boleslas, in the vigorous and supple maturity of his +thirty-four years, realized one of those types of manly beauty so +perfect that they resist the strongest tests. The excesses of emotion, +as those of libertinism, seem only to invest the man with a new +prestige; the fact is that the novelist’s room, with its collection of +books, photographs, engravings, paintings and moldings, invested that +form, tortured by the bitter sufferings of passion, with a poesy to +which Dorsenne could not remain altogether insensible. The atmosphere, +impregnated with Russian tobacco and the bluish vapor which filled +the room, revealed in what manner the betrayed lover had diverted +his impatience, and in the centre of the writing-table a cup with a +bacchanal painted in red on a black ground, of which Julien was very +proud, contained the remains of about thirty cigarettes, thrown aside +almost as soon as lighted. Their paper ends had been gnawed with a +nervousness which betrayed the young man’s condition, while he repeated, +in a tone so sad that it almost called forth a shudder: + +“Yes, I should have gone mad.” + +“Calm yourself, my dear Boleslas, I implore you,” replied Dorsenne. What +had become of his ill-humor? How could he preserve it in the presence of +a person so evidently beside himself? Julien continued, speaking to his +companion as one speaks to a sick child: “Come, be seated. Be a little +more tranquil, since I am here, and you have reason to count on my +friendship. Speak to me. Explain to me what has happened. If there +is any advice to give you, I am ready. I am prepared to render you a +service. My God! In what a state you are!” + +“Is it not so?” said the other, with a sort of ironical pride. It was +sufficient that he had a witness of his grief for him to display it with +secret vanity. “Is it not so?” he continued. “Could you only know how +I have suffered. This is nothing,” said he, alluding to his haggard +appearance. “It is here that you should read,” he struck his breast, +then passing his hands over his brow and his eyes, as if to exorcise a +nightmare. “You are right. I must be calm, or I am lost.” + +After a prolonged silence, during which he seemed to have gathered +together his thoughts and to collect his will, for his voice had become +decided and sharp, he began: “You know that I am here unknown to any +one, even to my wife.” + +“I know it,” replied Dorsenne. “I have just left the Countess. This +morning I visited the Palais Castagna with her, Hafner, Madame Maitland, +Florent Chapron.” He paused and added, thinking it better not to lie on +minor points, “Madame Steno and Alba were there, too.” + +“Any one else?” asked Boleslas, with so keen a glance that the author +had to employ all his strength to reply: + +“No one else.” + +There was a silence between the two men. + +Dorsenne anticipated from his question toward what subject the +conversation was drifting. Gorka, now lying rather than sitting upon +the divan in the small room, appeared like a beast that, at any moment, +might bound. Evidently he had come to Julien’s a prey to the mad desire +to find out something, which is to jealousy what thirst is to certain +punishments. When one has tasted the bitter draught of certainty, one +does not suffer less. Yet one walks toward it, barefooted, on the heated +pavement, heedless of the heat. The motives which led Boleslas to choose +the French novelist as the one from whom to obtain his information, +demonstrated that the feline character of his physiognomy was not +deceptive. He understood Dorsenne much better than Dorsenne understood +him. He knew him to be nervous, on the one hand, and perspicacious on +the other. If there was an intrigue between Maitland and Madame Steno, +Julien had surely observed it, and, approached in a certain manner, he +would surely betray it. Moreover--for that violent and crafty nature +abounded in perplexities--Boleslas, who passionately admired the +author’s talent, experienced a sort of indefinable attraction in +exhibiting himself before him in the role of a frantic lover. He was one +of the persons who would have his photograph taken on his deathbed, so +much importance did he attach to his person. He would, no doubt, have +been insulted, if the author of ‘Une Eglogue Mondaine’ had portrayed +in a book himself and his love for Countess Steno, and yet he had only +approached the author, had only chosen him as a confidant with the vague +hope of impressing him. He had even thought of suggesting to him some +creation resembling himself. Yes, Gorka was very complex, for he was not +contented with deceiving his wife, he allowed the confiding creature to +form a friendship with the daughter of her husband’s mistress. Still, he +deceived her with remorse, and had never ceased bearing her an affection +as sorrowful as it was respectful. But it required Dorsenne to admit +the like anomalies, and the rare sensation of being observed in his +passionate frenzy attracted the young man to some one who was at once +a sure confidant, a possible portrayer, a moral accomplice. It was +necessary now, but it would not be an easy matter, to make of him his +involuntary detective. + +“You see,” resumed he suddenly, “to what miserable, detailed inquiries +I have descended, I who always had a horror of espionage, as of some +terrible degradation. I shall question you frankly, for you are my +friend. And what a friend! I intended to use artifice with you at first, +but I was ashamed. Passion takes possession of me and distorts me. +No matter what infamy presents itself, I rush into it, and then I am +afraid. Yes, I am afraid of myself! But I have suffered so much! You do +not understand? Well! Listen,” continued he, covering Dorsenne with one +of those glances so scrutinizing that not a gesture, not a quiver of his +eyelids, escaped him, “and tell me if you have ever imagined for one of +your romances a situation similar to mine. You remember the mortal fear +in which I lived last winter, with the presence of my brother-in-law, +and the danger of his denouncing me to my poor Maud, from stupidity, +from a British sense of virtue, from hatred. You remember, also, what +that voyage to Poland cost me, after those long months of anxiety? The +press of affairs and the illness of my aunt coming just at the moment +when I was freed from Ardrahan, inspired me with miserable forebodings. +I have always believed in presentiments. I had one. I was not mistaken. +From the first letter I received--from whom you can guess--I saw that +there was taking place in Rome something which threatened me in what I +held dearest on earth, in that love for which I sacrificed all, toward +which I walked by trampling on the noblest of hearts. Was Catherine +ceasing to love me? When one has spent two years of one’s life in a +passion--and what years!--one clings to it with every fibre! I will +spare you the recital of those first weeks spent in going here and +there, in paying visits to relatives, in consulting lawyers, in caring +for my sick aunt, in fulfilling my duty toward my son, since the +greater part of the fortune will go to him. And always with this firm +conviction: She no longer writes to me as formerly, she no longer loves +me. Ah! if I could show you the letter she wrote when I was absent once +before. You have a great deal of talent, Julien, but you have never +composed anything more beautiful.” + +He paused, as if the part of the confession he was approaching cost him +a great effort, while Dorsenne interpolated: + +“A change of tone in correspondence is not, however, sufficient to +explain the fever in which I see you.” + +“No,” resumed Gorka, “but it was not merely a change of tone. I +complained. For the first time my complaint found no echo. I threatened +to cease writing. No reply. I wrote to ask forgiveness. I received a +letter so cold that in my turn I wrote an angry one. Another silence! +Ah! You can imagine the terrible effect produced upon me by an unsigned +letter which I received fifteen days since. It arrived one morning. It +bore the Roman postmark. I did not recognize the handwriting. I opened +it. I saw two sheets of paper on which were pasted cuttings from a +French journal. I repeat it was unsigned; it was an anonymous letter.” + +“And you read it?” interrupted Dorsenne. “What folly!” + +“I read it,” replied the Count. “It began with words of startling truth +relative to my own situation. That our affairs are known to others we +may be sure, since we know theirs. We should, consequently, remember +that we are at the mercy of their indiscretion, as they are at ours. +The beginning of the note served as a guarantee of the truth of the end, +which was a detailed, minute recital of an intrigue which Madame Steno +had been carrying on during my absence, and with whom? With the man +whom I always mistrusted, that dauber who wanted to paint Alba’s +portrait--but whose desires I nipped in the bud--with the fellow who +degraded himself by a shameful marriage for money, and who calls himself +an artist--with that American--with Lincoln Maitland!” + +Although the childish and unjust hatred of the jealous--the hatred which +degrades us in lowering the one we love-had poisoned his discourse with +its bitterness, he did not cease watching Dorsenne. He partly raised +himself on the couch and thrust his head forward as he uttered the name +of his rival, glancing keenly at the novelist meanwhile. The latter +fortunately had been rendered indignant at the news of the anonymous +letter, and he repeated, with an astonishment which in no way aided his +interlocutor: + +“Wait,” resumed Boleslas; “that was merely a beginning. The next day I +received another letter, written and sent under the same conditions; the +day after, a third. I have twelve of them--do you hear? twelve--in my +portfolio, and all composed with the same atrocious knowledge of the +circle in which we move, as was the first. At the same time I was +receiving letters from my poor wife, and all coincided, in the terrible +series, in a frightful concordance. The anonymous letter told me: +‘To-day they were together two hours and a quarter,’ while Maud wrote: +‘I could not go out to-day, as agreed upon, with Madame Steno, for +she had a headache.’ Then the portrait of Alba, of which they told +me incidentally. The anonymous letters detailed to me the events, the +prolongation of sitting, while my wife wrote: ‘We again went to see +Alba’s portrait yesterday. The painter erased what he had done.’ +Finally it became impossible for me to endure it. With their abominable +minuteness of detail, the anonymous letters gave me even the address of +their rendezvous! I set out. I said to myself, ‘If I announce my arrival +to my wife they will find it out, they will escape me.’ I intended to +surprise them. I wanted--Do I know what I wanted? I wanted to suffer no +longer the agony of uncertainty. I took the train. I stopped neither day +nor night. I left my valet yesterday in Florence, and this morning I was +in Rome. + +“My plan was made on the way. I would hire apartments near theirs, in +the same street, perhaps in the same house. I would watch them, one, two +days, a week. And then--would you believe it? It was in the cab which +was bearing me directly toward that street that I saw suddenly, clearly +within me, and that I was startled. I had my hand upon this revolver.” + He drew the weapon from his pocket and laid it upon the divan, as if he +wished to repulse any new temptation. “I saw myself as plainly as I see +you, killing those two beings like two animals, should I surprise them. +At the same time I saw my son and my wife. Between murder and me there +was, perhaps, just the distance which separated me from the street, and +I felt that it was necessary to fly at once--to fly that street, to fly +from the guilty ones, if they were really guilty; to fly from myself! I +thought of you, and I have come to say to you, ‘My friend, this is how +things are; I am drowning, I am lost; save me.’” + +“You have yourself found the salvation,” replied Dorsenne. “It is in +your son and your wife. See them first, and if I can not promise you +that you will not suffer any more, you will no longer be tempted by +that horrible idea.” And he pointed to the pistol, which gleamed in the +sunlight that entered through the casement. Then he added: “And you will +have the idea still less when you will have been able to prove ‘de visu’ +what those anonymous letters were worth. Twelve letters in fifteen +days, and cuttings from how many papers? And they claim that we invent +heinousness in our books! If you like, we will search together for the +person who can have elaborated that little piece of villany. It must be +a Judas, a Rodin, an Iago--or Iaga. But this is not the moment to waste +in hypotheses. + +“Are you sure of your valet? You must send him a despatch, and in that +despatch the copy of another addressed to Madame Gorka, which your +man will send this very evening. You will announce your arrival for +tomorrow, making allusion to a letter written, so to speak, from Poland, +and which was lost. This evening from here you will take the train for +Florence, from which place you will set out again this very night. You +will be in Rome again to-morrow morning. You will have avoided, not only +the misfortune of having become a murderer, though you would not have +surprised any one, I am sure, but the much more grave misfortune of +awakening Madame Gorka’s suspicions. Is it a promise?” + +Dorsenne rose to prepare a pen and paper: “Come, write the despatch +immediately, and render thanks to your good genius which led you to +a friend whose business consists in imagining the means of solving +insoluble situations.” + +“You are quite right,” Boleslas replied, after taking in his hand the +pen which he offered to the other, “it is fortunate.” Then, casting +aside the pen as he had the revolver, “I can not. No, I can not, as long +as I have this doubt within me. Ah, it is too horrible! I can see them +plainly. You speak to me of my wife; but you forget that she loves +me, and at the first glance she would read me, as you did. You can not +imagine what an effort it has cost me for two years never to arouse +suspicion. I was happy, and it is easy to deceive when one has nothing +to hide but happiness. To-day we should not be together five minutes +before she would seek, and she would find. No, no; I can not. I need +something more.” + +“Unfortunately,” replied Julien, “I cannot give it to you. There is no +opium to lull asleep doubts such as those horrible anonymous letters +have awakened. What I know is this, that if you do not follow my advice +Madame Gorka will not have a suspicion, but certainty. It is now perhaps +too late. Do you wish me to tell you what I concealed from you on seeing +you so troubled? You did not lose much time in coming from the station +hither, and probably you did not look out of your cab twice. But you +were seen. By whom? By Montfanon. He told me so this morning almost on +the threshold of the Palais Castagna. If I had not gathered from some +words uttered by your wife that she was ignorant of your presence in +Rome, I--do you hear?--I should have told her of it. Judge now of your +situation!” + +He spoke with an agitation which was not assumed, so much was he +troubled by the evidence of danger which Gorka’s obstinacy presented. +The latter, who had begun to collect himself, had a strange light in his +eyes. Without doubt his companion’s nervousness marked the moment he was +awaiting to strike a decisive blow. He rose with so sudden a start that +Dorsenne drew back. He seized both of his hands, but with such force +that not a quiver of the muscles escaped him: + +“Yes, Julien, you have the means of consoling me, you have it,” said he +in a voice again hoarse with emotion. + +“What is it?” asked the novelist. + +“What is it? You are an honest man, Dorsenne; you are a great artist; +you are my friend, and a friend allied to me by a sacred bond, almost +a brother-in-arms; you, the grandnephew of a hero who shed his blood by +the side of my grandfather at Somo-Sierra. Give me your word of honor +that you are absolutely certain Madame Steno is not Maitland’s mistress, +that you never thought it, have never heard it said, and I will believe +you, I will obey you! Come,” continued he, pressing the writer’s hand +with more fervor, “I see you hesitate!” + +“No,” said Julien, disengaging himself from the wild grasp, “I do not +hesitate. I am sorry for you. Were I to give you that word, would it +have any weight with you for five minutes? Would you not be persuaded +immediately that I was perjuring myself to avoid a misfortune?” + +“You hesitate,” interrupted Boleslas. Then, with a burst of wild +laughter, he said, “It is then true! I like that better! It is frightful +to know it, but one suffers less--To know it’ As if I did not know she +had lovers before me, as if it were not written on Alba’s every feature +that she is Werekiew’s child, as if I had not heard it said seventy +times before knowing her that she had loved Branciforte, San Giobbe, +Strabane, ten others. Before, during, or after, what difference does it +make? Ah, I was sure on knocking at your door--at this door of honor--I +should hear the truth, that I would touch it as I touch this object,” + and he laid his hand upon a marble bust on the table. + +“You see I hear it like a man. You can speak to me now. Who knows? +Disgust is a great cure for passion. I will listen to you. Do not spare +me!” + +“You are mistaken, Gorka,” replied Dorsenne. “What I have to say to you, +I can say very simply. I was, and I am, convinced that in a quarter of +an hour, in an hour, tomorrow, the day after, you will consider me a +liar or an imbecile. But, since you misinterpreted my silence, it is my +duty to speak, and I do so. I give you my word of honor I have never had +the least suspicion of a connection between Madame Steno and Maitland, +nor have their relations seemed changed to me for a second since your +absence. I give you my word of honor that no one, do you hear, no +one has spoken of it to me. And, now, act as you please, think as you +please. I have said all I can say.” + +The novelist uttered those words with a feverish energy which was caused +by the terrible strain he was making upon his conscience. But Gorka’s +laugh had terrified him so much the more as at the same instant the +jealous lover’s disengaged hand was voluntarily or involuntarily +extended toward the weapon which gleamed upon the couch. The vision of +an immediate catastrophe, this time inevitable, rose before Julien. +His lips had spoken, as his arm would have been out stretched, by an +irresistible instinct, to save several lives, and he had made the +false statement, the first and no doubt the last in his life, without +reflecting. He had no sooner uttered it than he experienced such an +excess of anger that he would at that moment almost have preferred +not to be believed. It would indeed have been a comfort to him if his +visitor had replied by one of those insulting negations which permit one +man to strike another, so great was his irritation. On the contrary, +he saw the face of Madame Steno’s lover turned toward him with an +expression of gratitude upon it. Boleslas’s lips quivered, his hands +were clasped, two large tears gushed from his burning eyes and rolled +down his cheeks. When he was able to speak, he moaned: + +“Ah, my friend, how much good you have done me! From what a nightmare +you have relieved me. Ah! Now I am saved! I believe you, I believe you. +You are intimate with them. You see them every day. If there had been +anything between them you would know it. You would have heard it talked +of. Ah! Thanks! Give me your hand that I may press it. Forget all I said +to you just now, the slander I uttered in a moment of delirium. I know +very well it was untrue. And now, let me embrace you as I would if you +had really saved me from drowning. Ah, my friend, my only friend!” + +And he rushed up to clasp to his bosom the novelist, who replied with +the words uttered at the beginning of this conversation: “Calm yourself, +I beseech you, calm yourself!” and repeating to himself, brave and loyal +man that he was: “I could not act differently, but it is hard!” + + + + +BOOK 2. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. APPROACHING DANGER + +“I could not act differently,” repeated Dorsenne on the evening of that +eventful day. He had given his entire afternoon to caring for Gorka. He +made him lunch. He made him lie down. He watched him. He took him in a +closed carriage to Portonaccio, the first stopping-place on the Florence +line. Indeed, he made every effort not to leave alone for a moment the +man whose frenzy he had rather suspended than appeased, at the price, +alas, of his own peace of mind! For, once left alone, in solitude and +in the apartments on the Place de la Trinite, where twenty details +testified to the visit of Gorka, the weight of the perjured word of +honor became a heavy load to the novelist, so much the more heavy when +he discovered the calculating plan followed by Boleslas. His tardy +penetration permitted him to review the general outline of their +conversation. He perceived that not one of his interlocutor’s sentences, +not even the most agitated, had been uttered at random. From reply to +reply, from confidence to confidence, he, Dorsenne, had become involved +in the dilemma without being able to foresee or to avoid it; he would +either have had to accuse a woman or to lie with one of those lies which +a manly conscience does not easily pardon. He did not forgive himself +for it. + +“It is so much worse,” said he to himself, “as it will prevent nothing. +A person vile enough to pen anonymous letters will not stop there. She +will find the means of again unchaining the madman.... But who +wrote those letters? Gorka may have forged them in order to have an +opportunity to ask me the question he did.... And yet, no.... There +are two indisputable facts--his state of jealousy and his extraordinary +return. Both would lead one to suppose a third, a warning. But given by +whom?... He told me of twelve anonymous letters.... Let us assume that +he received one or two.... But who is the author of those?” + +The immediate development of the drama in which Julien found himself +involved was embodied in the answer to the question. It was not easy +to formulate. The Italians have a proverb of singular depth which the +novelist recalled at that moment. He had laughed a great deal when +he heard sententious Egiste Brancadori repeat it. He repeated it to +himself, and he understood its meaning. ‘Chi non sa fingersi amico, non +sa essere nemico. “He who does not know how to disguise himself as +a friend, does not know how to be an enemy.” In the little corner of +society in which Countess Steno, the Gorkas and Lincoln Maitland moved, +who was hypocritical and spiteful enough to practise that counsel? + +“It is not Madame Steno,” thought Julien; “she has related all herself +to her lover. I knew a similar case. But it involved degraded Parisians, +not a Dogesse of the sixteenth century found intact in the Venice of +today, like a flower of that period preserved. Let us strike her off. +Let us strike off, too, Madame Gorka, the truthful creature who could +not even condescend to the smallest lie for a trinket which she desires. +It is that which renders her so easily deceived. What irony!... Let us +strike off Florent. He would allow himself to be killed, if necessary, +like a Mameluke at the door of the room where his genial brother-in-law +was dallying with the Countess.... Let us strike off the American +himself. I have met such a case, a lover weary of a mistress, denouncing +himself to her in order to be freed from his love-affair. But he was a +roue, and had nothing in common with this booby, who has a talent +for painting as an elephant has a trunk--what irony! He married this +octoroon to have money. But it was a base act which freed him from +commerce, and permitted him to paint all he wanted, as he wanted. +He allows Steno to love him because she is diabolically pretty, +notwithstanding her forty years, and then she is, in spite of all, a +real noblewoman, which flattered him. He has not one dollar’s-worth of +moral delicacy in his heart. But he has an abundance of knavery.... Let +us, too, strike out his wife. She is such a veritable slave whom the +mere presence of a white person annihilates to such a degree that she +dares not look her husband in the face.... It is not Hafner. The sly +fox is capable of doing anything by cunning, but is he capable of +undertaking a useless and dangerous piece of rascality? Never.... Fanny +is a saint escaped from the Golden Legend, no matter what Montfanon +thinks! I have now reviewed the entire coterie.... I was about to forget +Alba.... It is too absurd even to think of her.... Too absurd? Why?” + +Dorsenne was, on formulating that fantastic thought, upon the point of +retiring. He took up, as was his habit, one of the books on his table, +in order to read a few pages, when once in bed. He had thus within his +reach the works by which he strengthened his doctrine of intransitive +intellectuality; they were Goethe’s Memoirs; a volume of George Sand’s +correspondence, in which were the letters to Flaubert; the ‘Discours de +la Methode’ by Descartes, and the essay by Burckhart on the Renaissance. + +But, after turning over the leaves of one of those volumes, he closed it +without having read twenty lines. He extinguished his lamp, but he could +not sleep. The strange suspicion which crossed his mind had something +monstrous about it, applied thus to a young girl. What a suspicion and +what a young girl! The preferred friend of his entire winter, she on +whose account he had prolonged his stay in Rome, for she was the most +graceful vision of delicacy and of melancholy in the framework of +a tragical and solemn past. Any other than Dorsenne would not have +admitted such an idea without being inspired with horror. But Dorsenne, +on the contrary, suddenly began to dive into that sinister hypothesis, +to help it forward, to justify it. No one more than he suffered from a +moral deformity which the abuse of a certain literary work inflicts +on some writers. They are so much accustomed to combining artificial +characters with creations of their imaginations that they constantly +fulfil an analogous need with regard to the individuals they know best. +They have some friend who is dear to them, whom they see almost daily, +who hides nothing from them and from whom they hide nothing. But if they +speak to you of him you are surprised to find that, while continuing to +love that friend, they trace to you in him two contradictory portraits +with the same sincerity and the same probability. + +They have a mistress, and that woman, even in the space sometimes of one +day, sees them, with fear, change toward her, who has remained the same. +It is that they have developed in them to a very intense degree the +imagination of the human soul, and that to observe is to them only +a pretext to construe. That infirmity had governed Julien from early +maturity. It was rarely manifested in a manner more unexpected than in +the case of charming Alba Steno, who was possibly dreaming of him at the +very moment when, in the silence of the night, he was forcing himself to +prove that she was capable of that species of epistolary parricide. + +“After all,” he said to himself, for there is iconoclasm in the +excessively intellectual, and they delight in destroying their dearest +moral or sentimental idols, the better to prove their strength, “after +all, have I really understood her relations toward her mother? When I +came to Rome in November, when I was to be presented to the Countess, +what did not only one, but nine or ten persons tell me? That Madame +Steno had a liaison with the husband of her daughter’s best friend, and +that the little one was grieving about it. I went to the house. I saw +the child. She was sad that evening. I had the curiosity to wish to read +her heart.... It is six months since then. We have met almost daily, +often twice a day. She is so hermetically sealed that I am no farther +advanced than I was on the first day. I have seen her glance at her +mother as she did this morning, with loving, admiring eyes. I have seen +her turn pale at a word, a gesture, on her part. I have seen her +embrace Maud Gorka, and play tennis with that same friend so gayly, so +innocently. I have seen that she could not bear the presence of Maitland +in a room, and yet she asked the American to take her portrait.... +Is she guileless?... Is she a hypocrite? Or is she tormented by +doubt-divining, not divining-believing, not believing in-her mother? Is +she underhand in any case, with her eyes the color of the sea? Has she +the ambiguous mind at once of a Russian and an Italian?... This would be +a solution of the problem, that she was a girl of extraordinary inward +energy, who, both aware of her mother’s intrigues and detesting them +with an equal hatred, had planned to precipitate the two men upon each +other. For a young girl the undertaking is great. I will go to the +Countess’s to-morrow night, and I will amuse myself by watching Alba, to +see... If she is innocent, my deed will be inoffensive. If perchance she +is not?” + +It is vain to profess to one’s own heart a complaisant dandyism of +misanthropy. Such reflections leave behind them a tinge of a remorse, +above all when they are, as these, absolutely whimsical and founded on a +simple paradox of dilettantism. Dorsenne experienced a feeling of shame +when he awoke the following morning, and, thinking of the mystery of +the letters received by Gorka, he recalled the criminal romance he had +constructed around the charming and tender form of his little friend; +happily for his nerves, which were strained by the consideration of the +formidable problem. If it is not some one in the Countess’s circle, who +has written those letters? He received, on rising, a voluminous package +of proofs with the inscription: “Urgent.” He was preparing to give +to the public a collection of his first articles, under the title of +‘Poussiere d’Idees.’ + +Dorsenne was a faithful literary worker. Usually, involved titles +serve to hide in a book-stall shop--made goods, and romance writers or +dramatic authors who pride themselves on living to write, and who seek +inspiration elsewhere than in regularity of habits and the work-table, +have their efforts marked from the first by sterility. Obscure or +famous, rich or poor, an artist must be an artisan and practise these +fruitful virtues--patient application, conscientious technicality, +absorption in work. When he seated himself at his table Dorsenne was +heart and soul in his business. He closed his door, he opened no letters +nor telegrams, and he spent ten hours without taking anything but two +eggs and some black coffee, as he did on this particular day, when +looking over the essays of his twenty-fifth year with the talent of +his thirty-fifth, retouching here a word, rewriting an entire page, +dissatisfied here, smiling there at his thought. The pen flew, carrying +with it all the sensibility of the intellectual man who had completely +forgotten Madame Steno, Gorka, Maitland, and the calumniated Contessina, +until he should awake from his lucid intoxication at nightfall. As he +counted, in arranging the slips, the number of articles prepared, he +found there were twelve. + +“Like Gorka’s letters,” said he aloud, with a laugh. He now felt +coursing through his veins the lightness which all writers of his kind +feel when they have labored on a work they believe good. “I have earned +my evening,” he added, still in a loud voice. “I must now dress and go +to Madame Steno’s. A good dinner at the doctor’s. A half-hour’s walk. +The night promises to be divine. I shall find out if they have news +of the Palatine,”--the name he gave Gorka in his moments of gayety. “I +shall talk in a loud voice of anonymous letters. If the author of +those received by Boleslas is there, I shall be in the best position to +discover him; provided that it is not Alba.... Decidedly--that would be +sad!” + +It was ten o’clock in the evening, when the young man, faithful to his +programme, arrived at the door of the large house on the Rue du Vingt +Septembre occupied by Madame Steno. It was an immense modern structure, +divided into two distinct parts; to the left a revenue building and +to the right a house on the order of those which are to be seen on the +borders of Park Monceau. The Villa Steno, as the inscription in gold +upon the black marble door indicated, told the entire story of the +Countess’s fortune--that fortune appraised by rumor, with its habitual +exaggeration, now at twenty, now at thirty, millions. She had in reality +two hundred and fifty thousand francs’ income. But as, in 1873, Count +Michel Steno, her husband, died, leaving only debts, a partly ruined +palace at Venice and much property heavily mortgaged, the amount of that +income proved the truth of the title, “superior woman,” applied by her +friends to Alba’s mother. Her friends likewise added: “She has been the +mistress of Hafner, who has aided her with his financial advice,” an +atrocious slander which was so much the more false as it was before ever +knowing the Baron that she had begun to amass her wealth. This is how +she managed it: + +At the close of 1873, when, as a young widow, living in retirement in +the sumptuous and ruined dwelling on the Grand Canal, she was struggling +with her creditors, one of the largest bankers in Rome came to propose +to her a very advantageous scheme. It dealt with a large piece of land +which belonged to the Steno estate, a piece of land in Rome, in one +of the suburbs, between the Porta Salara and the Porta Pia, a sort of +village which the deceased Cardinal Steno, Count Michel’s uncle, had +begun to lay out. After his demise, the land had been rented in lots to +kitchen-gardeners, and it was estimated that it was worth about forty +centimes a square metre. The financier offered four francs for it, under +the pretext of establishing a factory on the site. It was a large sum +of money. The Countess required twenty-four hours in which to consider, +and, at the end of that time, she refused the offer, which won for her +the admiration of the men of business who knew of the refusal. In 1882, +less than ten years later, she sold the same land for ninety francs +a metre. She saw, on glancing at a plan of Rome, and in recalling the +history of modern Italy, first, that the new masters of the Eternal City +would centre all their ambition in rebuilding it, then that the portion +comprised between the Quirinal and the two gates of Salara and Pia would +be one of the principal points of development; finally, that if she +waited she would obtain a much greater sum than the first offer. And +she had waited, applying herself to watching the administration of her +possessions like the severest of intendants, depriving herself, stopping +up gaps with unhoped-for profits. In 1875, she sold to the National +Gallery a suite of four panels by Carpaccio, found in one of her country +houses, for one hundred and twenty thousand francs. She had been as +active and practical in her material life as she had been light and +audacious in her sentimental experiences. The story circulated of +her infidelity to Steno with Werekiew at St. Petersburg, where the +diplomatist was stationed, after one year of marriage, was confirmed +by the wantonness of her conduct, of which she gave evidence as soon as +free. + +At Rome, where she lived a portion of the year after the sale of her +land, out of which she retained enough to build the double house, she +continued to increase her fortune with the same intelligence. A very +advantageous investment in Acqua Marcia enabled her to double in five +years the enormous profits of her first operation. And what proved still +more the exceptional good sense with which the woman was endowed, when +love was not in the balance, she stopped on those two gains, just at +the time when the Roman aristocracy, possessed by the delirium of +speculation, had begun to buy stocks which had reached their highest +value. + +To spend the evening at the Villa Steno, after spending all the morning +of the day before at the Palais Castagna, was to realize one of those +paradoxes of contradictory sensations such as Dorsenne loved, for poor +Ardea had been ruined in having attempted to do a few years later that +which Countess Catherine had done at the proper moment. He, too, had +hoped for an increase in the value of property. Only he had bought the +land at seventy francs a metre, and in ‘90 it was not worth more than +twenty-five. He, too, had calculated that Rome would improve, and on +the high-priced land he had begun to build entire streets, imagining he +could become like the Dukes of Bedford and of Westminster in London, +the owner of whole districts. His houses finished, they did not rent, +however. To complete the rest he had to borrow. He speculated in order +to pay his debts, lost, and contracted more debts in order to pay the +difference. His signature, as the proprietor of the Marzocco had said, +was put to innumerable bills of exchange. The result was that on all the +walls of Rome, including that of the Rue Vingt Septembre on which was +the Villa Steno, were posted multi-colored placards announcing the sale, +under the management of Cavalier Fossati, of the collection of art and +of furniture of the Palais Castagna. + +“To foresee is to possess power,” said Dorsenne to himself, ringing at +Madame Steno’s door and summing up thus the invincible association of +ideas which recalled to him the palace of the ruined Roman Prince at the +door of the villa of the triumphant Venetian: “It is the real Alpha and +Omega.” + +The comparison between the lot of Madame Steno and that of the heir of +the Castagnas had almost caused the writer to forget his plan of inquiry +as to the author of the anonymous letters. It was to be impressed upon +him, however, when he entered the hall where the Countess received every +evening. Ardea himself was there, the centre of a group composed of +Alba Steno, Madame Maitland, Fanny Hafner and the wealthy Baron, who, +standing aloof and erect, leaning against a console, seemed like a +beneficent and venerable man in the act of blessing youth. Julien was +not surprised on finding so few persons in the vast salon, any more than +he was surprised at the aspect of the room filled with old tapestry, +bric-a-brac, furniture, flowers, and divans with innumerable cushions. + +He had had the entire winter in which to observe the interior of that +house, similar to hundreds of others in Vienna, Madrid, Florence, +Berlin, anywhere, indeed, where the mistress of the house applies +herself to realizing an ideal of Parisian luxury. He had amused himself +many an evening in separating from the almost international framework +local features, those which distinguished the room from others of the +same kind. No human being succeeds in being absolutely factitious in his +home or in his writings. The author had thus noted that the salon bore a +date, that of the Countess’s last journey to Paris in 1880. It was to +be seen in the plush and silk of the curtains. The general coloring, +in which green predominated, a liberty egotistical in so brilliant a +blonde, had too warm a tone and betrayed the Italian. Italy was also to +be found in the painted ceiling and in the frieze which ran all around, +as well as in several paintings scattered about. There were two panels +by Moretti de Brescia in the second style of the master, called his +silvery manner, on account of the delicate and transparent fluidity of +the coloring; a ‘Souper chez le Pharisien’ and a ‘Jesus ressuscite sur +le rivage’, which could only have come from one of the very old palaces +of a very ancient family. Dorsenne knew all that, and he knew, too, for +what reasons he found almost empty at that time of the year the hall so +animated during the entire winter, the hall through which he had seen +pass a veritable carnival of visitors: great lords, artists, political +men, Russians and Austrians, English and French--pellmell. The +Countess was far from occupying in Rome the social position which her +intelligence, her fortune and her name should have assured her. For, +having been born a Navagero, she combined on her escutcheon the cross of +gold of the Sebastien Navagero who was the first to mount the walls of +Lepante, with the star of the grand Doge Michel. + +But one particular trait of character had always prevented her from +succeeding on that point. She could not bear ennui nor constraint, nor +had she any vanity. She was positive and impassioned, in the manner of +the men of wealth to whom their meditated--upon combinations serve +to assure the conditions of their pleasures. Never had Madame Steno +displayed diplomacy in the changes of her passions, and they had been +numerous before the arrival of Gorka, to whom she had remained faithful +two years, an almost incomprehensible thing! Never had she, save in her +own home, observed the slightest bounds when there was a question of +reaching the object of her desire. Moreover, she had not in Rome to +support her any member of the family to which she belonged, and she had +not joined either of the two sets into which, since 1870, the society of +the city was divided. Of too modern a mind and of a manner too bold, she +had not been received by the admirable woman who reigns at the Quirinal, +and who had managed to gather around her an atmosphere of such noble +elevation. + +These causes would have brought about a sort of semi-ostracism, had the +Countess not applied herself to forming a salon of her own, the recruits +for which were almost altogether foreigners. The sight of new faces, +the variety of conversation, the freedom of manner, all in that moving +world, pleased the thirst for diversion which, in that puissant, +spontaneous, and almost manly immoral nature, was joined with very just +clear-sightedness. If Julien paused for a moment surprised at the door +of the hall, it was not, therefore, on finding it empty at the end of +the season; it was on beholding there, among the inmates, Peppino Ardea, +whom he had not met all winter. Truly, it was a strange time to appear +in new scenes when the hammer of the appraiser was already raised above +all which had been the pride and the splendor of his name. But the +grand-nephew of Urban VII, seated between sublime Fanny Hafner, in pale +blue, and pretty Alba Steno, in bright red, opposite Madame Maitland, +so graceful in her mauve toilette, had in no manner the air of a man +crushed by adversity. + +The subdued light revealed his proud manly face, which had lost none +of its gay hauteur. His eyes, very black, very brilliant, and very +unsteady, seemed almost in the same glance to scorn and to smile, while +his mouth, beneath its brown moustache, wore an expression of disdain, +disgust, and sensuality. The shaven chin displayed a bluish shade, which +gave to the whole face a look of strength, belied by the slender and +nervous form. The heir of the Castagnas was dressed with an affectation +of the English style, peculiar to certain Italians. He wore too many +rings on his fingers, too large a bouquet in his buttonhole, and above +all he made too many gestures to allow for a moment, with his dark +complexion, of any doubt as to his nationality. It was he who, of all +the group, first perceived Julien, and he said to him, or rather called +out familiarly: + +“Ah, Dorsenne! I thought you had gone away. We have not seen you at the +club for fifteen days.” + +“He has been working,” replied Hafner, “at some new masterpiece, at a +romance which is laid in Roman society, I am sure. Mistrust him, Prince, +and you, ladies, disarm the portrayer.” + +“I,” resumed Ardea, laughing pleasantly, “will give him notes upon +myself, if he wants them, as long as this, and I will illustrate his +romance into the bargain with photographs which I once had a rage for +taking.... See, Mademoiselle,” he added, turning to Fanny, “that is how +one ruins one’s self. I had a mania for the instantaneous ones. It was +very innocent, was it not? It cost me thirty thousand francs a year, for +four years.” + +Dorsenne had heard that it was a watchword between Peppino Ardea and his +friends to take lightly the disaster which came upon the Castagna family +in its last and only scion. He was not expecting such a greeting. He was +so disconcerted by it that he neglected to reply to the Baron’s remark, +as he would have done at any other time. Never did the founder of the +‘Credit Austyr-Dalmate’ fail to manifest in some such way his profound +aversion for the novelist. Men of his species, profoundly cynical and +calculating, fear and scorn at the same time a certain literature. +Moreover, he had too much tact not to be aware of the instinctive +repulsion with which he inspired Julien. But to Hafner, all social +strength was tariffed, and literary success as much as any other. As he +was afraid, as on the staircase of the Palais Castagna, that he had +gone too far, he added, laying his hand with its long, supple fingers +familiarly upon the author’s shoulder: + +“This is what I admire in him: It is that he allows profane persons, +such as we are, to plague him, without ever growing angry. He is the +only celebrated author who is so simple.... But he is better than an +author; he is a veritable man-of-the-world.” + +“Is not the Countess here?” asked Dorsenne, addressing Alba Steno, and +without replying any more to the action, so involuntarily insulting, +of the Baron than he had to his sly malice or to the Prince’s +facetious offer. Madame Steno’s absence had again inspired him with an +apprehension which the young girl dissipated by replying: + +“My mother is on the terrace.... We were afraid it was too cool for +Fanny.”.... It was a very simple phrase, which the Contessina uttered +very simply, as she fanned herself with a large fan of white feathers. +Each wave of it stirred the meshes of her fair hair, which she wore +curled upon her rather high forehead. Julien understood her too well not +to perceive that her voice, her gestures, her eyes, her entire being, +betrayed a nervousness at that moment almost upon the verge of sadness. + +Was she still reserved from the day before, or was she a prey to one +of those inexplicable transactions, which had led Dorsenne in his +meditations of the night to such strange suspicions? Those suspicions +returned to him with the feeling that, of all the persons present, Alba +was the only one who seemed to be aware of the drama which undoubtedly +was brewing. He resolved to seek once more for the solution of the +living enigma which that singular girl was. How lovely she appeared to +him that evening with, those two expressions which gave her an almost +tragical look! The corners of her mouth drooped somewhat; her upper lip, +almost too short, disclosed her teeth, and in the lower part of her pale +face was a bitterness so prematurely sad! Why? It was not the time to +ask the question. First of all, it was necessary for the young man to go +in search of Madame Steno on the terrace, which terminated in a paradise +of Italian voluptuousness, the salon furnished in imitation of Paris. +Shrubs blossomed in large terra-cotta vases. Statuettes were to be +seen on the balustrade, and, beyond, the pines of the Villa Bonaparte +outlined their black umbrellas against a sky of blue velvet, strewn with +large stars. A vague aroma of acacias, from a garden near by, floated +in the air, which was light, caressing, and warm. The soft atmosphere +sufficed to convict of falsehood the Contessina, who had evidently +wished to justify the tete-a-tete of her mother and of Maitland. The two +lovers were indeed together in the perfume, the mystery and the solitude +of the obscure and quiet terrace. + +It took Dorsenne, who came from the bright glare of the salon, a moment +to distinguish in the darkness the features of the Countess who, dressed +all in white, was lying upon a willow couch with soft cushions of silk. +She was smoking a cigarette, the lighted end of which, at each breath +she drew, gave sufficient light to show that, notwithstanding the +coolness of the night, her lovely neck, so long and flexible, about +which was clasped a collar of pearls, was bare, as well as her fair +shoulders and her perfect arms, laden with bracelets, which were visible +through her wide, flowing sleeves. On advancing, Julien recognized, +through the vegetable odors of that spring night, the strong scent of +the Virginian tobacco which Madame Steno had used since she had fallen +in love with Maitland, instead of the Russian “papyrus” to which Gorka +had accustomed her. It is by such insignificant traits that amorous +women recognize a love profoundly, insatiably sensual, the only one +of which the Venetian was capable. Their passionate desire to give +themselves up still more leads them to espouse, so to speak, the +slightest habits of the men whom they love in that way. Thus are +explained those metamorphoses of tastes, of thoughts, even of +appearance, so complete, that in six months, in three months of +separation they become like different people. By the side of that +graceful and supple vision, Lincoln Maitland was seated on a low +chair. But his broad shoulders, which his evening coat set off in their +amplitude, attested that before having studied “Art”--and even while +studying it--he had not ceased to practise the athletic sports of his +English education. As soon as he was mentioned, the term “large” was +evoked. Indeed, above the large frame was a large face, somewhat red, +with a large, red moustache, which disclosed, in broad smiles, his +large, strong teeth. + +Large rings glistened on his large fingers. He presented a type exactly +opposite to that of Boleslas Gorka. If the grandson of the Polish +Castellan recalled the dangerous finesse of a feline, of a slender and +beautiful panther, Maitland could be compared to one of those mastiffs +in the legends, with a jaw and muscles strong enough to strangle lions. +The painter in him was only in the eye and in the hand, in consequence +of a gift as physical as the voice to a tenor. But that instinct, almost +abnormal, had been developed, cultivated to excess, by the energy of +will in refinement, a trait so marked in the Anglo-Saxons of the New +World when they like Europe, instead of detesting it. For the time +being, the longing for refinement seemed reduced to the passionate +inhalations of that divine, fair rose of love which was Madame Steno, +a rose almost too full-blown, and which the autumn of forty years had +begun to fade. But she was still charming. And how little Maitland +heeded the fact that his wife was in the room near by, the windows of +which cast forth a light which caused to stand out more prominently the +shadow of the voluptuous terrace! He held his mistress’s hand within his +own, but abandoned it when he perceived Dorsenne, who took particular +pains to move a chair noisily on approaching the couple, and to say, in +a loud voice, with a merry laugh: + +“I should have made a poor gallant abbe of the last century, for at +night I can really see nothing. If your cigarette had not served me as a +beacon-light I should have run against the balustrade.” + +“Ah, it is you, Dorsenne,” replied Madame Steno, with a sharpness +contrary to her habitual amiability, which proved to the novelist that +first of all he was the “inconvenient third” of the classical comedies, +then that Hafner had reported his imprudent remarks of the day before. + +“So much the better,” thought he, “I shall have forewarned her. On +reflection she will be pleased. It is true that at this moment there is +no question of reflection.” As he said those words to himself, he talked +aloud of the temperature of the day, of the probabilities of the weather +for the morrow, of Ardea’s good-humor. He made, indeed, twenty trifling +remarks, in order to manage to leave the terrace and to leave the +lovers to their tete-a-tete, without causing his withdrawal to become +noticeable by indiscreet haste, as disagreeable as suggestive. + +“When may we come to your atelier to see the portrait finished, +Maitland?” he asked, still standing, in order the better to manage his +retreat. + +“Finished?” exclaimed the Countess, who added, employing a diminutive +which she had used for several weeks: “Do you then not know that Linco +has again effaced the head?” + +“Not the entire head,” said the painter, “but the face is to be +done over. You remember, Dorsenne, those two canvases by Pier delta +Francesca, which are at Florence, Duc Federigo d’Urbino and his wife +Battista Sforza. Did you not see them in the same room with La Calomnie +by Botticelli, with a landscape in the background? It is drawn like +this,” and he made a gesture with his thumb, “and that is what I am +trying to obtain, the necessary curve on which all faces depend. There +is no better painter in Italy.” + +“And Titian and Raphael?” interrupted Madame Steno. + +“And the Sienese and the Lorenzetti, of whom you once raved? You +wrote to me of them, with regard to my article on your exposition of +‘eighty-six; do you remember?” inquired the writer. + +“Raphael?” replied Maitland.... “Do you wish me to tell you what Raphael +really was? A sublime builder. And Titian? A sublime upholsterer. It +is true, I admired the Sienese very much,” he added, turning toward +Dorsenne. “I spent three months in copying the Simone Martini of the +municipality, the Guido Riccio, who rides between two strongholds on +a gray heath, where there is not a sign of a tree or a house, but only +lances and towers. Do I remember Lorenzetti? Above all, the fresco at +San Francesco, in which Saint Francois presents his order to the Pope, +that was his best work.... Then, there is a cardinal, with his fingers +on his lips, thus!” another gesture. “Well, I remember it, you see, +because there is an anecdote. It is portrayed on a wall--oh, a grand +portrayal, but without the subject, flutt!”.... and he made a +hissing sound with his lips, “while Pier della Francesca, Carnevale, +Melozzo,”.... he paused to find a word which would express the very +complicated thought in his head, and he concluded: “That is painting.” + +“But the Assumption by Titian, and the Transfiguration by Raphael,” + resumed the Countess, who added in Italian, with an accent of +enthusiasm: “Ah, the bellezza!” + +“Do not worry, Countess,” said Dorsenne, laughing heartily, “those are +an artist’s opinions. Ten years ago, I said that Victor Hugo was an +amateur and Alfred de Musset a bourgeois. But,” he added, “as I am not +descended from the Doges nor the Pilgrim Fathers, I, a poor, degenerate +Gallo-Roman, fear the dampness on account of my rheumatism, and ask your +permission to reenter the house.” Then, as he passed through the door +of the salon: “Raphael, a builder! Titian, an upholsterer! Lorenzetti, +a reproducer!” he repeated to himself. “And the descendant of the Doges, +who listened seriously to those speeches, her ideal should be a madonna +en chromo! Of the first order! As for Gorka, if he had not made me lose +my entire day yesterday, I should think I had been dreaming, so little +is there any question of him.... And Ardea, who continues to laugh at +his ruin. He is not bad for an Italian. But he talks too much about his +affairs, and it is in bad taste!”.... Indeed, as he turned toward the +group assembled in a corner of the salon, he heard the Prince relating +a story about Cavalier Fossati, to whom was entrusted the charge of the +sale: + +“How much do you think will be realized on all?” I asked him, finally. +“Oh,” he replied, “very little.... But a little and a little more end +by making a great deal. With what an air he added: ‘E gia il moschino e +conte’--Already the gnat is a count.’ The gnat was himself. ‘A few more +sales like yours, my Prince, and my son, the Count of Fossati, will have +half a million. He will enter the club and address you with the familiar +‘thou’ when playing ‘goffo’ against you. That is what there is in this +gia (already).... On my honor, I have not been happier than since I +have, not a sou.” + +“You are an optimist, Prince,” said Hafner, “and whatsoever our friend +Dorsenne here present may claim, it is necessary to be optimistic.” + +“You are attacking him again, father,” interrupted Fanny, in a tone of +respectful reproach. + +“Not the man,” returned the Baron, “but his ideas--yes, and above all +those of his school.... Yes, yes,” he continued, either wishing to +change the conversation, which Ardea persisted in turning upon his ruin, +or finding very well organized a world in which strokes like that of the +Credit Austro-Dalmate are possible, he really felt a deep aversion to +the melancholy and pessimism with which Julien’s works were tinged. And +he continued: “On listening to you, Ardea, just now, and on seeing this +great writer enter, I am reminded by contrast of the fashion now in +vogue of seeing life in a gloomy light.” + +“Do you find it very gay?” asked Alba, brusquely. + +“Good,” said Hafner; “I was sure that, in talking against pessimism, I +should make the Contessina talk.... Very gay?” he continued. “No. But +when I think of the misfortunes which might have come to all of us here, +for instance, I find it very tolerable. Better than living in another +epoch, for example. One hundred and fifty years ago, Contessina, in +Venice, you would have been liable to arrest any day under a warrant of +the Council of Ten.... And you, Dorsenne, would have been exposed to the +cudgel like Monsieur de Voltaire, by some jealous lord.... And Prince +d’Ardea would have run the risk of being assassinated or beheaded at +each change of Pope. And I, in my quality of Protestant, should have +been driven from France, persecuted in Austria, molested in Italy, +burned in Spain.” + +As can be seen, he took care to choose between his two inheritances. He +had done so with an enigmatical good-nature which was almost ironical. +He paused, in order not to mention what might have come to Madame +Maitland before the suppression of slavery. He knew that the very pretty +and elegant young lady shared the prejudices of her American compatriots +against negro blood, and that she made every effort to hide the blemish +upon her birth to the point of never removing her gloves. It may, +however, in justice be added, that the slightly olive tinge in her +complexion, her wavy hair, and a vague bluish reflection in the whites +of her eyes would scarcely have betrayed the mixture of race. She did +not seem to have heeded the Baron’s pause, but she arranged, with an +absent air, the folds of her mauve gown, while Dorsenne replied: “It +is a fine and specious argument.... Its only fault is that it has no +foundation. For I defy you to imagine yourself what you would have been +in the epoch of which you speak. We say frequently, ‘If I had lived a +hundred years ago.’ We forget that a hundred years ago we should not +have been the same; that we should not have had the same ideas, the same +tastes, nor the same requirements. It is almost the same as imagining +that you could think like a bird or a serpent.” + +“One could very well imagine what it would be never to have been born,” + interrupted. Alba Steno. + +She uttered the sentence in so peculiar a manner that the discussion +begun by Hafner was nipped in the bud. + +The words produced their effect upon the chatter of the idlers who only +partly believed in the ideas they put forth. Although there is always a +paradox in condemning life amid a scene of luxury when one is not more +than twenty, the Contessina was evidently sincere. Whence came that +sincerity? From what corner of her youthful heart, wounded almost to +death? Dorsenne was the only person who asked himself the question, for +the conversation turned at once, Lydia Maitland having touched with +her fan the sleeve of Alba, who was two seats from her, to ask her this +question with an irony as charming, after the young girl’s words, as it +was involuntary: + +“It is silk muslin, is it not?” + +“Yes,” replied the Contessina, who rose and leaned over, to offer to +the curious gaze of her pretty neighbor her arm, which gleamed frail, +nervous, and softly fair through the transparent red material, with a +bow of ribbon of the same color tied at her slender shoulder and her +graceful wrist, while Ardea, by the side of Fanny, could be heard saying +to the daughter of Baron Justus, more beautiful than ever that evening, +in her pallor slightly tinged with pink by some secret agitation: + +“You visited my palace yesterday, Mademoiselle?” + +“No,” she replied. + +“Ask her why not, Prince,” said Hafner. + +“Father!” cried Fanny, with a supplication in her black eyes which Ardea +had the delicacy to obey, as he resumed: + +“It is a pity. Everything there is very ordinary. But you would have +been interested in the chapel. Indeed, I regret that the most, those +objects before which my ancestors have prayed so long and which end by +being listed in a catalogue.... They even took the reliquary from me, +because it was by Ugolina da Siena. I will buy it back as soon as I can. +Your father applauds my courage. I could not part from those objects +without real sorrow.” + +“But it is the feeling she has for the entire palace,” said the Baron. + +“Father!” again implored Fanny. + +“Come, compose yourself, I will not betray you,” said Hafner, while +Alba, taking advantage of having risen, left the group. She walked +toward a table at the other extremity of the room, set in the style +of an English table, with tea and iced drinks, saying to Julien, who +followed her: + +“Shall I prepare your brandy and soda, Dorsenne?” + +“What ails you, Contessina?” asked the young man, in a whisper, when +they were alone near the plateau of crystal and the collection of +silver, which gleamed so brightly in the dimly lighted part of the room. + +“Yes,” he persisted, “what ails you? Are you still vexed with me?” + +“With you?” said she. “I have never been. Why should I be?” she +repeated. “You have done nothing to me.” + +“Some one has wounded you?” asked Julien. + +He saw that she was sincere, and that she scarcely remembered the +ill-humor of the preceding day. “You can not deceive a friend such as I +am,” he continued. “On seeing you fan yourself, I knew that you had some +annoyance. I know you so well.” + +“I have no annoyance,” she replied, with an impatient frown. “I can not +bear to hear lies of a certain kind. That is all!” + +“And who has lied?” resumed Dorsenne. + +“Did you not hear Ardea speak of his chapel just now, he who believes in +God as little as Hafner, of whom no one knows whether he is a Jew or a +Gentile!... Did you not see poor Fanny look at him the while? And +did you not remark with what tact the Baron made the allusion to the +delicacy which had prevented his daughter from visiting the Palais +Castagna with us? And did that comedy enacted between the two men give +you no food for thought?” + +“Is that why Peppino is here?” asked Julien. “Is there a plan on foot +for the marriage of the heiress of Papa Hafner’s millions and the +grand-nephew of Pope Urban VII? That will furnish me with a fine subject +of conversation with some one of my acquaintance!”.... And the mere +thought of Montfanon learning such news caused him to laugh heartily, +while he continued, “Do not look at me so indignantly, dear Contessina. +But I see nothing so sad in the story. Fanny to marry Peppino? Why not? +You yourself have told me that she is partly Catholic, and that her +father is only awaiting her marriage to have her baptized. She will be +happy then. Ardea will keep the magnificent palace we saw yesterday, and +the Baron will crown his career in giving to a man ruined on the Bourse, +in the form of a dowry, that which he has taken from others.” + +“Be silent,” said the young girl, in a very grave voice, “you inspire +me with horror. That Ardea should have lost all scruples, and that he +should wish to sell his title of a Roman prince at as high a price as +possible, to no matter what bidder, is so much the more a matter of +indifference, for we Venetians do not allow ourselves to be imposed upon +by the Roman nobility. We all had Doges in our families when the fathers +of these people were bandits in the country, waiting for some poor monk +of their name to become Pope. That Baron Hafner sells his daughter as he +once sold her jewels is also a matter of indifference to me. But you +do not know her. You do not know what a creature, charming and +enthusiastic, simple and sincere, she is, and who will never, never +mistrust that, first of all, her father is a thief, and, then, that he +is selling her like a trinket in order to have grand-children who shall +be at the same time grandnephews of the Pope, and, finally, that Peppino +does not love her, that he wants her dowry, and that he will have for +her as little feeling as they have for her.” She glanced at Madame +Maitland. “It is worse than I can tell you,” she said, enigmatically, as +if vexed by her own words, and almost frightened by them. + +“Yes,” said Julien, “it would be very sad; but are you sure that you do +not exaggerate the situation? There is not so much calculation in life. +It is more mediocre and more facile. Perhaps the Prince and the Baron +have a vague project.” + +“A vague project?” interrupted Alba, shrugging her shoulders. “There is +never anything vague with a Hafner, you may depend. What if I were to +tell you that I am positive--do you hear--positive that it is he who +holds between his fingers the largest part of the Prince’s debts, and +that he caused the sale by Ancona to obtain the bargain?” + +“It is impossible!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “You saw him yourself yesterday +thinking of buying this and that object.” + +“Do not make me say any more,” said Alba, passing over her brow and +her eyes two or three times her hand, upon which no ring sparkled--that +hand, very supple and white, whose movements betrayed extreme +nervousness. “I have already said too much. It is not my business, and +poor Fanny is only to me a recent friend, although I think her very +attractive and affectionate.... When I think that she is on the point of +pledging herself for life, and that there is no one, that there can be +no one, to cry: They lie to you! I am filled with compassion. That is +all. It is childish!” + +It is always painful to observe in a young person the exact perception +of the sinister dealings of life, which, once entered into the mind, +never allows of the carelessness so natural at the age of twenty. + +The impression of premature disenchantment Alba Steno had many times +given to Dorsenne, and it had indeed been the principal attraction to +the curious observer of the feminine character, who still was struck by +the terrible absence of illusion which such a view of the projects of +Fanny’s father revealed. Whence did she know them? Evidently from Madame +Steno herself. Either the Baron and the Countess had talked of them +before the young girl too openly to leave her in any doubt, or she +had divined what they did not tell her, through their conversation. On +seeing her thus, with her bitter mouth, her bright eyes, so visibly a +prey to the fever of suppressed loathing, Dorsenne again was impressed +by the thought of her perfect perspicacity. It was probable that she had +applied the same force of thought to her mother’s conduct. It seemed +to him that on raising, as she was doing, the wick of the silver lamp +beneath the large teakettle, that she was glancing sidewise at the +terrace, where the end of the Countess’s white robe could be seen +through the shadow. Suddenly the mad thoughts which had so greatly +agitated him on the previous day possessed him again, and the plan he +had formed of imitating his model, Hamlet, in playing in Madame Steno’s +salon the role of the Danish prince before his uncle occurred to him. +Absently, with his customary air of indifference, he continued: + +“Rest assured, Ardea does not lack enemies. Hafner, too, has plenty of +them. Some one will be found to denounce their plot, if there is a plot, +to lovely Fanny. An anonymous letter is so quickly written.” + +He had no sooner uttered those words than he interrupted himself with +the start of a man who handles a weapon which he thinks unloaded and +which suddenly discharges. + +It was, really, to discharge a duty in the face of his own scepticism +that he had spoken thus, and he did not expect to see another shade of +sadness flit across Alba’s mobile and proud face. + +There was in the corners of her mouth more disgust, her eyes expressed +more scorn, while her hands, busy preparing the tea, trembled as she +said, with an accent so agitated that her friend regretted his cruel +plan: + +“Ah! Do not speak of it! It would be still worse than her present +ignorance. At least, now she knows nothing, and if some miserable person +were to do as you say she would know in part without being sure.... How +could you smile at such a supposition?... No! Poor, gentle Fanny! I hope +she will receive no anonymous letters. They are so cowardly and make so +much trouble!” + +“I ask your pardon if I have wounded you,” replied Dorsenne. He had +touched, he felt it, a tender spot in that heart, and perceived with +grief that not only had Alba Steno not written the anonymous letters +addressed to Gorka, but that, on the contrary, she had received some +herself. From whom? Who was the mysterious denunciator who had warned +in that abominable manner the daughter of Madame Steno after the lover? +Julien shuddered as he continued: “If I smiled, it was because I believe +Mademoiselle Hafner, in case the misfortune should come to her, sensible +enough to treat such advice as it merits. An anonymous letter does not +deserve to be read. Any one infamous enough to make use of weapons of +that sort does not deserve that one should do him the honor even to +glance at what he has written.” + +“Is it not so?” said the girl. There was in her eyes, the pupils of +which suddenly dilated, a gleam of genuine gratitude which convinced her +companion that he had seen correctly. He had uttered just the words +of which she had need. In the face of that proof, he was suddenly +overwhelmed by an access of shame and of pity--of shame, because in his +thoughts he had insulted the unhappy girl--of pity, because she had to +suffer a blow so cruel, if, indeed, her mother had been exposed to her. +It must have been on the preceding afternoon or that very morning that +she had received the horrible letter, for, during the visit to the +Palais Castagna, she had been, by turns, gay and quiet, but so childish, +while on that particular evening it was no longer the child who +suffered, but the woman. Dorsenne resumed: + +“You see, we writers are exposed to those abominations. A book which +succeeds, a piece which pleases, an article which is extolled, calls +forth from the envious unsigned letters which wound us or those whom we +love. In such cases, I repeat, I burn them unread, and if ever in your +life such come to you, listen to me, little Countess, and follow the +advice of your friend, Dorsenne, for he is your friend; you know it, do +you not, your true friend?” + +“Why should I receive anonymous letters?” asked the girl, quickly. “I +have neither fame, beauty, nor wealth, and am not to be envied.” + +As Dorsenne looked at her, regretting that he had said so much, she +forced her sad lips to smile, and added: “If you are really my friend, +instead of making me lose time by your advice, of which I shall probably +never have need, for I shall never become a great authoress, help me +to serve the tea, will you? It should be ready.” And with her slender +fingers she raised the lid of the kettle, saying: “Go and ask Madame +Maitland if she will take some tea this evening, and Fanny, too.... +Ardea takes whiskey and the Baron mineral water.... You can ring for +his glass of vichy.... There.... You have delayed me.... There are more +callers and nothing is ready.... Ah,” she cried, “it is Maud!”--then, +with surprise, “and her husband!” + +Indeed, the folding doors of the hall opened to admit Maud Gorka, a +robust British beauty, radiant with happiness, attired in a gown of +black crepe de Chine with orange ribbons, which set off to advantage +her fresh color. Behind her came Boleslas. But he was no longer the +traveller who, thirty-six hours before, had arrived at the Place de la +Trinite-des-Monts, mad with anxiety, wild with jealousy, soiled by the +dust of travel, his hair disordered, his hands and face dirty. It +was, though somewhat thinner, the elegant Gorka whom Dorsenne had +known--tall, slender, and perfumed, in full dress, a bouquet in his +buttonhole, his lips smiling. To the novelist, knowing what he knew, +the smile and the composure had something in them more terrible than the +frenzy of the day before. He comprehended it by the manner in which the +Pole gave him his hand. One night and a day of reflection had undermined +his work, and if Boleslas had enacted the comedy to the point of lulling +his wife’s suspicions and of deciding on the visit of that evening, it +was because he had resolved not to consult any one and to lead his own +inquiry. He was succeeding in the beginning; he had certainly perceived +Madame Steno’s white gown upon the terrace, while radiant Maud explained +his unexpected return with her usual ingenuousness. + +“This is what comes of sending to a doting father accounts of our boy’s +health.... I wrote him the other day that Luc had a little fever. He +wrote to ask about its progress. I did not receive his letter. He became +uneasy, and here he is.” + +“I will tell mamma,” said Alba, passing out upon the terrace, but her +haste seemed too slow to Dorsenne. He had such a presentiment of danger +that he did not think of smiling, as he would have done on any other +occasion, at the absolute success of the deception which he and Boleslas +had planned on the preceding day, and of which the Count had said, with +a fatuity now proven: “Maud will be so happy to see me that she will +believe all.” + +It was a scene both simple and tragical--of that order in which in +society the most horrible incidents occur without a sound, without a +gesture, amid phrases of conventionality and in a festal framework! +Two of the spectators, at least, besides Julien, understood its +importance-Ardea and Hafner. For neither the one nor the other had +failed to notice the relations between Madame Steno and Maitland, much +less her position with regard to Gorka. The writer, the grand seigneur, +and the business man had, notwithstanding the differences of age and of +position, a large experience of analogous circumstances. + +They knew of what presence of mind a courageous woman was capable, when +surprised, as was the Venetian. All these have declared since that they +had never imagined more admirable self-possession, a composure more +superbly audacious, than that displayed by Madame Steno, at that +decisive moment. She appeared on the threshold of the French window, +surprised and delighted, just in the measure she conformably should be. +Her fair complexion, which the slightest emotion tinged with carmine, +was bewitchingly pink. Not a quiver of her long lashes veiled her deep +blue eyes, which gleamed brightly. With her smile, which exhibited her +lovely teeth, the color of the large pearls which were twined about +her neck, with the emeralds in her fair hair, with her fine shoulders +displayed by the slope of her white corsage, with her delicate waist, +with the splendor of her arms from which she had removed the gloves +to yield them to the caresses of Maitland, and which gleamed with more +emeralds, with her carriage marked by a certain haughtiness, she was +truly a woman of another age, the sister of those radiant princesses +whom the painters of Venice evoke beneath the marble porticoes, among +apostles and martyrs. She advanced to Maud Gorka, whom she embraced +affectionately, then, pressing Boleslas’s hand, she said in a voice so +warm, in which at times there were deep tones, softened by the habitual +use of the caressing dialect of the lagoon: + +“What a surprise! And you could not come to dine with us? Well, sit +down, both of you, and relate to me the Odyssey of the traveller,” and, +turning toward Maitland, who had followed her into the salon with the +insolent composure of a giant and of a lover: + +“Be kind, my little Linco, and fetch me my fan and my gloves, which I +left on the couch.” + +At that moment Dorsenne, who had only one fear, that of meeting Gorka’s +eyes--he could not have borne their glance--was again by the side of +Alba Steno. The young girl’s face, just now so troubled, was radiant. It +seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from the pretty Contessina’s +mind. + +“Poor child,” thought the writer, “she would not think her mother could +be so calm were she guilty. The Countess’s manner is the reply to the +anonymous letter. Have they written all to her? My God! Who can it be?” + +And he fell into a deep revery, interrupted only by the hum of the +conversation, in which he did not participate. It would have satisfied +him had he observed, instead of meditated, that the truth with regard to +the author of the anonymous letters might have become clear to him, as +clear as the courage of Madame Steno in meeting danger--as the blind +confidence of Madame Gorka--as the disdainful imperturbability of +Maitland before his rival and the suppressed rage of that rival--as +the finesse of Hafner in sustaining the general conversation--as the +assiduous attentions of Ardea to Fanny--as the emotion of the latter--as +clear as Alba’s sense of relief. All those faces, on Boleslas’s +entrance, had expressed different feelings. Only one had, for several +minutes, expressed the joy of crime and the avidity of ultimately +satisfied hatred. But as it was that of little Madame Maitland, +the silent creature, considered so constantly by him as stupid and +insignificant, Dorsenne had not paid more attention to it than had the +other witnesses the surprising reappearance of the betrayed lover. + +Every country has a metaphor to express the idea that there is no +worse water than that which is stagnant. Still waters run deep, say the +English, and the Italians, Still waters ruin bridges. + +These adages would not be accurate if one did not forget them in +practise, and the professional analyst of the feminine heart had +entirely forgotten them on that evening. + + + + +CHAPTER V. COUNTESS STENO + +A woman less courageous than the Countess, less capable of looking a +situation in the face and of advancing to it, such an evening would +have marked the prelude to one of those nights of insomnia when the mind +exhausts in advance all the agonies of probable danger. Countess Steno +did not know what weakness and fear were. + +A creature of energy and of action, who felt herself to be above all +danger, she attached no meaning to the word uneasiness. So she slept, +on the night which followed that soiree, a sleep as profound, as +refreshing, as if Gorka had never returned with vengeance in his heart, +with threats in his eyes. Toward ten o’clock the following morning, +she was in the tiny salon, or rather, the office adjoining her bedroom, +examining several accounts brought by one of her men of business. Rising +at seven o’clock, according to her custom, she had taken the cold bath +in which, in summer as well as winter, she daily quickened her blood. +She had breakfasted, ‘a l’anglaise’, following the rule to which she +claimed to owe the preservation of her digestion, upon eggs, cold meat, +and tea. She had made her complicated toilette, had visited her daughter +to ascertain how she had slept, had written five letters, for her +cosmopolitan salon compelled her to carry on an immense correspondence, +which radiated between Cairo and New York, St. Petersburg and Bombay, +taking in Munich, London, and Madeira, and she was as faithful in +friendship as she was inconstant in love. Her large handwriting, so +elegant in its composition, had covered pages and pages before she said: +“I have a rendezvous at eleven o’clock with Maitland. Ardea will be here +at ten to talk of his marriage. I have accounts from Finoli to examine. +I hope that Gorka will not come, too, this morning.”.... Persons in whom +the feeling of love is very complete, but very physical, are thus. +They give themselves and take themselves back altogether. The Countess +experienced no more pity than fear in thinking of her betrayed lover. +She had determined to say to him, “I no longer love you,” frankly, +openly, and to offer him his choice between a final rupture or a firm +friendship. + +The only annoyance depended upon the word of explanation, which she +desired to see postponed until afternoon, when she would be free, an +annoyance which, however, did not prevent her from examining with her +usual accuracy the additions and multiplications of her intendant, who +stood near her with a face such as Bonifagio gave to his Pharisees. He +managed the seven hundred hectares of Piove, near Padua, Madame Steno’s +favorite estate. She had increased the revenue from it tenfold, by the +draining of a sterile and often malignant lagoon, which, situated a +metre below the water-level, had proved of surprising fertility; and +she calculated the probable operations for weeks in advance with +the detailed and precise knowledge of rural cultivation which is the +characteristic of the Italian aristocracy and the permanent cause of its +vitality. + +“Then you estimate the gain from the silkworms at about fifty kilos of +cocoons to an ounce?” + +“Yes, Excellency,” replied the intendant. + +“One hundred ounces of yellow; one hundred times fifty makes five +thousand,” resumed the Countess. “At four francs fifty?” + +“Perhaps five, Excellency,” said the intendant. + +“Let us say twenty-two thousand five hundred,” said the Countess, +“and as much for the Japanese.... That will bring us in our outlay for +building.” + +“Yes, Excellency. And about the wine?” + +“I am of the opinion, after what you have told me of the vineyard, that +you should sell as quickly as possible to Kauffmann’s agent all that +remains of the last crop, but not at less than six francs. You know it +is necessary that our casks be emptied and cleaned after the month of +August.... If we were to fail this time, for the first year that we +manufacture our wine with the new machine, it would be too bad.” + +“Yes, Excellency. And the horses?” + +“I think that is an opportunity we should not let escape. My advice is +that you take the express to Florence to-day at two o’clock. You will +reach Verona to-morrow morning. You will conclude the bargain. The +horses will be sent to Piove the same evening.... + +“We have finished just in time,” she continued, arranging the +intendant’s papers. She put them herself in their envelope, which she +gave him. She had an extremely delicate sense of hearing, and she +knew that the door of the antechamber opened. It seemed that the +administrator took away in his portfolio all the preoccupation of this +extraordinary woman. For, after concluding that dry conversation, or +rather that monologue, she had her clearest and brightest smile with +which to receive the new arrival, who was, fortunately, Prince d’Ardea. +She said to the servant: + +“I wish to speak with the Prince. If any one asks for me, do not admit +him and do not send any one hither. Bring me the card.” Then, turning +toward the young man, “Well, Simpaticone,” it was the nickname she gave +him, “how did you finish your evening?” + +“You would not believe me,” replied Peppino Ardea, laughing; “I, who +no longer have anything, not even my bed. I went to the club and I +played.... For the first time in my life I won.” + +He was so gay in relating his childish prank, he jested so merrily about +his ruin, that the Countess looked at him in surprise, as he had looked +at her on entering.... We understand ourselves so little, and we know +so little about our own singularities of character, that each one was +surprised at finding the other so calm. Ardea could not comprehend that +Madame Steno should not be at least uneasy about Gorka’s return and +the consequences which might result therefrom. She, on the other hand, +admired the strange youth who, in his misfortune, could find such +joviality at his command. He had evidently expended as much care upon +his toilette as if he had not to take some immediate steps to assure +his future, and his waistcoat, the color of his shirt, his cravat, his +yellow shoes, the flower in his buttonhole, all united to make of him an +amiable and incorrigibly frivolous dandy. She felt the need which strong +characters have in the presence of weak ones; that of acting for the +youth, of aiding him in spite of himself, and she attacked at once the +question of marriage with Fanny Hafner. With her usual common-sense, and +with her instinct of arranging everything, Madame Steno perceived in the +union so many advantages for every one that she was in haste to conclude +it as quickly as if it involved a personal affair. + +The marriage was earnestly desired by the Baron, who had spoken of it to +her for months. It suited Fanny, who would be converted to Catholicism +with the consent of her father. It suited the Prince, who at one stroke +would be freed from his embarrassment. Finally, it suited the name of +Castagna. Although Peppino was its only representative at that time, +and as, by an old family tradition, he bore a title different from the +patronymic title of Pope Urban VII, the sale of the celebrated palace +had called forth a scandal to which it was essential to put an end. The +Countess had forgotten that she had assisted, without a protestation, in +that sale. Had she not known through Hafner that he had bought at a low +price an enormous heap of the Prince’s bills of exchange? Did she not +know the Baron well enough to be sure that M. Noe Ancona, the implacable +creditor who sold the palace, was only the catspaw of this terrible +friend? In a fit of ill-humor at the Baron, had she not herself accused +him in Alba’s presence of this very simple plan, to bring Ardea to a +final catastrophe in order to offer him salvation in the form of +the union with Fanny, and to execute at the same time an excellent +operation? For, once freed from the mortgages which burdened them, the +Prince’s lands and buildings would regain their true value, and the +imprudent speculator would find himself again as rich, perhaps richer. + +“Come,” said Madame Steno to the Prince, after a moment’s silence and +without any preamble, “it is now time to talk business. You dined by the +side of my little friend yesterday; you had the entire evening in which +to study her. Answer me frankly, would she not make the prettiest little +Roman princess who could kneel in her wedding-gown at the tomb of +the apostles? Can you not see her in her white gown, under her veil, +alighting at the staircase of Saint Peter’s from the carriage with the +superb horses which her father has given her? Close your eyes and see +her in your thoughts. Would she not be pretty? Would she not?” + +“Very pretty,” replied Ardea, smiling at the tempting vision Madame +Steno had conjured up, “but she is not fair. And you know, to me, a +woman who is not fair--ah, Countess! What a pity that in Venice, five +years ago, on a certain evening--do you remember?” + +“How much like you that is!” interrupted she, laughing her deep, clear +laugh. “You came to see me this morning to talk to me of a marriage, +unhoped for with your reputation of gamester, of supper-giver, of +‘mauvais sujet’; of a marriage which fulfils conditions most improbable, +so perfect are they--beauty, youth, intelligence, fortune, and even, if +I have read my little friend aright, the beginning of an interest, of a +very deep interest. And, for a little, you would make a declaration to +me. Come, come!” and she extended to him for a kiss her beautiful hand, +on which gleamed large emeralds. “You are forgiven. But answer--yes or +no. Shall I make the proposal? If it is yes, I will go to the Palace +Savorelli at two o’clock. I will speak to my friend Hafner. He will +speak to his daughter, and it will not depend upon me if you have not +their reply this evening or to-morrow morning. Is it yes? Is it no?” + +“This evening? To-morrow?” exclaimed the Prince, shaking his head with +a most comical gesture. “I can not decide like that. It is an ambush! I +come to talk, to consult you.” + +“And on what?” asked Madame Steno, with a vivacity almost impatient. +“Can I tell you anything you do not already know? In twenty-four hours, +in forty-eight, in six months, what difference will there be, I pray +you? We must look at things as they are, however. To-morrow, the day +after, the following days, will you be less embarrassed?” + +“No,” said the Prince, “but--” + +“There is no but,” she resumed, allowing him to say no more than she had +allowed her intendant. The despotism natural to puissant personalities +scorned to be disguised in her, when there were practical decisions in +which she was to take part. “The only serious objection you made to me +when I spoke to you of this marriage six months ago was that Fanny +was not a Catholic. I know today that she has only to be asked to be +converted. So do not let us speak of that.” + +“No,” said the Prince, “but--” + +“As for Hafner,” continued the Countess, “you will say he is my friend +and that I am partial, but that partiality even is an opinion. He is +precisely the father-in-law you need. Do not shake your head. He will +repair all that needs repairing in your fortune. You have been robbed, +my poor Peppino. You told me so yourself.... Become the Baron’s +son-in-law, and you will have news of your robbers. I know.... There +is the Baron’s origin and the suit of ten years ago with all the +‘pettogolezzi’ to which it gave rise. All that has not the common +meaning. The Baron began life in a small way. He was from a family +of Jewish origin--you see, I do not deceive you--but converted two +generations back, so that the story of his change of religion since his +stay in Italy is a calumny, like the rest. He had a suit in which he was +acquitted. You would not require more than the law, would you?” + +“No, but--” + +“For what are you waiting, then?” concluded Madame Steno. “That it may +be too late? How about your lands?” + +“Ah! let me breathe, let me fan myself,” said Ardea, who, indeed, took +one of the Countess’s fans from the desk. “I, who have never known in +the morning what I would do in the evening, I, who have always lived +according to my pleasure, you ask me to take in five minutes the +resolution to bind myself forever!” + +“I ask you to decide what you wish to do,” returned the Countess. “It is +very amusing to travel at one’s pleasure. But when it is a question of +arranging one’s life, this childishness is too absurd. I know of only +one way: to see one’s aim and to march directly to it. Yours is very +clear--to get out of this dilemma. The way is not less clear; it is +marriage with a girl who has five millions dowry. Yes or no, will you +have her?... Ah,” said she, suddenly interrupting herself, “I shall +not have a moment to myself this morning, and I have an appointment at +eleven o’clock!”.... She looked at the timepiece on her table, which +indicated twenty-five minutes past ten. She had heard the door open. +The footman was already before her and presented to her a card upon a +salver. She took the card, looked at it, frowned, glanced again at the +clock, seemed to hesitate, then: “Let him wait in the small salon, +and say that I will be there immediately,” said she, and turning again +toward Ardea: “You think you have escaped. You have not. I do not give +you permission to go before I return. I shall return in fifteen minutes. +Would you like some newspapers? There are some. Books? There are some. +Tobacco? This box is filled with cigars.... In a quarter of an hour I +shall be here and I will have your reply. I wish it, do you hear? I wish +it”.... And on the threshold with another smile, using that time a term +of patois common in Northern Italy and which is only a corruption of +‘schiavo’ or servant: ‘Ciao Simpaticone.’ + +“What a woman!” said Peppino Ardea, when the door was closed upon the +Countess. “Yes, what a pity that five years ago in Venice I was not +free! Who knows? If I had dared, when she took me to my hotel in her +gondola. She was about to leave San Giobbe. She had not yet accepted +Boleslas. She would have advised--have directed me. I should have +speculated on the Bourse, as she did, with Hafner’s counsel. But not in +the quality of son-in-law. I should not have been obliged to marry. And +she would not now have such bad tobacco.”.... He was on the point of +lighting one of the Virginian cigarettes, a present from Maitland. He +threw it away, making a grimace with his air of a spoiled child, at the +risk of scorching the rug which lay upon the marble floor; and he passed +into the antechamber in order to fetch his own case in the pocket of the +light overcoat he had prudently taken on coming out after eight o’clock. + +As he lighted one of the cigarettes in that case, filled with so-called +Egyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetre, which he preferred to +the tobacco of the American, he mechanically glanced at the card which +the servant had left on going from the room-the card of the unknown +visitor for whom Madame Steno had left him. + +Ardea read upon it, with astonishment, these words: + +Count Boleslas Gorka. + +“She is better than I thought her,” said he, on reentering the deserted +office. “She had no need to bid me not to go. I think I should wait to +see her return from that conversation.” + +It was indeed Boleslas whom the Countess found in the salon, which she +had chosen as the room the most convenient for the stormy explanation +she anticipated. It was isolated at the end of the hall, and was like +a pendant to the terrace. It formed, with the dining-room, the entire +ground-floor, or, rather, the entresol of the house. Madame Steno’s +apartments, as well as the other small salon in which Peppino was, were +on the first floor, together with the rooms set apart for the Contessina +and her German governess, Fraulein Weber, for the time being on a +journey. + +The Countess had not been mistaken. At the first glance exchanged on the +preceding day with Gorka, she had divined that he knew all. She would +have suspected it, nevertheless, since Hafner had told her the few words +indiscreetly uttered by Dorsenne on the clandestine return of the +Pole to Rome. She had not at that time been mistaken in Boleslas’s +intentions, and she had no sooner looked in his face than she felt +herself to be in peril. When a man has been the lover of a woman as +that man had been hers, with the vibrating communion of a voluptuousness +unbroken for two years, that woman maintains a sort of physiological, +quasi-animal instinct. A gesture, the accent of a word, a sigh, a +blush, a pallor, are signs for her that her intuition interprets with +infallible certainty. How and why is that instinct accompanied by +absolute oblivion of former caresses? It is a particular case of that +insoluble and melancholy problem of the birth and death of love. Madame +Steno had no taste for reflection of that order. Like all vigorous and +simple creatures, she acknowledged and accepted it. As on the previous +day, she became aware that the presence of her former lover no longer +touched in her being the chord which had rendered her so weak to him +during twenty-five months, so indulgent to his slightest caprices. It +left her as cold as the marble of the bas-relief by Mino da Fiesole +fitted into the wall just above the high chair upon which he leaned. + +Boleslas, notwithstanding the paroxysm of lucid fury which he suffered +at that moment, and which rendered him capable of the worst violence, +had on his part a knowledge of the complete insensibility in which his +presence left her. He had seen her so often, in the course of their long +liaison, arrive at their morning rendezvous at that hour, in similar +toilettes, so fresh, so supple, so youthful in her maturity, so eager +for kisses, tender and ardent. She had now in her blue eyes, in her +smile, in her entire person, some thing at once so gracious and so +inaccessible, which gives to an abandoned lover the mad longing to +strike, to murder, a woman who smiles at him with such a smile. At the +same time she was so beautiful in the morning light, subdued by the +lowered blinds, that she inspired him with an equal desire to clasp her +in his arms whether she would or no. He had recognized, when she entered +the room, the aroma of a preparation which she had used in her bath, and +that trifle alone had aroused his passion far more than when the servant +told him Madame Steno was engaged, and he wondered whether she was +not alone with Maitland. Those impassioned, but suppressed, feelings +trembled in the accent of the very simple phrase with which he greeted +her. At certain moments, words are nothing; it is the tone in which they +are uttered. And to the Countess that of the young man was terrible. + +“I am disturbing you?” he asked, bowing and barely touching with the +tips of his fingers the hand she had extended to him on entering. +“Excuse me, I thought you alone. Will you be pleased to name another +time for the conversation which I take the liberty of demanding?” + +“No, no,” she replied, not permitting him to finish his sentence. “I was +with Peppino Ardea, who will await me,” said she, gently. “Moreover, +you know I am in all things for the immediate. When one has something to +say, it should be said, one, two, three?... First, there is not much to +say, and then it is better said.... There is nothing that will sooner +render difficult easy explanations and embroil the best of friends than +delay and maintaining silence.” + +“I am very happy to find you in such a mind,” replied Boleslas, with +a sarcasm which distorted his handsome face into a smile of atrocious +hatred. The good-nature displayed by her cut him to the heart, and he +continued, already less self-possessed: “It is indeed an explanation +which I think I have the right to ask of you, and which I have come to +claim.” + +“To claim, my dear?” said the Countess, looking him fixedly in the face +without lowering her proud eyes, in which those imperative words had +kindled a flame. + +If she had been admirable the preceding evening in facing as she had +done the return of her discarded lover, on coming direct from the +tete-a-tete with her new one, perhaps, at that moment, she was doubly +so, when she did not have her group of intimate friends to support her. +She was not sure that the madman who confronted her was not armed, and +she believed him perfectly capable of killing her, while she could not +defend herself. But a part had to be played sooner or later, and she +played it without flinching. She had not spoken an untruth in saying +to Peppino Ardea: “I know only one way: to see one’s aim and to march +directly to it.” She wanted a definitive rupture with Boleslas. Why +should she hesitate as to the means? + +She was silent, seeking for words. He continued: + +“Will you permit me to go back three months, although that is, it seems, +a long space of time for a woman’s memory? I do not know whether you +recall our last meeting? Pardon, I meant to say the last but one, since +we met last night. Do you concede that the manner in which we parted +then did not presage the manner in which we met?” + +“I concede it,” said the Countess, with a gleam of angry pride in her +eyes, “although I do not very much like your style of expression. It is +the second time you have addressed me as an accuser, and if you assume +that attitude it will be useless to continue.” + +“Catherine!”.... That cry of the young man, whose anger was increasing, +decided her whom he thus addressed to precipitate the issue of a +conversation in which each reply was to be a fresh burst of rancor. + +“Well?” she inquired, crossing her arms in a manner so imperious that +he paused in his menace, and she continued: “Listen, Boleslas, we have +talked ten minutes without saying anything, because neither of us has +the courage to put the question such as we know and feel it to be. +Instead of writing to me, as you did, letters which rendered replies +impossible to me; instead of returning to Rome and hiding yourself +like a malefactor; instead of coming to my home last night with that +threatening face; instead of approaching me this morning with the +solemnity of a judge, why did you not question me simply, frankly, as +one who knows that I have loved him very, very much?... Having been +lovers, is that a reason for detesting each other when we cease those +relations?” + +“‘When we cease those relations!’” replied Gorka. “So you no longer +love me? Ah, I knew it; I guessed it after the first week of that fatal +absence! But to think that you should tell it to me some day like that, +in that calm voice which is a horrible blasphemy for our entire +past. No, I do not believe it. I do not yet believe it. Ah, it is too +infamous.” + +“Why?” interrupted the Countess, raising her head with still more +haughtiness.... “There is only one thing infamous in love, and that is +a falsehood. Ah, I know it. You men are not accustomed to meeting true +women, who have the respect, the religion of their sentiment. I have +that respect; I practise that religion. I repeat that I loved you a +great deal, Boleslas. I did not hide it from you formerly. I was as +loyal to you as truth itself. I have the consciousness of being so +still, in offering you, as I do, a firm friendship, the friendship +of man for man, who only asks to prove to you the sincerity of his +devotion.” + +“I, a friendship with you, I--I--I?” exclaimed Boleslas. “Have I had +enough patience in listening to you as I have listened? I heard you lie +to me and scented the lie in the same breath. Why do you not ask me as +well to form a friendship for him with whom you have replaced me? Ah, +so you think I am blind, and you fancy I did not see that Maitland +near you, and that I did not know at the first glance what part he was +playing in your life? You did not think I might have good reasons for +returning as I did? You did not know that one does not dally with one +whom one loves as I love you?... It is not true.... You have not been +loyal to me, since you took this man for a lover while you were still my +mistress. You had not the right, no, no, no, you had not the right!... +And what a man!... If it had been Ardea, Dorsenne, no matter whom, +that I might not blush for you.... But that brute, that idiot, who has +nothing in his favor, neither good looks, birth, elegance, mind nor +talent, for he has none--he has nothing but his neck and shoulders of a +bull.... It is as if you had deceived me with a lackey.... No..... it is +too terrible.... Ah, Catherine, swear to me that it is not true. Tell me +that you no longer love me, I will submit, I will go away, I will accept +all, provided that you swear to me you do not love that man--swear, +swear!”... he added, grasping her hands with such violence that she +uttered a slight exclamation, and, disengaging herself, said to him: + +“Cease; you pain me. You are mad, Gorka; that can be your sole +excuse.... I have nothing to swear to you. What I feel, what I think, +what I do no longer concerns you after what I have told you.... Believe +what it pleases you to believe.... But,” and the irritation of an +enamored woman, wounded in the man she adores, possessed her, “you shall +not speak twice of one of my friends as you have just spoken. You +have deeply offended me, and I will not pardon you. In place of +the friendship I offered you so honestly, we will have no further +connections excepting those of society. That is what you desired.... Try +not to render them impossible to yourself. Be correct at least in form. +Remember you have a wife, I have a daughter, and that we owe it to +them to spare them the knowledge of this unhappy rupture.... God is my +witness, I wished to have it otherwise.” + +“My wife! Your daughter!” cried Boleslas with bitterness. “This is +indeed the hour to remember them and to put them between you and my just +vengeance! They never troubled you formerly, the two poor creatures, +when you began to win my love?... It was convenient for you that +they should be friends! And I lent myself to it!... I accepted +such baseness--that to-day you might take shelter behind the two +innocents!... No, it shall not be.... you shall not escape me thus. +Since it is the only point on which I can strike you, I will strike +you there. I hold you by that means, do you hear, and I will keep you. +Either you dismiss that man, or I will no longer respect anything. My +wife shall know all! Her! So much the better! For some time I have been +stifled by my lies.... Your daughter, too, shall know all. She shall +judge you now as she would judge you one day.” + +As he spoke he advanced to her with a manner so cruel that she recoiled. +A few more moments and the man would have carried out his threat. He +was about to strike her, to break objects around him, to call forth +a terrible scandal. She had the presence of mind of an audacity more +courageous still. An electric bell was near at hand. She pressed it, +while Gorka said to her, with a scornful laugh, “That was the only +affront left you to offer me--to summon your servants to defend you.” + +“You are mistaken,” she replied. “I am not afraid. I repeat you are mad, +and I simply wish to prove it to you by recalling you to the reality +of your situation.... Bid Mademoiselle Alba come down,” said she to the +footman whom her ring had summoned. That phrase was the drop of cold +water which suddenly broke the furious jet of vapor. She had found the +only means of putting an end to the terrible scene. For, notwithstanding +his menace, she knew that Maud’s husband always recoiled before the +young girl, the friend of his wife, of whose delicacy and sensibility he +was aware. + +Gorka was capable of the most dangerous and most cruel deeds, in an +excess of passion augmented by vanity. + +He had in him a chivalrous element which would paralyze his frenzy +before Alba. As for the immorality of that combination of defence +which involved her daughter in her rupture with a vindictive lover, the +Countess did not think of that. She often said: “She is my comrade, she +is my friend.”.... And she thought so. To lean upon her in that critical +moment was only natural to her. In the tempest of indignation which +shook Gorka, the sudden appeal to innocent Alba appeared to him the last +degree of cynicism. During the short space of time which elapsed between +the departure of the footman and the arrival of the young girl, he only +uttered these words, repeating them as he paced the floor, while his +former mistress defied him with her bold gaze: + +“I scorn you, I scorn you; ah, how I scorn you!” Then, when he heard the +door open: “We will resume our conversation, Madame.” + +“When you wish,” replied Countess Steno, and to her daughter, who +entered, she said: “You know the carriage is to come at ten minutes to +eleven, and it is now the quarter. Are you ready?” + +“You can see,” replied the young girl, displaying her pearl-gray gloves, +which she was just buttoning, while on her head a large hat of black +tulle made a dark and transparent aureole around her fair head. Her +delicate bust was displayed to advantage in the corsage Maitland had +chosen for her portrait, a sort of cuirass of a dark-blue material, +finished at the neck and wrists with bands of velvet of a darker shade. +The fine lines of cuffs and a collar gave to that pure face a grace of +youth younger than her age. + +She had evidently come at her mother’s call, with the haste and the +smile of that age. Then, to see Gorka’s expression and the feverish +brilliance of the Countess’s eyes had given her what she called, in an +odd but very appropriate way, the sensation of “a needle in the heart,” + of a sharp, fine point, which entered her breast to the left. She had +slept a sleep so profound, after the soiree of the day before, on which +she had thought she perceived in her mother’s attitude between the +Polish count and the American painter a proof of certain innocence. + +She admired her mother so much, she thought her so intelligent, so +beautiful, so good, that to doubt her was a thought not to be borne! +There were times when she doubted her. A terrible conversation about the +Countess, overheard in a ballroom, a conversation between two men, who +did not know Alba to be behind them, had formed the principal part of +the doubt, which, by turns, had increased and diminished, which had +abandoned and tortured her, according to the signs, as little decisive +as Madame Steno’s tranquillity of the preceding day or her confusion +that morning. It was only an impression, very rapid, instantaneous, the +prick of a needle, which merely leaves after it a drop of blood, and yet +she had a smile with which to say to Boleslas: + +“How did Maud rest? How is she this morning? And my little friend Luc?” + +“They are very well,” replied Gorka. The last stage of his fury, +suddenly arrested by the presence of the young girl, was manifested, +but only to the Countess, by the simple phrase to which his eyes and his +voice lent an extreme bitterness: “I found them as I left them.... Ah! +They love me dearly.... I leave you to Peppino, Countess,” added +he, walking toward the door. “Mademoiselle, I will bear your love to +Maud.”....He had regained all the courtesy which a long line of savage +‘grands seigneurs’, but ‘grands seigneurs’ nevertheless, had instilled +in him. If his bow to Madame Steno was very ceremonious, he put a +special grace in the low bow with which he took leave of the Contessina. +It was merely a trifle, but the Countess was keen enough to perceive it. +She was touched by it, she whom despair, fury, and threats had found +so impassive. For an instant she was vaguely humiliated by the success +which she had gained over the man whom she would, voluntarily, five +minutes before, have had cast out of doors by her servants. She was +silent, oblivious even of her daughter’s presence, until the latter +recalled her to herself by saying: + +“Shall I put on my veil and fetch my parasol?” + +“You can join me in the office, whither I am going to talk with Ardea,” + replied her mother; adding, “I shall perhaps have some news to tell you +in the carriage which will give you pleasure!”.... She had again +her bright smile, and she did not mistrust while she resumed her +conversation with Peppino that poor Alba, on reentering her chamber, +wiped from her pale cheeks two large tears, and that she opened, to +re-read it, the infamous anonymous letter received the day before. She +knew by heart all the perfidious phrases. Must it not have been that the +mind which had composed them was blinded by vengeance to such a degree +that it had no scruples about laying before the innocent child a +denunciation which ran thus: + + “A true friend of Mademoiselle Steno warns her that she is + compromised, more than a marriageable young girl should be, in + playing, with regard to M. Maitland the role she has already played + with regard to M. Goyka. There are conditions of blindness so + voluntary that they become complicity.” + +Those words, enigmatical to any one else, but to the Contessina horribly +clear, had been, like the letters of which Boleslas had told Dorsenne, +cut from a journal and pasted on a sheet of paper. How had Alba trembled +on reading that note for the first time, with an emotion increased +by the horror of feeling hovering over her and her mother a hatred +so relentless! Later in the day how much had the words exchanged with +Dorsenne comforted her, and how reassured had she been by the Countess’s +imperturbability on the entrance of Boleslas Gorka! Fragile peace, which +had vanished when she saw her mother and the husband of her best friend +face to face, with traces in their eyes, in their gestures, upon their +countenances, of an angry scene! The thought “Why were they thus! +What had they said?” again occurred to her to sadden her. Suddenly she +crushed in her hand with violence the anonymous letter, which gave a +concrete form to her sorrow and her suspicion, and, lighting a taper, +she held it to the paper, which the flames soon reduced to ashes. She +ran her fingers through the debris until there was very little left, and +then, opening the window, she cast it to the winds. + +She looked at her glove after doing this--her glove, a few moments +before, of so delicate a gray, now stained by the smoky dust. It was +symbolical of the stain which the letter, even when destroyed, had left +upon her mind. The gloves, too, inspired her with horror. She hastily +drew them off, and, when she descended to rejoin Madame Steno, it was +not any more possible to perceive on those hands, freshly gloved, the +traces of that tragical childishness, than it was possible to discern, +beneath the large veil which she had tied over her hat, the traces of +tears. She found the mother for whom she was suffering so much, wearing, +too, a large sun-hat, but a white one with a white veil, beneath which +could be seen her fair hair, her sparkling blue eyes and pink-and-white +complexion; her form was enveloped in a gown of a material and cut more +youthful than her daughter’s, while, radiant with delight, she said to +Peppino Ardea: + +“Well, I congratulate you on having made up your mind. The step shall be +taken to-day, and you will be grateful to me all your life!” + +“Yet,” replied the young man, “I understand myself. I shall regret my +decision all the afternoon. It is true,” he added, philosophically, +“that I should regret it just as much if I had not made it.” + +“You have guessed that we were talking of Fanny’s marriage,” said Madame +Steno to her daughter several minutes later, when they were seated side +by side, like two sisters, in the victoria which was bearing them toward +Maitland’s studio. + +“Then,” asked the Contessina, “you think it will be arranged?” + +“It is arranged,” gayly replied Madame Steno. “I am commissioned to make +the proposition.... How happy all three will be!... Hafner has aimed at +it this long time! I remember how, in 1880, after his suit, he came to +see me in Venice--you and Fanny played on the balcony of the palace--he +questioned me about the Quirinal, the Vatican and society.... Then he +concluded, pointing to his daughter, ‘I shall make a Roman princess of +the little one!” + +The ‘dogaresse’ was so delighted at the thought of the success of her +negotiations, so delighted, too, to go, as she was going, to Maitland’s +studio, behind her two English cobs, which trotted so briskly, that she +did not see on the sidewalk Boleslas Gorka, who watched her pass. + +Alba was so troubled by that fresh proof of her mother’s lack of +conscience that she did not notice Maud’s husband either. Baron Hafner’s +and Prince d’Ardea’s manner toward Fanny had inspired her the day before +with a dolorous analogy between the atmosphere of falsehood in which +that poor girl lived and the atmosphere in which she at times thought +she herself lived. That analogy again possessed her, and she again felt +the “needle in the heart” as she recalled what she had heard before from +the Countess of the intrigue by which Baron Justus Hafner had, indeed, +ensnared his future son-in-law. She was overcome by infinite sadness, +and she lapsed into one of her usual silent moods, while the Countess +related to her Peppino’s indecision. What cared she for Boleslas’s anger +at that moment? What could he do to her? Gorka was fully aware of her +utter carelessness of the scene which had taken place between them, as +soon as he saw the victoria pass. For some time he remained standing, +watching the large white and black hats disappear down the Rue du Vingt +Septembre. + +This thought took possession of him at once. Madame Steno and her +daughter were going to Maitland’s atelier.... He had no sooner conceived +that bitter suspicion than he felt the necessity of proving it at once. +He entered a passing cab, just as Ardea, having left the Villa, Steno +after him, sauntered up, saying: + +“Where are you going? May I go with you that we may have a few moments’ +conversation?” + +“Impossible,” replied Gorka. “I have a very urgent appointment, but in +an hour I shall perhaps have occasion to ask a service of you. Where +shall I find you?” + +“At home,” said Peppino, “lunching.” + +“Very well,” replied Boleslas, and, raising himself, he whispered in the +cabman’s ear, in a voice too low for his friend to hear what he said: +“Ten francs for you if in five minutes you drive me to the corner of the +Rue Napoleon III and the Place de la Victor-Emmanuel.” + +The man gathered up his reins, and, by some sleight-of-hand, the jaded +horse which drew the botte was suddenly transformed into a fine Roman +steed, the botte itself into a light carriage as swift as the Tuscan +carrozzelle, and the whole disappeared in a cross street, while Peppino +said to himself: + +“There is a fine fellow who would do so much better to remain with his +friend Ardea than to go whither he is going. This affair will end in a +duel. If I had not to liquidate that folly,” and he pointed out with +the end of his cane a placard relative to the sale of his own palace, +“I would amuse myself by taking Caterina from both of them. But those +little amusements must wait until after my marriage.” + +As we have seen, the cunning Prince had not been mistaken as to the +course taken by the cab Gorka had hailed. It was indeed into the +neighborhood of the atelier occupied by Maitland that the discarded +lover hastened, but not to the atelier. The madman wished to prove to +himself that the exhibition of his despair had availed him nothing, and +that, scarcely rid of him, Madame Steno had repaired to the other. What +would it avail him to know it and what would the evidence prove? Had +the Countess concealed those sittings--those convenient sittings--as +the jealous lover had told Dorsenne? The very thought of them caused the +blood to flow in his veins much more feverishly than did the thoughts of +the other meetings. For those he could still doubt, notwithstanding +the anonymous letters, notwithstanding the tete-a-tete on the terrace, +notwithstanding the insolent “Linco,” whom she had addressed thus before +him, while of the long intimacies of the studio he was certain. They +maddened him, and, at the same time, by that strange contradiction which +is characteristic of all jealousy, he hungered and thirsted to prove +them. + +He alighted from his cab at the corner he had named to his cabman, +and from which point he could watch the Rue Leopardi, in which was his +rival’s house. It was a large structure in the Moorish style, built by +the celebrated Spanish artist, Juan Santigosa, who had been obliged to +sell all five years before--house, studio, horses, completed paintings, +sketches begun--in order to pay immense losses at gaming. Florent +Chapron had at the time bought the sort of counterfeit Alhambra, a +portion of which he rented to his brother-in-law. During the few moments +that he stood at the corner, Boleslas Gorka recalled having visited that +house the previous year, while taking, in the company of Madame Steno, +Alba, Maud, and Hafner, one of those walks of which fashionable women +are so fond in Rome as well as in Paris. An irrational instinct had +rendered the painter and his paintings antipathetic to him at their +first meeting. Had he had sufficient cause? Suddenly, on leaning forward +in such a manner as to see without being seen, he perceived a victoria +which entered the Rue Leopardi, and in that victoria the black hat of +Mademoiselle Steno and the light one of her mother. In two minutes more +the elegant carriage drew up at the Moorish structure, which gleamed +among the other buildings in that street, for the most part unfinished, +with a sort of insolent, sumptuousness. + +The two ladies alighted and disappeared through the door, which closed +upon them, while the coachman started up his horses at the pace of +animals which are returning to their stable. He checked them that they +might not become overheated, and the fine cobs trembled impatiently in +their harnesses. Evidently the Countess and Alba were in the studio for +a long sitting. What had Boleslas learned that he did not already know? +Was he not ridiculous, standing upon the sidewalk of the square in the +centre of which rose the ruin of an antique reservoir, called, for a +reason more than doubtful, the trophy of Marius. With one glance the +young man took in this scene--the empty victoria turning in the opposite +direction, the large square, the ruin, the row of high houses, his cab. +He appeared to himself so absurd for being there to spy out that of +which he was only too sure, that he burst into a nervous laugh and +reentered his cab, giving his own address to the cabman: Palazzetto +Doria, Place de Venise. The cab that time started off leisurely, for +the man comprehended that the mad desire to arrive hastily no longer +possessed his fare. By a sudden metamorphosis, the swift Roman steed +became a common nag, and the vehicle a heavy machine which rumbled along +the streets. Boleslas yielded to depression, the inevitable reaction +of an excess of violence such as he had just experienced. His composure +could not last. The studio, in which was Madame Steno, began to take a +clear form in the jealous lover’s mind in proportion as he drove farther +from it. In his thoughts he saw his former mistress walking about in the +framework of tapestry, armor, studies begun, as he had frequently seen +her walking in his smoking-room, with the smile upon her lips of an +amorous woman, touching the objects among which her lover lives. He +saw impassive Alba, who served as chaperon in the new intrigue of her +mother’s with the same naivete she had formerly employed in shielding +their liaison. He saw Maitland with his indifferent glance of the day +before, the glance of a preferred lover, so sure of his triumph that he +did not even feel jealous of the former lover. + +The absolute tranquillity of one who replaces us in an unfaithful +mistress’s affections augments our fury still more if we have the +misfortune to be placed in a position similar to Gorka’s. In a moment +his rival’s evocation became to him impossible to bear. He was very near +his own home, for he was just at that admirable square encumbered with +the debris of basilica, the Forum of Trajan, which the statue of St. +Peter at the summit of the column overlooks. Around the base of the +sculptured marble, legends attest the triumph of the humble Galilean +fisherman who landed at the port of the Tiber 1800 years ago, unknown, +persecuted, a beggar. What a symbol and what counsel to say with the +apostle: “Whither shall we go, Lord? Thou alone hast the words of +eternal life!” + +But Gorka was neither a Montfanon nor a Dorsenne to hear within his +heart or his mind the echo of such precepts. He was a man of passion and +of action, who only saw his passion and his actions in the position +in which fortune threw him. A fresh access of fury recalled to him +Maitland’s attitude of the preceding day. This time he would no longer +control himself. He violently pulled the surprised coachman’s sleeve, +and called out to him the address of the Rue Leopardi in so imperative +a tone that the horse began again to trot as he had done before, and the +cab to go quickly through the labyrinth of streets. A wave of tragical +desire rolled into the young man’s heart. No, he would not bear that +affront. He was too bitterly wounded in the most sensitive chords of his +being, in his love as well as his pride. Both struggled within him, and +another instinct as well, urging him to the mad step he was about to +take. The ancient blood of the Palatines, with regard to which Dorsenne +always jested, boiled in his veins. If the Poles have furnished many +heroes for dramas and modern romances, they have remained, through their +faults, so dearly atoned for, the race the most chivalrously, the most +madly brave in Europe. When men of so intemperate and so complex an +excitability are touched to a certain depth, they think of a duel as +naturally as the descendants of a line of suicides think of killing +themselves. + +Joyous Ardea, with his Italian keenness, had seen at a glance the end to +which Gorka’s nature would lead him. The betrayed lover required a duel +to enable him to bear the treason. He might wound, he might, perhaps, +kill his rival, and his passion would be satisfied, or else he would +risk being killed himself, and the courage he would display braving +death would suffice to raise him in his own estimation. A mad thought +possessed him and caused him to hasten toward the Rue Leopardi, to +provoke his rival suddenly and before Madame Steno! Ah, what pleasure it +would give him to see her tremble, for she surely would tremble when +she saw him enter the studio! But he would be correct, as she had so +insolently asked him to be. He would go, so to speak, to see Alba’s +portrait. He would dissemble, then he would be better able to find +a pretext for an argument. It is so easy to find one in the simplest +conversation, and from an argument a quarrel is soon born. He would +speak in such a manner that Maitland would have to answer him. The rest +would follow. But would Alba Steno be present? Ha, so much the better! +He would be so much more at ease, if the altercation arose before her, +to deceive his own wife as to the veritable reason of the duel. Ah, +he would have his dispute at any price, and from the moment that the +seconds had exchanged visits the American’s fate would be decided. He +knew how to render it impossible for the fellow to remain longer +in Rome. The young man was greatly wrought up by the romance of the +provocation and the duel. + +“How it refreshes the blood to be avenged upon two fools,” said he +to himself, descending from his cab and inquiring at the door of the +Moorish house. + +“Monsieur Maitland?” he asked the footman, who at one blow dissipated +his excitement by replying with this simple phrase, the only one of +which he had not thought in his frenzy: + +“Monsieur is not at home.” + +“He will be at home to me,” replied Boleslas. “I have an appointment +with Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, who are awaiting me.” + +“Monsieur’s orders are strict,” replied the servant. + +Accustomed, as are all servants entrusted with the defence of an +artist’s work, to a certain rigor of orders, he yet hesitated, in the +face of the untruth which Gorka had invented on the spur of the moment, +and he was about to yield to his importunity when some one appeared on +the staircase of the hall. That some one was none other than Florent +Chapron. Chance decreed that the latter should send for a carriage in +which to go to lunch, and that the carriage should be late. At the sound +of wheels stopping at the door, he looked out of one of the windows +of his apartment, which faced the street. He saw Gorka alight. Such a +visit, at such an hour, with the persons who were in the atelier, seemed +to him so dangerous that he ran downstairs immediately. He took up +his hat and his cane, to justify his presence in the hall by the very +natural excuse that he was going out. He reached the middle of the +staircase just in time to stop the servant, who had decided to “go and +see,” and, bowing to Boleslas with more formality than usual: + +“My brother-in-law is not there, Monsieur,” said he; and he added, +turning to the footman, in order to dispose of him in case an +altercation should arise between the importunate visitor and himself, +“Nero, fetch me a handkerchief from my room. I have forgotten mine.” + +“That order could not be meant for me, Monsieur,” insisted Boleslas. +“Monsieur Maitland has made an appointment with me, with Madame Steno, +in order to show us Alba’s portrait.” + +“It is no order,” replied Florent. “I repeat to you that my +brother-in-law has gone out. The studio is closed, and it is impossible +for me to undertake to open it to show you the picture, since I have not +the key. As for Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, they have not been here +for several days; the sittings have been interrupted.” + +“What is still more extraordinary, Monsieur,” replied the other, “is +that I saw them with my own eyes, five minutes ago, enter this house and +I, too, saw their carriage drive away.”.... He felt his anger increase +and direct itself altogether against the watch-dog so suddenly raised +upon the threshold of his rival’s house. + +Florent, on his part, had begun to lose patience. He had within him the +violent irritability of the negro blood, which he did not acknowledge, +but which slightly tinted his complexion. The manner of Madame Steno’s +former lover seemed to him so outrageous that he replied very dryly, as +he opened the door, in order to oblige the caller to leave: + +“You are mistaken,--Monsieur, that is all.” + +“You are aware, Monsieur,” replied Boleslas, “of the fact that you just +addressed me in a tone which is not the one which I have a right to +expect from you.... When one charges one’s self with a certain business, +it is at least necessary to introduce a little form.” + +“And I, Monsieur,” replied Chapron, “would be very much obliged to you +if, when you address me, you would not do so in enigmas. I do not know +what you mean by ‘a certain business,’ but I know that it is unbefitting +a gentleman to act as you have acted at the door of a house which is not +yours and for reasons that I can not comprehend.” + +“You will comprehend them very soon, Monsieur,” said Boleslas, beside +himself, “and you have not constituted yourself your brother’s slave +without motives.” + +He had no sooner uttered that sentence than Florent, incapable any +longer of controlling himself, raised his cane with a menacing gesture, +which the Polish Count arrested just in time, by seizing it in his right +hand. It was the work of a second, and the two men were again face to +face, both pale with anger, ready to collar one another rudely, when +the sound of a door closing above their heads recalled to them their +dignity. The servant descended the stairs. It was Chapron who first +regained his self-possession, and he said to Boleslas, in a voice too +low to be heard by any one but him: + +“No scandal, Monsieur, eh? I shall have the honor of sending two of my +friends to you.” + +“It is I, Monsieur,” replied Gorka, “who will send you two. You shall +answer to me for your manner, I assure you.” + +“Ha! Whatsoever you like,” said the other. “I accept all your conditions +in advance.... But one thing I ask of you,” he added, “that no names be +mentioned. There would be too many persons involved. Let it appear +that we had an argument on the street, that we disagreed, and that I +threatened you.” + +“So be it,” said Boleslas, after a pause. “You have my word. There is a +man,” said he to himself five minutes later, when again rolling through +the streets in his cab, after giving the cabman the address of the +Palais Castagna. “Yes, there is a man.... He was very insolent just now, +and I lacked composure. I am too nervous. I should be sorry to injure +the boy. But, patience, the other will lose nothing by waiting.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE INCONSISTENCY OF AN OLD CHOUAN + +While the madman, Boleslas, hastened to Ardea to ask his cooperation in +the most unreasonable of encounters, with a species of savage delight, +Florent Chapron was possessed by only one thought: at any price to +prevent his brother-in-law from suspecting his quarrel with Madame +Steno’s former lover and the duel which was to be the result. His +passionate friendship for Lincoln was so strong that it prevented the +nervousness which usually precedes a first duel, above all when he who +appears upon the ground has all his life neglected practising with +the sword or pistol. To a fencer, and to one accustomed to the use of +firearms, a duel means a number of details which remove the thought of +danger. The man conceives the possibilities of the struggle, of a deed +to be bravely accomplished. That is sufficient to inspire him with +a composure which absolute ignorance can not inspire, unless it is +supported by one of those deep attachments often so strong within us. +Such was the case with Florent. + +Dorsenne’s instinct, which could so easily read the heart, was not +mistaken there; the painter had in his wife’s brother a friend of +self-sacrificing devotion. He could exact anything of the Mameluke, +or, rather, of that slave, for it was the blood of the slaves, of his +ancestors, which manifested itself in Chapron by so total an absorption +of his personality. The atavism of servitude has these two effects +which are apparently contradictory: it produces fathomless capacities +of sacrifice or of perfidy. Both of these qualities were embodied in +the brother and in the sister. As happens, sometimes, the two +characteristics of their race were divided between them; one had +inherited all the virtue of self-sacrifice, the other all the puissance +of hypocrisy. + +But the drama called forth by Madame Steno’s infidelity, and finally by +Gorka’s rashness, would only expose to light the moral conditions which +Dorsenne had foreseen without comprehending. He was completely ignorant +of the circumstances under which Florent had developed, of those under +which Maitland and he had met, of how Maitland had decided to marry +Lydia; finally an exceptional and lengthy history which it is necessary +to sketch here at least, in order to render clear the singular relations +of those three beings. + +As we have seen, the allusion coarsely made by Boleslas to negro blood +marked the moment when Florent lost all self-control, to the point even +of raising his cane to his insolent interlocutor. That blemish, hidden +with the most jealous care, represented to the young man what it had +represented to his father, the vital point of self-love, secret and +constant humiliation. It was very faint, the trace of negro blood which +flowed in their veins, so faint that it was necessary to be told of +it, but it was sufficient to render a stay in America so much the more +intolerable to both, as they had inherited all the pride of their name, +a name which the Emperor mentioned at St. Helena as that of one of his +bravest officers. Florent’s grandfather was no other, indeed, than the +Colonel Chapron who, as Napoleon desired information, swam the Dnieper +on horseback, followed a Cossack on the opposite shore, hunted him like +a stag, laid him across his saddle and took him back to the French +camp. When the Empire fell, that hero, who had compromised himself in +an irreparable manner in the army of the Loire, left his country and, +accompanied by a handful of his old comrades, went to found in the +southern part of the United States, in Alabama, a sort of agricultural +colony, to which they gave the name--which it still preserves--of +Arcola, a naive and melancholy tribute to the fabulous epoch which, +however, had been dear to them. + +Who would have recognized the brilliant colonel, who penetrated by the +side of Montbrun the heart of the Grande Redoute, in the planter of +forty-five, busy with his cotton and his sugar-cane, who made a fortune +in a short time by dint of energy and good sense? His success, told of +in France, was the indirect cause of another emigration to Texas, led by +General Lallemand, and which terminated so disastrously. Colonel Chapron +had not, as can be believed, acquired in roaming through Europe very +scrupulous notions an the relations of the two sexes. Having made the +mother of his child a pretty and sweet-tempered mulattress whom he met +on a short trip to New Orleans, and whom he brought back to Arcola, he +became deeply attached to the charming creature and to his son, so much +the more so as, with a simple difference of complexion and of hair, +the child was the image of him. Indeed, the old warrior, who had no +relatives in his native land, on dying, left his entire fortune to that +son, whom he had christened Napoleon. While he lived, not one of his +neighbors dared to treat the young man differently from the way in which +his father treated him. + +But it was not the same when the prestige of the Emperor’s soldier was +not there to protect the boy against that aversion to race which is +morally a prejudice, but socially interprets an instinct of preservation +of infallible surety. The United States has grown only on that +condition. + + [Those familiar with the works of Bourget will recognize here again + his well known antipathy for the United States of America. Mark + Twain in the late 1800’s felt obliged to rebut some of Bourget’s + prejudice: “What Paul Bourget Thinks of Us.” D.W.] + +The mixture of blood would there have dissolved the admirable +Anglo-Saxon energy which the struggle against a nature at once very rich +and very mutinous has exalted to such surprising splendor. It is not +necessary to ask those who are the victims of such an instinct to +comprehend the legal injustice. They only feel its ferocity. Napoleon +Chapron, rejected in several offers of marriage, thwarted in his plans, +humiliated under twenty trifling circumstances by the Colonel’s former +companions, became a species of misanthrope. He lived, sustained by +a twofold desire, on the one hand to increase his fortune, and on +the other to wed a white woman. It was not until 1857, at the age of +thirty-five, that he realized the second of his two projects. In the +course of a trip to Europe, he became interested on the steamer in a +young English governess, who was returning from Canada, summoned home +by family troubles. He met her again in London. He helped her with such +delicacy in her distress, that he won her heart, and she consented to +become his wife. From that union were born, one year apart, Florent and +Lydia. + +Lydia had cost her mother her life, at the moment when the War of +Secession jeoparded the fortune of Chapron, who, fortunately for him, +had, in his desire to enrich himself quickly, invested his money a +little on all sides. He was only partly ruined, but that semi-ruin +prevented him from returning to Europe, as he had intended. He +was compelled to remain in Alabama to repair that disaster, and he +succeeded, for at his death, in 1880, his children inherited more than +four hundred thousand dollars each. The incomparable father’s devotion +had not limited itself to the building up of a large fortune. He had +the courage to deprive himself of the presence of the two beings whom he +adored, to spare them the humiliation of an American school, and he +sent them after their twelfth year to England, the boy to the Jesuits +of Beaumont, the girl to the convent of the Sacred Heart, at Roehampton. +After four years there, he sent them to Paris, Florent to Vaugirard, +Lydia to the Rue de Varenne, and just at the time that he had realized +the amount he considered requisite, when he was preparing to return to +live near them in a country without prejudices, a stroke of apoplexy +took him off suddenly. The double wear of toil and care had told upon +one of those organisms which the mixture of the black and white races +often produces, athletic in appearance, but of a very keen sensibility, +in which the vital resistance is not in proportion to the muscular +vigor. + +Whatever care the man, so deeply grieved by the blemish upon his birth, +had taken to preserve his children from a similar experience, he had not +been able to do so, and soon after his son entered Beaumont his trials +began. The few boys with whom Florent was thrown in contact, in the +hotels or in his walks, during his sojourn in America, had already made +him feel that humiliation from which his father had suffered so much. +The youth of twelve, silent and absurdly sensitive, who made his +appearance on the lawn of the peaceful English college on an autumn +morning, brought with him a self-love already bleeding, to whom it was +a delightful surprise to find himself among comrades of his age who did +not even seem to suspect that any difference separated them from him. It +required the perception of a Yankee to discern, beneath the nails of the +handsome boy with the dark complexion, the tiny drops of negro blood, so +far removed. Between an octoroon and a creole a European can never tell +the difference. Florent had been represented as what he really was, the +grandson of one of the Emperor’s best officers. His father had taken +particular pains to designate him as French, and his companions only +saw in him a pupil like themselves, coming from Alabama--that is to say, +from a country almost as chimerical as Japan or China. + +All who in early youth have known the torture of apprehension will be +able to judge of the poor child’s agony when, after four months of a +life amid the warmth of sympathy, one of the Jesuit fathers who directed +the college announced to him, thinking it would afford him pleasure, the +expected arrival of an American, of young Lincoln Maitland. This was to +Florent so violent a shock that he had a fever for forty-eight hours. +In after years he could remember what thoughts possessed him on the day +when he descended from his room to the common refectory, sure that as +soon as he was brought face to face with the new pupil he would have +to sustain the disdainful glance suffered so frequently in the United +States. There was no doubt in his mind that, his origin once discovered, +the atmosphere of kindness in which he moved with so much surprise would +soon be changed to hostility. He could again see himself crossing the +yard; could hear himself called by Father Roberts--the master who had +told him of the expected new arrival--and his surprise when Lincoln +Maitland had given him the hearty handshake of one demi-compatriot +who meets another. He was to learn later that that reception was quite +natural, coming from the son of an Englishman, educated altogether by +his mother, and taken from New York to Europe before his fifth year, +there to live in a circle as little American as possible. Chapron did +not reason in that manner. He had an infinitely tender heart. Gratitude +entered it--gratitude as impassioned as had been his fear. One week +later Lincoln Maitland and he were friends, and friends so intimate that +they never parted. + +The affection, which was merely to the indifferent nature of Maitland +a simple college episode, became to Florent the most serious, most +complete sentiment of his life. Those fraternities of election, the +loveliest and most delicate of the heart of man, usually dawn thus in +youth. It is the ideal age of passionate friendship, that period +between ten and sixteen, when the spirit is so pure, so fresh, still so +virtuous, so fertile in generous projects for the future. One dreams +of a companionship almost mystical with the friend from whom one has no +secret, whose character one sees in such a noble light, on whose esteem +one depends as upon the surest recompense, whom one innocently desires +to resemble. Indeed, they are, between the innocent lads who work side +by side on a problem of geometry or a lesson in history, veritable +poems of tenderness at which the man will smile later, finding so far +different from him in all his tastes, him whom he desired to have for +a brother. It happens, however, in certain natures of a sensibility +particularly precocious and faithful at the same time, that the +awakening of effective life is so strong, so encroaching, that the +impassioned friendship persists, first through the other awakening, that +of sensuality, so fatal to all the senses of delicacy, then through the +first tumult of social experience, not less fatal to our ideal of youth. + +That was the case with Florent Chapron, whether his character, at once +somewhat wild and yet submissive, rendered him more qualified for that +renunciation of his personality than friendship demands, whether, far +from his father and his sister and not having any mother, his loving +heart had need of attaching itself to some one who could fill the place +of his relatives, or whether Maitland exercised over him a special +prestige by his opposite qualities. Fragile and somewhat delicate, was +he seduced by the strength and dexterity which his friend exhibited in +all his exercises? Timid and naturally taciturn, was he governed by +the assurance of that athlete with the loud laugh, with the invincible +energy? Did the surprising tendency toward art which the other one +showed conquer him, as well as sympathy for the misfortunes which were +confided to him and which touched him more than they touched him who +experienced them? + +Gordon Maitland, Lincoln’s father, of an excellent family of New York, +had been killed at the battle of Chancellorsville, during the same +war which had ruined Florent’s father in part. Mrs. Maitland, the poor +daughter of a small rector of a Presbyterian church at Newport, and who +had only married her husband for his money, had but one idea, when once +a widow--to go abroad. Whither? To Europe, vague and fascinating spot, +where she fancied she would be distinguished by her intelligence and her +beauty. She was pretty, vain and silly, and that voyage in pursuit of a +part to play in the Old World caused her to pass two years first in one +hotel and then in another, after which she married the second son of +a poor Irish peer, with the new chimera of entering that Olympus of +British aristocracy of which she had dreamed so much. She became a +Catholic, and her son with her, to obtain the result which cost her +dear, for not only was the lord who had given her his name brutal, a +drunkard and cruel, but he added to all those faults that of being +one of the greatest gamblers in the entire United Kingdom. He kept +his stepson away from home, beat his wife, and died toward 1880, after +dissipating the poor creature’s fortune and almost all of Lincoln’s. At +that time the latter, whom his stepfather had naturally left to develop +in his own way, and who, since leaving Beaumont, had studied painting +at Venice, Rome and Paris, was in the latter city and one of the first +pupils in Bonnat’s studio. Seeing his mother ruined, without resources +at forty-four years of age, persuaded himself of his glorious future, he +had one of those magnificent impulses such as one has in youth and which +prove much less the generosity than the pride of life. Of the fifteen +thousand francs of income remaining to him, he gave up to his mother +twelve thousand five hundred. It is expedient to add that in less than +a year afterward he married the sister of his college friend and four +hundred thousand dollars. He had seen poverty and he was afraid of it. +His action with regard to his mother seemed to justify in his own eyes +the purely interested character of the combination which freed his brush +forever. There are, moreover, such artistic consciences. Maitland would +not have pardoned himself a concession of art. He considered rascals the +painters who begged success by compromise in their style, and he thought +it quite natural to take the money of Mademoiselle Chapron, whom he +did not love, and for whom, now that he had grown to manhood and knew +several of her compatriots, he likewise felt the prejudice of race. +“The glory of the colonel of the Empire and friendship for that good +Florent,” as he said, “covered all.” + +Poor and good Florent! That marriage was to him the romance of his youth +realized. He had desired it since the first week that Maitland had given +him the cordial handshake which had bound them. To live in the shadow of +his friend, become at once his brother-in-law and his ideal--he did not +dream of any other solution of his own destiny. The faults of Maitland, +developed by age, fortune, and success--we recall the triumph of his +‘Femme en violet et en jeune’ in the Salon of 1884--found Florent as +blind as at the epoch when they played cricket together in the fields at +Beaumont. Dorsenne very justly diagnosed there one of those hypnotisms +of admiration such as artists, great or small, often inspire around +them. But the author, who always generalized too quickly, had not +comprehended that the admirer with Florent was grafted on a friend +worthy to be painted by La Fontaine or by Balzac, the two poets of +friendship, the one in his sublime and tragic Cousin Pons, the other +in that short but fine fable, in which is this verse, one of the most +tender in the French language: + + Vous metes, en dormant, un peu triste apparu. + +Florent did not love Lincoln because he admired him; he admired him +because he loved him. He was not wrong in considering the painter as one +of the most gifted who had appeared for thirty years. But Lincoln +would have had neither the bold elegance of his drawing, nor the vivid +strength of coloring, nor the ingenious finesse of imagination if the +other had lent himself with less ardor to the service of the work and +to the glory of the artist. When Lincoln wanted to travel he found his +brother-in-law the most diligent of couriers. When he had need of a +model he had only to say a word for Florent to set about finding one. +Did Lincoln exhibit at Paris or London, Florent took charge of the +entire proceeding--seeing the journalists and picture dealers, composing +letters of thanks for the articles, in a handwriting so like that of the +painter that the latter had only to sign it. Lincoln desired to return +to Rome. Florent had discovered the house on the Rue Leopardi, and he +settled it even before Maitland, then in Egypt, had finished a large +study begun at the moment of the departure of the other. + +Florent had, by virtue of the affection felt for his brother-in-law, +come to comprehend the paintings as well as the painter himself. These +words will be clear to those who have been around artists and who know +what a distance separates them from the most enlightened amateur. +The amateur can judge and feel. The artist only, who has wielded the +implements, knows, before a painting, how it is done, what stroke of the +brush has been given, and why; in short, the trituration of the matter +by the workman. Florent had watched Maitland work so much, he had +rendered him so many effective little services in the studio, that each +of his brother-in-law’s canvases became animated to him, even to the +slightest details. When he saw them on the wall of the gallery they told +him of an intimacy which was at once his greatest joy and his greatest +pride. In short, the absorption of his personality in that of his former +comrade was so complete that it had led to this anomaly, that Dorsenne +himself, notwithstanding his indulgence for psychological singularities, +had not been able to prevent himself from finding almost monstrous: +Florent was Lincoln’s brother-in-law, and he seemed to find it perfectly +natural that the latter should have adventures outside, if the emotion +of those adventures could be useful to his talent! + +Perhaps this long and yet incomplete analysis will permit us the better +to comprehend what emotions agitated the young man as he reascended the +staircase of his house--of their house, Lincoln’s and his--after his +unexpected dispute with Boleslas Gorka. It will attenuate, at least +with respect to him, the severity of simple minds. All passion, when +developed in the heart, has the effect of etiolating around it the vigor +of other instincts. Chapron was too fanatical a friend to be a very +equitable brother. It seemed to him very simple and very legitimate +that his sister should be at the service of the genius of Lincoln, as he +himself was. Moreover, if, since the marriage with her brother’s friend, +his sister had been stirred by the tempest of a moral tragedy, Florent +did not suspect it. When had he studied Lydia, the silent, reserved +Lydia, of whom he had once for all formed an opinion, as is the almost +invariable custom of relative with relative? Those who have seen us when +young are like those who see us daily. The images which they trace of us +always reproduce what we were at a certain moment--scarcely ever what +we are. Florent considered his sister very good, because he had formerly +found her so; very gentle, because she had never resisted him; not +intelligent, because she did not seem sufficiently interested in +the painter’s work; as for the suffering and secret rebellion of +the oppressed creature, crushed between his blind partiality and the +selfishness of a scornful husband, he did not even suspect them, much +less the terrible resolution of which that apparent resignation was +capable. + +If he had trembled when Madame Steno began to interest herself in +Lincoln, it was solely for the work of the latter, so much the more +as for a year he had perceived not a decline but a disturbance in the +painting of that artist, too voluntary not to be unequal. Then Florent +had seen, on the other hand, the nerve of Maitland reawakened in the +warmth of that little intrigue. + +The portrait of Alba promised to be a magnificent study, worthy of being +placed beside the famous ‘Femme en violet et en jaune,’ which those +envious of Lincoln always remembered. Moreover, the painter had finished +with unparalleled ardor two large compositions partly abandoned. In the +face of that proof of a fever of production more and more active, how +would not Florent have blessed Madame Steno, instead of cursing her, so +much the more that it sufficed him to close his eyes and to know that +his conscience was in repose when opposite his sister? He knew all, +however. The proof of it was in his shudder when Dorsenne announced to +him the clandestine arrival in Rome of Madame Steno’s other lover, and +one proof still more certain, the impulse which had precipitated him +upon Boleslas, who was parleying with the servant, and now it was he who +had accepted the duel which an exasperated rival had certainly come to +propose to his dear Lincoln, and he thought only of the latter. + +“He must know nothing until afterward. He would take the affair upon +himself, and I have a chance to kill him, that Gorka--to wound him, +at least. In any case, I will arrange it so that a second duel will be +rendered difficult to that lunatic.... But, first of all, let us make +sure that we have not spoken too loudly and that they have not heard +upstairs the ill-bred fellow’s loud voice.” + +It was in such terms that he qualified his adversary of the morrow. For +very little more he would have judged Gorka unpardonable not to thank +Lincoln, who had done him the honor to supplant him in the Countess’s +favor! + +In the meantime, let us cast a glance at the atelier! When the friend, +devoted to complicity, but also to heroism, entered the vast room, he +could see at the first glance that he had been mistaken and that no +sound of voices had reached that peaceful retreat. + +The atelier of the American painter was furnished with a harmonious +sumptuousness which real artists know how to gather around them. The +large strip of sky seen through the windows looked down upon a corner +veritably Roman--of the Rome of to-day, which attests an uninterrupted +effort toward forming a new city by the side of the old one. One could +see an angle of the old garden and the fragment of an antique building, +with a church steeple beyond. It was on a background of azure, of +verdure and of ruins, in a horizon larger and more distant, but composed +of the same elements, that was to arise the face of the young girl, +designed after the manner, so sharp and so modelled, of the ‘Pier della +Francesca’, with whom Maitland had been preoccupied for six months. + +All great composers, of an originality more composite than genitive, +have these infatuations. + +Maitland was at his easel, dressed with that correct elegance which +is the almost certain mark of Anglo-Saxon artists. With his little +varnished shoes, his fine black socks, spotted with red, his coat of +quilted silk, his light cravat and the purity of his linen, he had the +air of a gentleman who applied himself to an amateur effort, and not of +the patient and laborious worker he really was. But his canvases and his +studies, hung on all sides, among tapestries, arms and trinkets, +bespoke patient labor. It was the history of an energy bent upon the +acquisition of a personality constantly fleeting. Maitland manifested +in a supreme degree the trait common to almost all his compatriots, even +those who came in early youth to Europe, that intense desire not to +lack civilization, which is explained by the fact that the American is a +being entirely new, endowed with an activity incomparable, and deprived +of traditional saturation. He is not born cultivated, matured, already +fashioned virtually, if one may say so, like a child of the Old World. +He can create himself at his will. With superior gifts, but gifts +entirely physical, Maitland was a self-made man of art, as his grand +father had been a self-made man of money, as his father had been a +self-made man of war. He had in his eye and in his hand two marvellous +implements for painting, and in his perseverence in developing a still +more marvellous one. He lacked constantly the something necessary and +local which gives to certain very inferior painters the inexpressible +superiority of a savor of soil. It could not be said that he was not +inventive and new, yet one experienced on seeing no matter which one of +his paintings that he was a creature of culture and of acquisition. The +scattered studies in the atelier first of all displayed the influence of +his first master, of solid and simple Bonnat. Then he had been tempted +by the English pre-Raphaelites, and a fine copy of the famous ‘Song of +Love’, by Burne-Jones, attested that reaction on the side of an art more +subtle, more impressed by that poetry which professional painters treat +scornfully as literary. But Lincoln was too vigorous for the languors of +such an ideal, and he quickly turned to other teachings. Spain conquered +him, and Velasquez, the colorist of so peculiar a fancy that, after a +visit to the Museum of the Prado, one carries away the idea that one has +just seen the only painting worthy of the name. + +The spirit of the great Spaniard, that despotic stroke of the brush +which seems to draw the color in the groundwork of the picture, to make +it stand out in almost solid lights, his absolute absence of abstract +intentions and his newness which affects entirely to ignore the past, +all in that formula of art, suited Maitland’s temperament. To him, too, +he owed his masterpiece, the ‘Femme en violet et en jaune’, but the +restless seeker did not adhere to that style. Italy and the Florentines +next influenced him, just those the most opposed to Velasquez; the +Pollajuoli, Andrea del Castagna, Paolo Uccello and Pier delta Francesca. +Never would one have believed that the same hand which had wielded with +so free a brush the color of the ‘Femme en violet...’ could be that +which sketched the contour of the portrait of Alba with so severe, so +rigid a drawing. + +At the moment Florent entered the studio that work so completely +absorbed the attention of the painter that he did not hear the door open +any more than did Madame Steno, who was smoking cigarettes, reclining +indolently and blissfully upon the divan, her half-closed eyes fixed +upon the man she loved. Lincoln only divined another presence by a +change in Alba’s face. God! How pale she was, seated in the immobility +of her pose in a large, heraldic armchair, with a back of carved wood, +her hands grasping the arms, her mouth so bitter, her eyes so deep in +their fixed glance!... Did she divine that which she could not, however, +know, that her fate was approaching with the visitor who entered, and +who, having left the studio fifteen minutes before, had to justify his +return by an excuse. + +“It is I,” said he. “I forgot to ask you, Lincoln, if you wish to buy +Ardea’s three drawings at the price they offer.” + +“Why did you not tell me of it yesterday, my little Linco?” interrupted +the Countess. “I saw Peppino again this morning.... I would have from +him his lowest figure.” + +“That would only be lacking,” replied Maitland, laughing his large +laugh. “He does not acknowledge those drawings, dear dogaresse.... They +are a part of the series of trinkets he carefully subtracted from his +creditor’s inventory and put in different places. There are some at +seven or eight antiquaries’, and we may expect that for the next ten +years all the cockneys of my country will be allured by this phrase, +‘This is from the Palais Castagna. I have it by a little arrangement.’” + +His eyes sparkled as he imitated one of the most celebrated bric-a-brac +dealers in Rome, with the incomparable art of imitation which +distinguishes all the old habitues of Parisian studios. + +“At present these three drawings are at an antiquary’s of Babuino, and +very authentic.” + +“Except when they are represented as Vincis,” said Florent, “when +Leonardo was left-handed, and their hatchings are made from left to +right.” + +“And you think Ardea would not agree with me in it?” resumed the +Countess. + +“Not even with you,” said the painter. “He had the assurance last night, +when I mentioned them before him, to ask me the address in order to go +to see them.” + +“How did you learn their production?” questioned Madame Steno. + +“Ask him,” said Maitland, pointing to Chapron with the end of his brush. +“When there is a question of enriching his old Maitland’s collection, he +becomes more of a merchant than the merchants themselves. They tell him +all.... Vinci or no Vinci, it is the pure Lombard style. Buy them. I +want them.” + +“I will go, then,” replied Florent. “Countess.... Contessina.” + +He bowed to Madame Steno and her daughter. The mother bestowed upon him +her pleasantest smile. She was not one of those mistresses to whom +their lovers’ intimate friends are always enemies. On the contrary, she +enveloped them in the abundant and blissful sympathy which love awoke in +her. Besides, she was too cunning not to feel that Florent approved of +her love. But, on the other hand, the intense aversion which Alba at +that moment felt toward her mother’s suspected intrigues was expressed +by the formality with which she inclined her head in response to the +farewell of the young man, who was too happy to have found that the +dispute had not been heard. + +“From now until to-morrow,” thought he, on redescending the staircase, +“there will be no one to warn Lincoln.... The purchase of the drawings +was an invention to demonstrate my tranquillity....Now I must find two +discreet seconds.” + +Florent was a very deliberate man, and a man who had at his command +perfect evenness of temperament whenever it was not a question of his +enthusiastic attachment to his brother-in-law. He had the power of +observation habitual to persons whose sensitive amour propre has +frequently been wounded. He therefore deferred until later his difficult +choice and went to luncheon, as if nothing had happened, at the +restaurant where he was expected. Certainly the proprietor did not +mistrust, in replying to the questions of his guest relative to the most +recent portraits of Lenbach, that the young man, so calm, so smiling, +had on hand a duel which might cost him his life. It was only on leaving +the restaurant that Florent, after mentally reviewing ten of his older +acquaintances, resolved to make a first attempt upon Dorsenne. He +recalled the mysterious intelligence given him by the novelist, whose +sympathy for Maitland had been publicly manifested by an eloquent +article. Moreover, he believed him to be madly in love with Alba Steno. +That was one probability more in favor of his discretion. + +Dorsenne would surely maintain silence with regard to a meeting in +connection with which, if it were known, the cause of the contest would +surely be mentioned. It was only too clear that Gorka and Chapron had no +real reason to quarrel and fight a duel. But at ten-thirty, that is to +say, three hours after the unreasonable altercation in the vestibule, +Florent rang at the door of Julien’s apartments. The latter was at home, +busy upon the last correction of the proofs of ‘Poussiere d’Idees’. His +visitor’s confidence upset him to such a degree that his hands trembled +as he arranged his scattered papers. He remembered the presence of +Boleslas on that same couch, at the same time of the day, forty-eight +hours before. How the drama would progress if that madman went away in +that mood! He knew only too well that Maitland’s brother-in-law had not +told him all. + +“It is absurd,” he cried, “it is madness, it is folly!... You are not +going to fight about an argument such as you have related to me? You +talked at the corner of the street, you exchanged a few angry words, and +then, suddenly, seconds, a duel.... Ah, it is absurd.” + +“You forget that I offered him a violent insult in raising my cane to +him,” interrupted Florent, “and since he demands satisfaction I must +give it to him.” + +“Do you believe,” said the writer, “that the public will be contented +with those reasons? Do you think they will not look for the secret +motives of the duel? Do I know the story of a woman?... You see, I ask +no questions. I rely upon what you confide in me. But the world is the +world, and you will not escape its remarks.” + +“It is precisely for that reason that I ask absolute discretion of you,” + replied Florent, “and for that reason that I have come to ask you to +serve me as a second.... There is no one in whom I trust as implicitly +as I do in you.... It is the only excuse for my step.” + +“I thank you,” said Dorsenne. He hesitated a moment. Then the image of +Alba, which had haunted him since the previous day, suddenly presented +itself to his mind. He recalled the sombre anguish he had surprised in +the young girl’s eyes, then her comforted glance when her mother smiled +at once upon Gorka and Maitland. He recalled the anonymous letter and +the mysterious hatred which impended over Madame Steno. If the quarrel +between Boleslas and Florent became known, there was no doubt that it +would be said generally that Florent was fighting for his brother-in-law +on account of the Countess. No doubt, too, that the report would reach +the poor Contessina. It was sufficient to cause the writer to reply: +“Very well! I accept. I will serve you. Do not thank me. We are losing +valuable time. You will require another second. Of whom have you +thought?” + +“Of no one,” returned Florent. “I confess I have counted on you to aid +me.” + +“Let us make a list,” said Julien. “It is the best way, and then cross +off the names.” + +Dorsenne wrote down a number of their acquaintances, and they indeed +crossed them off, according to his expression, so effectually that after +a minute examination they had rejected all of them. They were then as +much perplexed as ever, when suddenly Dorsenne’s eyes brightened, he +uttered a slight exclamation, and said brusquely: + +“What an idea! But it is an idea!... Do you know the Marquis de +Montfanon?” he asked Florent. + +“He with one arm?” replied the latter. “I saw him once with reference to +a monument I put up at Saint Louis des Francais.” + +“He told me of it,” said Dorsenne. “For one of your relatives, was it +not?” + +“Oh, a distant cousin,” replied Florent; “one Captain Chapron, killed in +‘forty-nine in the trenches before Rome.” + +“Now, to our business,” cried Dorsenne, rubbing his hands. “It is +Montfanon who must be your second. First of all, he is an experienced +duellist, while I have never been on the ground. That is very important. +You know the celebrated saying: ‘It is neither swords nor pistols which +kill; it is the seconds.’.... And then if the matter has to be arranged, +he will have more prestige than your servant.” + +“It is impossible,” said Florent; “Marquis de Montfanon.... He will +never consent. I do not exist for him.” + +“That is my affair,” cried Dorsenne. “Let me take the necessary steps in +my own name, and then if he agrees you can make it in yours.... Only we +have no time to lose. Do not leave your house until six o’clock. By that +time I shall know upon what to depend.” + +If, at first, the novelist had felt great confidence in the issue of +his strange attempt with reference to his old friend, that confidence +changed to absolute apprehension when he found himself, half an hour +later, at the house which Marquis Claude Francois occupied in one of the +oldest parts of Rome, from which location he could obtain an admirable +view of the Forum. How many times had Julien come, in the past six +months, to that Marquis who dived constantly in the sentiment of the +past, to gaze upon the tragical and grand panorama of the historical +scene! At the voice of the recluse, the broken columns rose, the ruined +temples were rebuilt, the triumphal view was cleared from its mist. +He talked, and the formidable epopee of the Roman legend was evoked, +interpreted by the fervent Christian in that mystical and providential +sense, which all, indeed, proclaims in that spot, where the Mamertine +prison relates the trial of St. Peter, where the portico of the temple +of Faustine serves as a pediment to the Church of St. Laurent, +where Ste.-Marie-Liberatrice rises upon the site of the Temple of +Vesta--‘Sancta Maria, libera nos a poenis inferni’--Montfanon always +added when he spoke of it, and he pointed out the Arch of Titus, which +tells of the fulfilment of the prophecies of Our Lord against Jerusalem, +while, opposite, the groves reveal the out lines of a nunnery upon the +ruins of the dwellings of the Caesars. And, at the extreme end, the +Coliseum recalls to mind the ninety thousand spectators come to see the +martyrs suffer. + +Such were the sights where lived the former pontifical zouave, and, on +ringing the bell of the third etage, Julien said to himself: “I am a +simpleton to come to propose to such a man what I have to propose. Yet +it is not to be a second in an ordinary duel, but simply to prevent an +adventure which might cost the lives of two men in the first place, +then the honor of Madame Steno, and, lastly, the peace of mind of three +innocent persons, Madame Gorka, Madame Maitland and my little friend +Alba.... He alone has sufficient authority to arrange all. It will be an +act of charity, like any other.... I hope he is at home,” he concluded, +hearing the footstep of the servant, who recognized the visitor and who +anticipated all questions. + +“The Marquis went out this morning before eight o’clock. He will not +return until dinner-time.” + +“Do you know where he has gone?” + +“To hear mass in a catacomb, and to be present at a procession,” replied +the footman, who took Dorsenne’s card, adding: “The Trappists of Saint +Calixtus certainly know where the Marquis is.... He lunched with them.” + +“We shall see,” said the young man to himself, somewhat disappointed. +His carriage rolled in the direction of Porte St. Sebastien, near which +was the catacomb and the humble dwelling contiguous to it--the last +morsel of the Papal domains kept by the poor monks. “Montfanon will have +taken communion this morning,” thought he, “and at the very word duel +he will listen to nothing more. However, the matter must be arranged; it +must be.... What would I not give to know the truth of the scene between +Gorka and Florent? By what strange and diabolical ricochet did +the Palatine hit upon the latter when his business was with the +brother-in-law?... Will he be angry that I am his adversary’s second?... +Bah!... After our conversation of the other day our friendship is +ended.... Good, I am already at the little church of ‘Domine, quo +vadis.’--[“Lord, whither art thou going?”]--I might say to myself: +‘Juliane, quo vadis?’ ‘To perform an act a little better than the +majority of my actions,’ I might reply.” + +That impressionable soul which vibrated at the slightest contact was +touched by the souvenir of one of the innumerable pious legends which +nineteen centuries of Catholicism have suspended at all the corners of +Rome and its surrounding districts. He recalled the touching story of +St. Peter flying from persecution and meeting our Lord: “Lord, whither +art thou going?” asked the apostle. “To be crucified a second time,” + replied the Saviour, and Peter was ashamed of his weakness and returned +to martyrdom. Montfanon himself had related that episode to the +novelist, who again began to reflect upon the Marquis’s character and +the best means of approaching him. He forgot to glance at the vast +solitude of the Roman suburbs before him, and so deep was his reverie +that he almost passed unheeded the object of his search. Another +disappointment awaited him at the first point in his voyage of +exploration. + +The monk who came at his ring to open the door of the inclosure +contiguous to St. Calixtus, informed him that he of whom he was in +search had left half an hour before. + +“You will find him at the Basilica of Saint Neree and Saint Achilles,” + added the Trappist; “it is the fete of those two saints, and at five +o’clock there will be a procession in their catacombs.... It is a +fifteen minutes’ ride from here, near the tower Marancia, on the Via +Ardeatina.” + +“Shall I miss him a third time?” thought Dorsenne, alighting from the +carriage finally, and proceeding on foot to the opening which leads to +the subterranean Necropolis dedicated to the two saints who were the +eunuchs of Domitilla, the niece of Emperor Vespasian. A few ruins and +a dilapidated house alone mark the spot where once stood the pious +Princess’s magnificent villa. The gate was open, and, meeting no one who +could direct him, the young man took several steps in the subterranean +passage. He perceived that the long gallery was lighted. He entered +there, saying to himself that the row of tapers, lighted every ten +paces, assuredly marked the line which the procession would follow, and +which led to the central basilica. Although his anxiety as to the issue +of his undertaking was extreme, he could not help being impressed by the +grandeur of the sight presented by the catacomb thus illuminated. The +uneven niches reserved for the dead, asleep in the peace of the Lord for +so many centuries, made recesses in the corridors and gave them a solemn +and tragical aspect. Inscriptions were to be seen there, traced on the +stone, and all spoke of the great hope which those first Christians had +cherished, the same which believers of our day cherish. + +Julien knew enough of symbols to understand the significance of the +images between which the persecuted of the primitive church had laid +their fathers. They are so touching and so simple! The anchor represents +safety in the storm; the gentle dove and the ewe, symbols of the soul, +which flies away and seeks its shepherd; the phoenix, whose wings +announce the resurrection. Then there were the bread and the wine, the +branches of the olive and the palm. The silent cemetery was filled with +a faint aroma of incense, noticed by Dorsenne on entering. High mass, +celebrated in the morning, left the sacred perfume diffused among those +bones, once the forms of human beings who kneeled there amid the same +holy aroma. The contrast was strong between that spot, where everything +spoke of things eternal, and the drama of passion, worldly and culpable, +the progress of which agitated even Dorsenne. At that moment he appeared +to himself in the light of a profaner, although he was obeying generous +and humane instincts. He experienced a sense of relief when, at a bend +in one of the corridors which he had selected from among many others, he +found himself face to face with a priest, who held in his hand a +basket filled with the petals of flowers, destined, no doubt, for the +procession. Dorsenne inquired of him the way to the Basilica in Italian, +while the reply was given in perfect French. + +“Perhaps you know the Marquis de Montfanon, father?” asked the novelist. + +“I am one of the chaplains of Saint Louis,” said the priest, with a +smile, adding: “You will find him in the Basilica.” + +“Now, the moment has come,” thought Dorsenne, “I must be subtle.... +After all, it is charity I am about to ask him to do.... Here I am. I +recognize the staircase and the opening above.” + +A corner of the sky, indeed, was to be seen, and a ray of light entered +which permitted the writer to distinguish him whom he was seeking among +the few persons assembled in the ruined chapel, the most venerable +of all those which encircle Rome with a hidden girdle of sanctuaries. +Montfanon, too recognizable, alas! by the empty sleeve of his black +redingote, was seated on a chair, not very far from the altar, on which +burned enormous tapers. Priests and monks were arranging baskets filled +with petals, like those of the chaplain, whom Dorsenne had just met. +A group of three curious visitors commented in whispers upon the +paintings, scarcely visible on the discolored stucco of the ceiling. +Montfanon was entirely absorbed in the book which he held in his one +hand. The large features of his face, ennobled and almost transfigured +by the ardor of devotion, gave him the admirable expression of an old +Christian soldier. ‘Bonus miles Christi’--a good soldier of Christ--had +been inscribed upon the tomb of the chief under whom he had been wounded +at Patay. One would have taken him for a guardian layman of the tombs +of the martyrs, capable of confessing his faith like them, even to the +death. And when Julien determined to approach and to touch him lightly +on the shoulder, he saw that, in the nobleman’s clear, blue eyes, +ordinarily so gay, and sometimes so choleric, sparkled unshed tears. His +voice, too, naturally sharp, was softened by the emotion of the thought +which his reading, the place, the time, the occupation of his day had +awakened within him. + +“Ah, you here?” said he to his young friend, without any astonishment. +“You have come for the procession. That is well. You will hear sung the +lovely lines: ‘Hi sunt quos fatue mundus abhorruit.” He pronounced ou as +u, ‘a l’Italienne’; for his liturgic training had been received in Rome. +“The season is favorable for the ceremonies. The tourists have gone. +There will only be people here who pray and who feel, like you.... And +to feel is half of prayer. The other half is to believe. You will become +one of us. I have always predicted it. There is no peace but here.” + +“I would gladly have come only for the procession,” replied Dorsenne, +“but my visit has another motive, dear friend,” said he, in a still +lower tone. “I have been seeking for you for more than an hour, that +you might aid me in rendering a great service to several people, in +preventing a very great misfortune, perhaps.” + +“I can help you to prevent a very great misfortune?” repeated Montfanon. + +“Yes,” replied Dorsenne, “but this is not the place in which to explain +to you the details of the long and terrible adventure.... At what hour +is the ceremony? I will wait for you, and tell it to you on leaving +here.” + +“It does not begin until five o’clock-five-thirty,” said Montfanon, +looking at his watch, “and it is now fifteen minutes past four. Let us +leave the catacomb, if you wish, and you can repeat your story to me up +above. A very great misfortune? Well,” he added, pressing the hand of +the young man whom, personally, he liked as much as he detested his +views, “rest assured, my dear child, we will prevent it!” + +There was in the manner in which he uttered those words the tranquillity +of a mind which knows not uneasiness, that of a believer who feels sure +of always accomplishing all that he wishes to do. It would not have been +Montfanon, that is to say, a species of visionary, who loved to argue +with Dorsenne, because he knew that in spite of all he was understood, +if he had not continued, as they walked along the lighted corridor, +while remounting toward daylight: + +“If it is all the same to you, sir apologist of the modern world, I +should like to pause here and ask you frankly: Do you not feel yourself +more contemporary with all the dead who slumber within these walls than +with a radical elector or a free-mason deputy? Do you not feel that if +these martyrs had not come to pray beneath these vaults eighteen hundred +years ago, the best part of your soul would not exist? Where will you +find a poetry more touching than that of these symbols and of these +epitaphs? That admirable De Rossi showed me one at Saint Calixtus last +year. My tears flow as I recall it. ‘Pete pro Phoebe et pro virginio +ejus’. Pray for Phoebus and for--How do you translate the word +‘virginius’, the husband who has known only one wife, the virgin husband +of a virgin spouse? Your youth will pass, Dorsenne. You will one day +feel what I feel, the happiness which is wanting on account of bygone +errors, and you will comprehend that it is only to be found in Christian +marriage, whose entire sublimity is summed up in thus prayer: ‘Pro +virginio ejus’.... You will be like me then, and you will find in this +book,” he held up ‘l’Eucologe’, which he clasped in his hand, “something +through which to offer up to God your remorse and your regrets. Do you +know the hymn of the Holy Sacrament, ‘Adoro te, devote’? No. Yet you are +capable of feeling what is contained in these lines. Listen. It is this +idea: That on the cross one sees only the man, not the God; that in the +host one does not even see the man, and that yet one believes in the +real presence. + + In cruce latebat sola Deitas. + At hic latet simul et humanitas. + Ambo tamen credens atque confitens.... + +“And now this last verse: + + Peto quod petivit latro poenitens! + + [I ask that which the penitent thief asked.] + +“What a cry! Ah, but it is beautiful! It is beautiful! What words to +say in dying! And what did the poor thief ask, that Dixmas of whom the +church has made a saint for that one appeal: ‘Remember me, Lord, in Thy +kingdom!’ But we have arrived. Stoop, that you may not spoil your hat. +Now, what do you want with me? You know the motto of the Montfanons: +‘Excelsior et firmior’--Always higher and always firmer.... One can +never do too many good deeds. If it be possible, ‘present’, as we said +to the rollcall.” + +A singular mixture of fervor and of good-nature, of enthusiastic +eloquence and of political or religious fanaticism, was Montfanon. But +the good-nature rapidly vanished from his face, at once so haughty and +so simple, in proportion as Dorsenne’s story proceeded. The writer, +indeed, did not make the error of at once formulating his proposition. +He felt that he could not argue with the pontifical zouave of bygone +days. Either the latter would look upon it as monstrous and absurd, +or he would see in it a charitable duty to be accomplished, and then, +whatever annoyance the matter might occasion him, he would accept it, +as he would bestow alms. It was that chord of generosity which Julien, +diplomatic for once in his life, essayed to touch by his confidence. +Gaining authority by their conversation of a few days before, he related +all he could of Gorka’s visit, concealing the fact of that word of honor +so falsely given, which still oppressed him with a mortal weight. He +told how he had soothed the madman, how he conducted him to the station, +then he described the meeting of the two rivals twenty-four hours later. +He dwelt upon Alba’s manner that evening and the infamy of the anonymous +letters written to Madame Steno’s discarded lover and to her daughter. +And after he had reported the mysterious quarrel which had suddenly +arisen between Gorka and Chapron: + +“I, therefore, promised to be his second,” he concluded, “because I +believe it my absolute duty to do all I can to prevent the duel from +taking place. Only think of it. If it should take place, and if one of +them is killed or wounded, how can the affair be kept secret in this +gossiping city of Rome? And what remarks it will call forth! It is +evident that these two boys have quarrelled only on account of +the relations between Madame Steno and Maitland. By what strange +coincidence? Of that I know nothing. + +“But there will not be a doubt in public opinion. And can you not see +additional anonymous letters written to Alba, Madame Gorka, Madame +Maitland?... The men I do not care for.... Two out of three merit all +that comes to them. But those innocent creatures--is it not frightful?” + +“Frightful, indeed,” replied Montfanon; “it is that which renders those +adulterous adventures so hideous. There are many people who are affected +by it besides the guilty ones.... You see that, you who thought +that society so pleasant, so refined, so interesting, the day before +yesterday? But it does no good to recriminate. I understand. You have +come to ask me to advise you in your role of second. My follies of youth +will enable me to direct you.... Correctness in the slightest detail and +no nerves, when one has to arrange a duel. Oh! You will have trouble. +Gorka is mad. I know the Poles. They have great faults, but they are +brave. Lord, but they are brave! And little Chapron, I know him, too; he +has one of those stubborn natures, which would allow their breasts to be +pierced without saying ‘Ouf!’ And ‘amour propre’. He has good soldier’s +blood in his veins, that child, notwithstanding the mixture. And with +that mixture, do you not see what a hero the first of the three Dumas, +the mulatto general, has been?... Yes. You have there a hard job, my +good Dorsenne.... You will need another second to assist you, who will +have the same views as you and--pardon me--more experience, perhaps.” + +“Marquis,” replied Julien, whose voice trembled with anxiety, “there is +only one person in Rome who would be respected enough, venerated by +all, so that his intervention in that delicate and dangerous matter be +decisive, one person who could suggest excuses to Chapron, or obtain +them from the other.... In short, there is only one person who has the +authority of a hero before whom they will remain silent when he speaks +of honor, and that person is you.” + +“I,” exclaimed Montfanon, “I, you wish me to be--” + +“One of Chapron’s seconds,” interrupted Dorsenne. “Yes. It is true. I +come on his part and for that. Do not tell me what I already know, that +your position will not allow of such a step. It is because it is what it +is, that I thought of coming to you. Do not tell me that your religious +principles are opposed to duels. It is that there may be no duel that I +conjure you to accept.... It is essential that it does not take place. I +swear to you, that the peace of too many innocent persons is concerned.” + +And he continued, calling into service at that moment all the +intelligence and all the eloquence of which he was capable. He could +follow on the face of the former duellist, who had become the most +ardent of Catholics and the most monomaniacal of old bachelors, twenty +diverse expressions. At length Montfanon laid his hand with veritable +solemnity on his interlocutor’s arm and said to him: + +“Listen, Dorsenne, do not tell me any more.... I consent to what you ask +of me, but on two conditions. They are these: The first is that Monsieur +Chapron will trust absolutely to my judgment, whatsoever it may be; the +second is that you will retire with me if these gentlemen persist in +their childishness.... I promise to aid you in fulfilling a mission +of charity, and not anything else; I repeat, not anything else. Before +bringing Monsieur Chapron to me you will repeat to him what I have said, +word for word.” + +“Word for word,” replied the other, adding: “He is at home awaiting the +result of my undertaking.” + +“Then,” said the Marquis, “I will return to Rome with you at once. He +has probably already received Gorka’s seconds, and if they really wish +to arrange a duel the rule is not to put it off.... I shall not see my +procession, but to prevent misfortune is to do a good deed, and it is +one way of praying to God.” + +“Let me press your hand, my noble friend,” said Dorsenne; “never have I +better understood what a truly brave man is.” + +When the writer alighted, three-quarters of an hour later, at the house +on the Rue Leopardi, after having seen Montfanon home, he felt sustained +by such moral support that was almost joyous. He found Florent in his +species of salon-smoking-room, arranging his papers with methodical +composure. + +“He accepts,” were the first words the young men uttered, almost +simultaneously, while Dorsenne repeated Montfanon’s words. + +“I depend absolutely on you two,” replied the other. “I have no thirst +for Monsieur de Gorka’s blood.... But that gentleman must not accuse the +grandson of Colonel Chapron of cowardice.... For that I rely upon the +relative of General Dorsenne and on the old soldier of Charette.” + +As he spoke, Florent handed a letter to Julien, who asked: “From whom is +this?” + +“This,” said Florent, “is a letter addressed to you, on this very table +half an hour ago by Baron Hafner.... There is some news. I have received +my adversary’s seconds. The Baron is one, Ardea the other.” + +“Baron Hafner!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “What a singular choice!” He paused, +and he and Florent exchanged glances. They understood one another +without speaking. Boleslas could not have found a surer means of +informing Madame Steno as to the plan he intended to employ in his +vengeance. On the other hand, the known devotion of the Baron for the +Countess gave one chance more for a pacific solution, at the same +time that the fanaticism of Montfanon would be confronted with Fanny’s +father, an episode of comedy suddenly cast across Gorka’s drama of +jealousy. + +Julien resumed with a smile: “You must watch Montfanon’s face when we +inform him of those two witnesses. He is a man of the fifteenth century, +you know, a Montluc, a Duc d’Alba, a Philippe II. I do not know which +he detests the most, the Freemasons, the Free-thinkers, the Protestants, +the Jews, or the Germans. And as this obscure and tortuous Hafner is a +little of everything, he has vowed hatred against him!... Leaving that +out of the question, he suspects him of being a secret agent in the +service of the Triple Alliance! But let us see the letter.” + +He opened and glanced through it. “This craftiness serves for something, +it is equivalent almost to kindness. He, too, has felt that it is +necessary to end our affair, were it only to avoid scandal. He appoints +a meeting at his house between six and seven o’clock with me and your +second. Come, time is flying. You must come to the Marquis to make your +request officially. Begin this way. Obtain his promise before mentioning +Hafner’s name. I know him. He will not retract his word. But it is +just.” + +The two friends found Montfanon awaiting them in his office, a large +room filled with books, from which could be obtained a fine view of the +panorama of the Forum, more majestic still on that afternoon when the +shadows of the columns and arches grew longer on the sidewalk. The room +with its brick floor had no other comfort than a carpet under the large +desk littered with papers--no doubt fragments of the famous work on the +relations of the French nobility and the Church. A crucifix stood upon +the desk. On the wall were two engravings, that of Monseigneur Pie, the +holy Bishop of Poitiers, and that of General de Sonis, on foot, with his +wooden leg, and a painting representing St. Francois, the patron of +the house. Those were the only artistic decorations of the modest +habitation. The nobleman often said: “I have freed myself from the +tyranny of objects.” But with that marvellous background of grandiose +ruins and that sky, the simple spot was an incomparable retreat in +which to end in meditation and renouncement a life already shaken by the +tempests of the senses and of the world. + +The hermit of that Thebaide rose to greet his two visitors, and pointing +out to Chapron an open volume on his table, he said to him: + +“I was thinking of you. It is Chateauvillars’s book on duelling. It +contains a code which is not very complete. I recommend it to you, +however, if ever you have to fulfil a mission like ours,” and he pointed +to Dorsenne and himself, with a gesture which constituted the most +amicable of acceptations. “It seems you had too hasty a hand.... Ha! +ha! Do not defend yourself. Such as you see me, at twenty-one I threw a +plate in the face of a gentleman who bantered Comte de Chambord before +a number of Jacobins at a table d’hote in the provinces. See,” continued +he, raising his white moustache and disclosing a scar, “this is the +souvenir. The fellow was once a dragoon; he proposed the sabre. I +accepted, and this is what I got, while he lost two fingers.... That +will not happen to us this time at least.... Dorsenne has told you our +conditions.” + +“And I replied that I was sure I could not intrust my honor to better +hands,” replied Florent. + +“Cease!” replied Montfanon, with a gesture of satisfaction. “No more +phrases. It is well. Moreover, I judged you, sir, from the day on which +you spoke to me at Saint Louis. You honor your dead. That is why I shall +be happy, very happy, to be useful to you.” + +“Now tell me very clearly the recital you made to Dorsenne.” + +Then Florent related concisely that which had taken place between him +and Gorka--that is to say, their argument and his passion, carefully +omitting the details in which the name of his brother-in-law would be +mixed. + +“The deuce!” said Montfanon, familiarly, “the affair looks bad, very +bad.... You see, a second is a confessor. You have had a discussion in +the street with Monsieur Gorka, but about what? You can not reply? What +did he say to you to provoke you to the point of wishing to strike him? +That is the first key to the position.” + +“I can not reply,” said Florent. + +“Then,” resumed the Marquis, after a silence, “there only remains to +assert that the gesture on your part was--how shall I say? Unmeditated +and unfinished. That is the second key to the position.... You have no +special grudge against Monsieur Gorka?” + +“None.” + +“Nor he against you?” + +“None.” + +“The affair looks better,” said Montfanon, who was silent for a time, +to resume, in the voice of a man who is talking to himself, “Count Gorka +considers himself offended? But is there any offence? It is that which +we should discuss.... An assault or the threat of an assault would +afford occasion for an arrangement.... But a gesture restrained, since +it was not carried into effect.... Do not interrupt me,” he continued. + +“I am trying to understand it clearly.... We must arrive at a solution. +We shall have to express our regret, leaving the field open to another +reparation, if Gorka requires it.... And he will not require it. The +entire problem now rests on the choice of his seconds.... Whom will he +select?” + +“I have already received visits from them,” said Florent. “Half an hour +ago. One is Prince d’Ardea.” + +“He is a gentleman,” replied Montfanon. “I shall not be sorry to see him +to tell him my feelings with regard to the public sale of his palace, +to which he should never have allowed himself to be driven.... And the +other?” + +“The other?” interrupted Dorsenne. “Prepare yourself for a blow.... I +swear to you I did not know his name when I went in search of you at the +catacomb. It is--in short--it is Baron Hafner.” + +“Baron Hafner!” exclaimed Montfanon. “Boleslas Gorka, the descendant of +the Gorkas, of that grand Luc Gorka who was Palatine of Posen and Bishop +of Cujavie, has chosen for his second Monsieur Justus Hafner, the thief, +the scoundrel, who had the disgraceful suit!... No, Dorsenne, do not +tell me that; it is not possible.” Then, with the air of a combatant: +“We will challenge him; that is all, for his lack of honor. I take it +upon myself, as well as to tell of his deeds to Boleslas. We will spend +an enjoyable quarter of an hour there, I promise you.” + +“You will not do that,” said Dorsenne, quickly. “First, with regard +to official honor, there is only one law, is there not? Hafner was +acquitted and his adversaries condemned. You told me so the other +day.... And then, you forget the conversation we just had.” + +“Pardon,” interrupted Florent, in his turn. “Monsieur de Montfanon, in +promising to assist me, has done me a great honor, which I shall never +forget. If there should result from it any annoyance to him I should be +deeply grieved, and I am ready to release him from his promise.” + +“No,” said the Marquis, after another silence. “I will not take it +back.”.... He was so magnanimous when his two or three hobbies were +not involved that the slightest delicacy awoke an echo in him. He again +extended his hand to Chapron and continued, but with an accent which +betrayed suppressed irritation: “After all, it does not concern us if +Monsieur Gorka has chosen to be represented in an affair of honor by one +whom he should not even salute.... You will, then, give our two names +to those two gentlemen.... and Dorsenne and I will await them, as is the +rule.... It is their place to come, since they are the proxies of the +person insulted.” + +“They have already arranged a meeting for this evening,” replied +Chapron. + +“What’s arranged? With whom? For whom?” exclaimed Montfanon, a prey to a +fresh access of choler. “With you?... For us?... Ah, I do not like such +conduct where such grave matters are concerned.... The code is absolute +on that subject.... Their challenge once made, to which you, Monsieur +Chapron, have to reply by yes or no, these gentlemen should withdraw +immediately.... It is not your fault, it is Ardea’s, who has allowed +that dabbler in spurious dividends to perform his part of intriguer.... +But we will rectify all in the right way, which is the French.... And +where is the rendezvous?” + +“I will read to you the letter which the Baron left for me with +Florent,” said Dorsenne, who indeed read the very courteous note Hafner +had written to him, in which he excused himself for choosing his own +house as a rendezvous for the four witnesses. “One can not ignore so +polite a note.” + +“There are too many dear sirs, and too many compliments,” said +Montfanon, brusquely. “Sit here,” he continued, relinquishing his +armchair to Florent, “and inform the two men of our names and address, +adding that we are at their service and ignoring the first inaccuracy on +their part. Let them return!... And you, Dorsenne, since you are afraid +of wounding that gentleman, I will not prevent you from going to his +house--personally, do you hear--to warn him that Monsieur Chapron, here +present, has chosen for his first second a disagreeable person, an old +duellist, anything you like, but who desires strict form, and, first of +all, a correct call made upon us by them, in order to settle officially +upon a rendezvous.” + +“What did I tell you?” asked Dorsenne, when he with Florent descended +Montfanon’s staircase. “He is a different man since you mentioned the +Baron to him. The discussion between them will be a hot one. I hope +he will not spoil all by his folly. On my honor, if I had guessed whom +Gorka would choose I should not have suggested to you the old leaguer, +as I call him.” + +“And I, if Monsieur de Montfanon should make me fight at five paces,” + replied Chapron, with a laugh, “would be grateful to you for having +brought me into relations with him. He is a whole-souled man, as was my +poor father, as is Maitland. I adore such people.” + +“Is there no means of having at once heart and head?” said Julien to +himself, on reaching the Palais Savorelli, where Hafner lived, and +recalling the Marquis’s choler on the one hand, and on the other the +egotism of Maitland, of which Florent’s last words reminded him. His +apprehension of the afternoon returned in a greater degree, for he knew +Montfanon to be very sensitive on certain points, and it was one of +those points which would be wounded to the quick by the forced relations +with Gorka’s witnesses. “I do not trust Hafner,” thought he; “if the +cunning fellow has accepted the mission utterly contrary to his tastes, +his habits, almost to his age, it must be to connive with his future +son-in-law and to conciliate all. Perhaps even the marriage had been +already settled? I hope not. The Marquis would be so furious he would +require the duel to a letter.” + +The young man had guessed aright. Chance, which often brings one +event upon another, decreed that Ardea, at the very moment that he was +deliberating with Gorka as to the choice of another second, received a +note from Madame Steno containing simply these words: “Your proposal +has been made, and the answer is yes. May I be the first to embrace you, +Simpaticone?” + +An ingenious idea occurred to him; to have arranged by his future +father-in-law the quarrel which he considered at once absurd, useless, +and dangerous. The eagerness with which Gorka had accepted Hafner’s +name, proved, as Dorsenne and Florent had divined, his desire that his +perfidious mistress should be informed of his doings. As for the Baron, +he consented--oh, irony of coincidences!--by saying to Peppino Ardea +words almost identical with those which Montfanon had uttered to +Dorsenne: + +“We will draw up, in advance, an official plan of conciliation, and, if +the matter can not be arranged, we will withdraw.” + +It was in such terms that the memorable conversation was concluded, +a conversation truly worthy of the combinazione which poor Fanny’s +marriage represented. There had been less question of the marriage +itself than that of the services to be rendered to the infidelity of the +woman who presided over the sorry traffic! Is it necessary to add that +neither Ardea nor his future father-in-law had made the shadow of an +allusion to the true side of the affair? Perhaps at any other time the +excessive prudence innate to the Baron and his care never to compromise +himself would have deterred him from the possible annoyances which +might arise from an interference in the adventure of an exasperated and +discarded lover. But his joy at the thought that his daughter was to +become a Roman princess--and with what a name!--had really turned his +brain. + +He had, however, the good sense to say to the stunned Ardea: “Madame +Steno must know nothing of it, at least beforehand. She would not +fail to inform Madame Gorka, and God knows of what the latter would be +capable.” + +In reality, the two men were convinced that it was essential, directly +or indirectly, to beware of warning Maitland. They employed the +remainder of the afternoon in paying their visit to Florent, then in +sending telegram after telegram to announce the betrothal, with which +charming Fanny seemed more satisfied since Cardinal Guerillot had +consented, at simply a word from her, to preside at her baptism. The +Baron, in the face of that consent, could not restrain his joy. He loved +his daughter, strange man, somewhat in the manner in which a breeder +loves a favorite horse which has won the Grand Prix for him. When +Dorsenne arrived, bearing Chapron’s note and Montfanon’s message, he was +received with a cordiality and a complaisance which at once enlightened +him upon the result of the matrimonial intrigue of which Alba had spoken +to him. + +“Anything that your friend wishes, my dear sir.... Is it not so, +Peppino?” said the Baron, seating himself at his table. “Will you +dictate the letter yourself, Dorsenne?... See, is this all right? You +will understand with what sentiments we have accepted this mission when +you learn that Fanny is betrothed to Prince Ardea, here present. The +news dates from three o’clock. So you are the first to know it, is he +not, Peppino?” He had drawn up not less than two hundred despatches. +“Return whenever you like with the Marquis.... I simply ask, under the +circumstances, that the interview take place, if it be possible, between +six and seven, or between nine and ten, in order not to interfere with +our little family dinner.” + +“Let us say nine o’clock,” said Dorsenne. “Monsieur de Montfanon is +somewhat formal. He would like to have your reply by letter.” + +“Prince Ardea to marry Mademoiselle Hafner!” That cry which the news +brought by Julien wrested from Montfanon was so dolorous that the young +man did not think of laughing. He had thought it wiser to prepare his +irascible friend, lest the Baron might make some allusion to the grand +event during the course of the conversation, and that the other might +not make some impulsive remark. + +“Did I not tell you that the girl’s Catholicism was a farce? Did I not +tell Monseigneur Guerillot? This was what she aimed at all those years, +with such perfect hypocrisy? It was the Palais Castagna. And she will +enter there as mistress!... She will bring there the dishonor of that +pirated gold on which there are stains of blood! Warn them, that they do +not speak to me of it, or I will not answer for myself.... The second +of a Gorka, the father-in-law of an Ardea, he triumphs, the thief who +should by rights be a convict!... But we shall see. Will not all the +other Roman princes who have no blots upon their escutcheons, +the Orsinis, the Colonnas, the Odeschalchis, the Borgheses, the +Rospigliosis, not combine to prevent this monstrosity? Nobility is like +love, those who buy those sacred things degrade them in paying for them, +and those to whom they are given are no better than mire.... Princess +d’Ardea! That creature! Ah, what a disgrace!... But we must remember +our engagement relative to that brave young Chapron. The boy pleases me; +first, because very probably he is going to fight for some one else and +out of a devotion which I can not very well understand! It is devotion +all the same, and it is chivalry!... He desires to prevent that +miserable Gorka from calling forth a scandal which would have warned his +sister.... And then, as I told him, he respects the dead.... Let us.... +I have my wits no longer about me, that intelligence has so greatly +disturbed me.... Princess d’Ardea!... Well, write that we will be at +Monsieur Hafner’s at nine o’clock.... I do not want any of those people +at my house.... At yours it would not be proper; you are too young. And +I prefer going to the father-in-law’s rather than to the son-inlaw’s. +The rascal has made a good bargain in buying what he has bought with his +stolen millions. But the other.... And his great-great-uncle might have +been Jules Second, Pie Fifth, Hildebrand; he would have sold all just +the same!... He can not deceive himself! He has heard the suit against +that man spoken of! He knows whence come those millions! He has heard +their family, their lives spoken of! And he has not been inspired with +too great a horror to accept the gold of that adventurer. Does he +not know what a name is? Our name! It is ourselves, our honor, in the +mouths, in the thoughts, of others! How happy I am, Dorsenne, to have +been fifty-two years of age last month. I shall be gone before having +seen what you will see, the agony of all the aristocrats and royalties. +It was only in blood that they fell! But they do not fall. Alas! They +fix themselves upon the ground, which is the saddest of all. Still, what +matters it? The monarchy, the nobility, and the Church are everlasting. +The people who disregard them will die, that is all. Come, write your +letter, which I will sign. Send it away, and you will dine with me. We +must go into the den provided with an argument which will prevent +this duel, and sustaining our part toward our client. There must be an +arrangement which I would accept myself. I like him, I repeat.” + +The excitement which began to startle Dorsenne was only augmented during +dinner, so much the more so as, on discussing the conditions of that +arrangement he hoped to bring about, the recollection of his terrible +youth filled the thoughts and the discourse of the former duellist. Was +it, indeed, the same personage who recited the verses of a hymn in the +catacombs a few hours before? It only required the feudal in him to be +reawakened to transform him. The fire in his eyes and the color in his +face betrayed that the duel in which he had thought best to engage, +out of charity, intoxicated him on his own statement. It was the old +amateur, the epicure of the sword, very ungovernable, which stirred +within that man of faith, in whom passion had burned and who had loved +all excitement, including that of danger, as to-day he loved his ideas, +as he loved his flagi moderately. He no longer thought of the three +women to be spared suspicion, nor of the good deed to be accomplished. +He saw all his old friends and their talent for fighting, the thrusts of +this one, the way another had of striking, the composure of a third, and +then this refrain interrupted constantly his warlike anecdotes: “But +why the deuce has Gorka chosen that Hafner for his second?... It is +incomprehensible.”.... On entering the carriage which was to bear them +to their interview, he heard Dorsenne say to the coachman: “Palais +Savorelli.” + +“That is the final blow,” said he, raising his arm and clenching his +fist. “The adventurer occupies the Pretender’s house, the house of the +Stuarts.”.... He repeated: “The house of the Stuarts!” and then lapsed +into a silence which the writer felt to be laden with more storminess +than his last denunciation. He did not emerge from his meditations +until ushered into the salon of the ci-devant jeweller, now a grand +seigneur--into one of the salons, rather, for there were five. There +Montfanon began to examine everything around him, with an air of such +contempt and pride that, notwithstanding his anxiety, Dorsenne could not +resist laughing and teasing him by saying: + +“You will not pretend to say that there are no pretty things here? These +two paintings by Moroni, for example?” + +“Nothing that is appropriate,” replied Montfanon. “Yes, they are two +magnificent portraits of ancestors, and this man has no ancestors!... +There are some weapons in that cupboard, and he has never touched a +sword! And there is a piece of tapestry representing the miracles of the +loaves, which is a piece of audacity! You may not believe me, Dorsenne, +but it is making me ill to be here.... I am reminded of the human toil, +of the human soul in all these objects, and to end here, paid for how? +Owned by whom? Close your eyes and think of Schroeder and of the others +whom you do not know. Look into the hovels where there is neither +furniture, fire, nor bread. Then, open your eyes and look at this.” + +“And you, my dear friend,” replied the novelist, “I conjure you to think +of our conversation in the catacombs, to think of the three ladies in +whose names I besought you to aid Florent.” + +“Thank you,” said Montfanon, passing his hand over his brow, “I promise +you to be calm.” + +He had scarcely uttered those words when the door opened, disclosing +to view another room, lighted also, and which, to judge by the sound +of voices, contained several persons. No doubt Madame Steno and Alba, +thought Julien; and the Baron entered, accompanied by Peppino Ardea. +While going through the introductions, the writer was struck by the +contrast offered between his three companions. Hafner and Ardea in +evening dress, with buttonhole bouquets, had the open and happy faces of +two citizens who had clear consciences. The usually sallow complexion +of the business man was tinged with excitement, his eyes, as a rule so +hard, were gentler. As for the Prince, the same childish carelessness +lighted up his jovial face, while the hero of Patay, with his coarse +boots, his immense form enveloped in a somewhat shabby redingote, +exhibited a face so contracted that one would have thought him devoured +by remorse. A dishonest intendant, forced to expose his accounts to +generous and confiding masters, could not have had a face more gloomy +or more anxious. He had, moreover, put his one arm behind his back in +a manner so formal that neither of the two men who entered offered him +their hands. That appearance was without doubt little in keeping with +what the father and the fiance of Fanny had expected; for there was, +when the four men were seated, a pause which the Baron was the first to +break. He began in his measured tones, in a voice which handles words as +the weight of a usurer weighs gold pieces to the milligramme: + +“Gentlemen, I believe I shall express our common sentiment in first of +all establishing a point which shall govern our meeting.... We are here, +it is understood, to bring about the work of reconciliation between two +men, two gentlemen whom we know, whom we esteem--I might better +say, whom we all love.”.... He turned, in pronouncing those words, +successively to each of his three listeners, who all bowed, with the +exception of the Marquis. Hafner examined the nobleman, with his +glance accustomed to read the depths of the mind in order to divine +the intentions. He saw that Chapron’s first witness was a troublesome +customer, and he continued: “That done, I beg to read to you this little +paper.” He drew from his pocket a sheet of folded paper and placed upon +the end of his nose his famous gold ‘lorgnon’: “It is very trifling, one +of those directives, as Monsieur de Moltke says, which serve to guide +operations, a plan of action which we will modify after discussion. In +short, it is a landmark that we may not launch into space.” + +“Pardon, sir,” interrupted Montfanon, whose brows contracted still +more at the mention of the celebrated field-marshal, and, stopping by a +gesture the reader, who, in his surprise, dropped his lorgnon upon the +table on which his elbow rested. “I regret very much,” he continued, “to +be obliged to tell you that Monsieur Dorsenne and I”--here he turned to +Dorsenne, who made an equivocal gesture of vexation--“can not admit the +point of view in which you place yourself.... You claim that we are here +to arrange a reconciliation. That is possible.... I concede that it is +desirable.... But I know nothing of it and, permit me to say, you do +not know any more. I am here--we are here, Monsieur Dorsenne and I, +to listen to the complaints which Count Gorka has commissioned you +to formulate to Monsieur Florent Chapron’s proxies. Formulate those +complaints, and we will discuss them. Formulate the reparation you +claim in the name of your client and we will discuss it. The papers will +follow, if they follow at all, and, once more, neither you nor we know +what will be the issue of this conversation, nor should we know it, +before establishing the facts.” + +“There is some misunderstanding, sir,” said Ardea, whom Montfanon’s +words had irritated somewhat. He could not, any more than Hafner, +understand the very simple, but very singular, character of the Marquis, +and he added: “I have been concerned in several ‘rencontres’--four +times as second, and once as principal--and I have seen employed without +discussion the proceeding which Baron Hafner has just proposed to +you, and which of itself is, perhaps, only a more expeditious means of +arriving at what you very properly call the establishment of facts.” + +“I was not aware of the number of your affairs, sir,” replied Montfanon, +still more nervous since Hafner’s future son-in-law joined in the +conversation; “but since it has pleased you to tell us I will take the +liberty of saying to you that I have fought seven times, and that I have +been a second fourteen.... It is true that it was at an epoch when the +head of your house was your father, if I remember right, the deceased +Prince Urban, whom I had the honor of knowing when I served in the +zouaves. He was a fine Roman nobleman, and did honor to his name. What +I have told you is proof that I have some competence in the matter of +a duel.... Well, we have always held that seconds were constituted to +arrange affairs that could be arranged, but also to settle affairs, +as well as they can, that seem incapable of being arranged. Let us now +inquire into the matter; we are here for that, and for nothing else.” + +“Are these gentlemen of that opinion?” asked Hafner in a conciliatory +voice, turning first to Dorsenne, then to Ardea: “I do not adhere to my +method,” he continued, again folding his paper. He slipped it into his +vest-pocket and continued: “Let us establish the facts, as you say. +Count Gorka, our friend, considers himself seriously, very seriously, +offended by Monsieur Florent Chapron in the course of the discussion in +a public street. Monsieur Chapron was carried away, as you know, +sirs, almost to--what shall I say?--hastiness, which, however, was not +followed by consequences, thanks to the presence of mind of Monsieur +Gorka.... But, accomplished or not, the act remains. Monsieur Gorka was +insulted, and he requires satisfaction.... I do not believe there is any +doubt upon that point which is the cause of the affair, or, rather, the +whole affair.” + +“I again ask your pardon, sir,” said Montfanon, dryly, who no longer +took pains to conceal his anger, “Monsieur Dorsenne and I can not accept +your manner of putting the question.... You say that Monsieur Chapron’s +hastiness was not followed by consequences by reason of Monsieur Gorka’s +presence of mind. We claim that there was only on the part of Monsieur +Chapron a scarcely indicated gesture, which he himself restrained. In +consequence you attribute to Monsieur Gorka the quality of the insulted +party; you are over-hasty. He is merely the plaintiff, up to this time. +It is very different.” + +“But by rights he is the insulted party,” interrupted Ardea. “Restrained +or not, it constitutes a threat of assault. I did not wish to claim to +be a duellist by telling you of my engagements. But this is the A B C of +the ‘codice cavalleresco’, if the insult be followed by an assault, +he who receives the blow is the offended party, and the threat of an +assault is equivalent to an actual assault. The offended party has the +choice of a duel, weapons and conditions. Consult your authors and ours: +Chateauvillars, Du Verger, Angelini and Gelli, all agree.” + +“I am sorry for their sakes,” said Montfanon, and he looked at the +Prince with a contraction of the brows almost menacing, “but it is an +opinion which does not hold good generally, nor in this particular case. +The proof is that a duellist, as you have just said,” his voice trembled +as he emphasized the insolence offered by the other, “a bravo, to use +the expression of your country, would only have to commit a justifiable +murder by first insulting him at whom he aims with rude words. The +insulted person replies by a voluntary gesture, on the signification +of which one may be mistaken, and you will admit that the bravo is the +offended party, and that he has the choice of weapons.” + +“But, Marquis,” resumed Hafner, with evident disgust, so greatly did the +cavilling and the ill-will of the nobleman irritate him, “where are you +wandering to? What do you mean by bringing up chicanery of this sort?” + +“Chicanery!” exclaimed Montfanon, half rising. + +“Montfanon!” besought Dorsenne, rising in his turn and forcing the +terrible man to be seated. + +“I retract the word,” said the Baron, “if it has insulted you. Nothing +was farther from my thoughts.... I repeat that I apologize, Marquis.... +But, come, tell us what you want for your client, that is very +simple.... And then we will do all we can to make your demands agree +with those of our client.... It is a trifling matter to be adjusted.” + +“No, sir,” said Montfanon, with insolent severity, “it is justice to +be rendered, which is very different. What we, Monsieur Dorsenne and +I, desire,” he continued in a severe voice, “is this: Count Gorka has +gravely insulted Monsieur Chapron. Let me finish,” he added upon a +simultaneous gesture on the part of Ardea and of Hafner. “Yes, sirs, +Monsieur Chapron, known to us all for his perfect courtesy, must have +been very gravely insulted, even to make the improper gesture of which +you just spoke. But it was agreed upon between these two gentlemen, for +reasons of delicacy which we had to accept--it was agreed, I say, that +the nature of the insult offered by Monsieur Gorka to Monsieur Chapron +should not be divulged.... We have the right, however, and I may add +the duty devolves upon us, to measure the gravity of that insult by the +excess of anger aroused in Monsieur Chapron.... I conclude from it that, +to be just, the plan of reconciliation, if we draw it up, should contain +reciprocal concessions. Count Gorka will retract his words and Monsieur +Chapron apologize for his hastiness.” + +“It is impossible,” exclaimed the Prince; “Gorka will never accept +that.” + +“You, then, wish to have them fight the duel?” groaned Hafner. + +“And why not?” said Montfanon, exasperated. “It would be better than for +the one to nurse his insults and the other his blow.” + +“Well, sirs,” replied the Baron, rising after the silence which followed +that imprudent whim of a man beside himself, “we will confer again with +our client. If you wish, we will resume this conversation tomorrow at +ten o’clock, say here or in any place convenient to you.... You +will excuse me, Marquis. Dorsenne has no doubt told you under what +circumstances--” + +“Yes, he has told me,” interrupted Montfanon, who again glanced at the +Prince, and in a manner so mournful that the latter felt himself blush +beneath the strange glance, at which, however, it was impossible to feel +angry. Dorsenne had only time to cut short all other explanations by +replying to Justus Hafner himself. + +“Would you like the meeting at my house? We shall have more chance to +escape remarks.” + +“You have done well to change the place,” said Montfanon, five minutes +later, on entering the carriage with his young friend. + +They had descended the staircase without speaking, for the brave and +unreasonable Marquis regretted his strangely provoking attitude of the +moment before. + +“What would you have?” he added. “The profaned palace, the insolent +luxury of that thief, the Prince who has sold his family, the Baron +whose part is so sinister. I could no longer contain myself! That Baron, +above all, with his directives! Words to repeat when one is German, to +a French soldier who fought in 1870, like those words of Monsieur de +Moltke! His terms, too, applied to honor and that abominable politeness +in which there is servility and insolence!... Still, I am not satisfied +with myself. I am not at all satisfied.” + +There was in his voice so much good-nature, such evident remorse at not +having controlled himself in so grave a situation, that Dorsenne pressed +his hand instead of reproaching him, as he said: + +“It will do to-morrow.... We will arrange all; it has only been +postponed.” + +“You say that to console me,” said the Marquis, “but I know it was +very badly managed. And it is my fault! Perhaps we shall have no other +service to render our brave Chapron than to arrange a duel for him under +the most dangerous conditions. Ah, but I became inopportunely +angry!... But why the deuce did Gorka select such a second? It is +incomprehensible!... Did you see what the cabalistic word gentleman +means to those rascals: Steal, cheat, assassinate, but have carriages +perfectly appointed, a magnificent mansion, well-served dinners, and +fine clothes!... No, I have suffered too much! Ah, it is not right; and +on what a day, too? God! That the old man might die!”.... he added, in a +voice so low that his companion did not hear his words. + + + + +BOOK 3. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE RELATIVE OF IAGO + +The remorse which Montfanon expressed so naively, once acknowledged to +himself, increased rapidly in the honest man’s heart. He had reason to +say from the beginning that the affair looked bad. A quarrel, together +with assault, or an attempt at assault, would not be easily set right. +It required a diplomatic miracle. The slightest lack of self-possession +on the part of the seconds is equivalent to a catastrophe. As happens +in such circumstances, events are hurried, and the pessimistic +anticipations of the irritable Marquis were verified almost as soon as +he uttered them. Dorsenne and he had barely left the Palais Savorelli +when Gorka arrived. The energy with which he repulsed the proposition of +an arrangement which would admit of excuses on his part, served prudent +Hafner, and the not less prudent Ardea, as a signal for withdrawal. It +was too evident to the two men that no reconciliation would result from +a collision of such a madman with a personage so difficult as the most +authorized of Florent’s proxies had shown himself to be. They then asked +Gorka to relieve them from their duty. They had too plausible an excuse +in Fanny’s betrothal for Boleslas to refuse to release them. That +retirement was a second catastrophe. In his impatience to find other +seconds who would be firm, Gorka hastened to the Cercle de la Chasse. +Chance willed that he should meet with two of his comrades--a Marquis +Cibo, Roman, and a Prince Pietrapertoso, Neapolitan, who were assuredly +the best he could have chosen to hasten the simplest affair to its worst +consequences. + +Those two young men of the best Italian families, both very intelligent, +very loyal and very good, belonged to that particular class which is to +be met with in Vienna, Madrid, St. Petersburg, as in Milan and in Rome, +of foreign club-men hypnotized by Paris. And what a Paris! That of showy +and noisy fetes, that which passes the morning in practising the sports +in fashion, the afternoons in racing, in frequenting fencing-schools, +the evening at the theatre and the night at the gaming-table! That Paris +which emigrates by turns, according to the season, to Monte Carlo for +the ‘Tir aux Pigeons’, to Deauville for the race week, to Aix-les-Bains +for the baccarat season; that Paris which has its own customs, its +own language, its own history, even its own cosmopolitanism, for it +exercises over certain minds, throughout Europe, so despotic a rule that +Cibo, for example, and his friend Pietrapertoso never opened a French +journal that was not Parisian. + +They sought the short paragraphs in which were related, in detail, +the doings of the demi-monde, the last supper given by some well-known +viveur, the details of some large party in such and such a fashionable +club, the result of a shooting match, or of a fencing match between +celebrated fencers! There were between them subjects of conversation of +which they never wearied; to know if spirituelle Gladys Harvey was more +elegant than Leona d’Astri, if Machault made “counters” as rapid as +those of General Garnier, if little Lautrec would adhere or would not +adhere to the game he was playing. Imprisoned in Rome by the scantiness +of their means, and also by the wishes, the one of his uncle, the other +of his grandfather, whose heirs they were, their entire year was summed +up in the months which they spent at Nice in the winter, and in the trip +they took to Paris at the time of the Grand Prix for six weeks. Jealous +one of the other, with the most comical rivalry, of the least occurrence +at the ‘Cercle des Champs-Elysees’ or of the Rue Royale in the Eternal +City, they affected, in the presence of their colleagues of la chasse, +the impassive manner of augurs when the telegraph brought them the +news of some Parisian scandal. That inoffensive mania which had made +of stout, ruddy Cibo, and of thin, pale Pietrapertoso two delightful +studies for Dorsenne during his Roman winter, made of them terrible +proxies in the service of Gorka’s vengeance. + +With what joy and what gravity they accepted that mission all those who +have studied swordsmen will understand after this simple sketch, and +with what promptness they presented themselves to confer at nine o’clock +in the morning with their client’s adversary! In short, at half-past +twelve the duel was arranged in its slightest detail. The energy +employed by Montfanon had only ended in somewhat tempering the +conditions--four balls to be exchanged at twenty-five paces at the +word of command. The duel was fixed for the following morning, in the +inclosure which Cibo owned, with an inn adjoining, not very far distant +from the classical tomb of Cecilia Metella. To obtain that distance and +the use of new weapons it required the prestige with which the Marquis +suddenly clothed himself in the eyes of Gorka’s seconds by pronouncing +the name, still legendary in the provinces and to the foreigner, +of Gramont-Caderousse--‘Sic transit gloria mundi’! On leaving that +rendezvous the excellent man really had tears in his eyes. + +“It is my fault,” he moaned, “it is my fault. With that Hafner we should +have obtained such a fine official plan by mixing in a little of ours. +He offered it to us himself.... Brave Chapron! It is I who have brought +him into this dilemma!... I owe it to him not to abandon him, but to +follow him to the end.... Here I shall be assisting at a duel, at my +age!... Did you see how those young snobs lowered their voices when I +mentioned my encounter with poor Caderousse?... Fifty-two years and a +month, and not to know yet how to conduct one’s self! Let us go to the +Rue Leopardi. I wish to ask pardon of our client, and to give him some +advice. We will take him to one of my old friends who has a garden +near the Villa Pamphili, very secluded. We will spend the rest of the +afternoon practising.... Ah! Accursed choler! Yes, it would have been so +simple to accept the other’s plan yesterday. By the exchange of two or +three words, I am sure it could have been arranged.” + +“Console yourself, Marquis,” replied Florent, when the unhappy nobleman +had described to him the deplorable result of his negotiations. “I like +that better. Monsieur Gorka needs correction. I have only one regret, +that of not having given it to him more thoroughly.... Since I shall +have to fight a duel, I would at least have had my money’s worth!” + +“And you have never used a pistol?” asked Montfanon. + +“Bah! I have hunted a great deal and I believe I can shoot.” + +“That is like night and day,” interrupted the Marquis. “Hold yourself +in readiness. At three o’clock come for me and I will give you a lesson. +And remember there is a merciful God for the brave!” + +Although Florent deserved praise for the cheerfulness of which his reply +was proof, the first moments which he spent alone after the departure of +his two witnesses were very painful. + +That which Chapron experienced during those few moments was simply very +natural anxiety, the enervation caused by looking at the clock, and +saying: + +“In twenty-four hours the hand will be on this point of the dial. And +shall I still be living?”.... He was, however, manly, and knew how to +control himself. He struggled against the feeling of weakness, and, +while awaiting the time to rejoin his friends, he resolved to write +his last wishes. For years his intention had been to leave his entire +fortune to his brother-in-law. He, therefore, made a rough draft of +his will in that sense, with a pen at first rather unsteady, then quite +firm. His will completed, he had courage enough to write two letters, +addressed the one to that brother-in-law, the other to his sister. When +he had finished his work the hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes +of three. + +“Still seventeen hours and a half to wait,” said he, “but I think I have +conquered my nerves. A short walk, too, will benefit me.” + +So he decided to go on foot to the rendezvous named by Montfanon. He +carefully locked the three envelopes in the drawer of his desk. He saw, +on passing, that Lincoln was not in his studio. He asked the footman +if Madame Maitland was at home. The reply received was that she was +dressing, and that she had ordered her carriage for three o’clock. + +“Good,” said he, “neither of them will have the slightest suspicion; I +am saved.” + +How astonished he would have been could he, while walking leisurely +toward his destination, have returned in thought to the smoking-room he +had just left! He would have seen a woman glide noiselessly through the +open door, with the precaution of a malefactor! He would have seen her +examine, without disarranging, all the papers on the table. She +frowned on seeing Dorsenne’s and the Marquis’s cards. She took from the +blotting-case some loose leaves and held them in front of the glass, +trying to read there the imprint left upon them. He would have seen +finally the woman draw from her pocket a bunch of keys. She inserted one +of them in the lock of the drawer which Florent had so carefully turned, +and took from that drawer the three unsealed envelopes he had placed +within it. And the woman who thus read, with a face contracted by +anguish, the papers discovered in such a manner, thanks to a ruse +the abominable indelicacy of which gave proof of shameful habits of +espionage, was his own sister, the Lydia whom he believed so gentle and +so simple, to whom he had penned an adieu so tender in case he should +be killed--the Lydia who would have terrified him had he seen her thus, +with passion distorting the face which was considered insignificant! +She herself, the audacious spy, trembled as if she would fall, her +eyes dilated, her bosom heaved, her teeth chattered, so greatly was she +unnerved by what she had discovered, by the terrible consequences which +she had brought about. + +Had she not written the anonymous letters to Gorka, denouncing to him +the intrigue between Maitland and Madame Steno? Was it not she who had +chosen, the better to poison those terrible letters, phrases the most +likely to strike the betrayed lover in the most sensitive part of +his ‘amour propre’? Was it not she who had hastened the return of the +jealous man with the certain hope of drawing thus a tragical vengeance +upon the hated heads of her husband and the Venetian? That vengeance, +indeed, had broken. But upon whom? Upon the only person Lydia loved in +the world, upon the brother whom she saw endangered through her fault; +and that thought was to her so overwhelming that she sank into the +armchair in which Florent had been seated fifteen minutes before, +repeating, with an accent of despair: “He is going to fight a duel. He +is going to fight instead of the other!” + +All the moral history of that obscure and violent soul was summed up in +the cry in which passionate anxiety for her brother was coupled with a +fierce hatred of her husband. That hatred was the result of a youth +and a childhood without the story of which a duplicity so criminal in +a being so young would be unintelligible. That youth and that childhood +had presaged what Lydia would one day be. But who was there to train the +nature in which the heredity of an oppressed race manifested itself, +as has been already remarked, by the two most detestable +characteristics--hypocrisy and perfidy? Who, moreover, observes in +children the truth, as much neglected in practise as it is common +in theory, that the defects of the tenth year become vices in the +thirtieth? When quite a child Lydia invented falsehoods as naturally +as her brother spoke the truth.... Whosoever observed her would have +perceived that those lies were all told to paint herself in a favorable +light. The germ, too, of another defect was springing up within her--a +jealousy instinctive, irrational, almost wicked. She could not see a new +plaything in Florent’s hands without sulking immediately. She could +not bear to see her brother embrace her father without casting herself +between them, nor could she see him amuse himself with other comrades. + +Had Napoleon Chapron been interested in the study of character as deeply +as he was in his cotton and his sugarcane, he would have perceived, with +affright, the early traces of a sinful nature. But, on that point, like +his son, he was one of those trustful men who did not judge when they +loved. Moreover, Lydia and Florent, to his wounded sensibility of a +demi-pariah, formed the only pleasant corner in his life--were the fresh +and youthful comforters of his widowerhood and of his misanthropy. He +cherished them with the idolatry which all great workers entertain for +their children, which is one of the most dangerous forms of paternal +tenderness; Lydia’s incipient vices were to the planter delightful +fancies! Did she lie? The excellent man exclaimed: What an imagination +she has! Was she jealous? He would sigh, pressing to his broad breast +the tiny form: How sensitive she is!... The result of that selfish +blindness--for to love children thus is to love them for one’s self +and not for them--was that the girl, at the time of her entrance at +Roehampton, was spoiled in the essential traits of her character. But +she was so pretty, she owed to the singular mixture of three races +an originality of grace so seductive that only the keen glance of +a governess of genius could have discerned, beneath that exquisite +exterior, the already marked lines of her character. Such governesses +are rare, still more so at convents than elsewhere. There was none at +Roehampton when Lydia entered that pious haven which was to prove fatal +to her, for a reason precisely contrary to that which transformed +for Florent the lawns of peaceful Beaumont into a radiant paradise of +friendship. + +Among the pupils with whom Lydia was to be educated were four young +girls from Philadelphia, older than the newcomer by two years, and who, +also, had left America for the first time. They brought with them the +unconquerable aversion to negro blood and that wonderful keenness +in discovering it, even in the most infinitesimal degree, which +distinguishes real Yankees. Little Lydia Chapron, having been entered +as French, they at first hesitated in the face of a suspicion speedily +converted into a certainty and that certainty into an aversion, which +they could not conceal. They would not have been children had they +not been unfeeling. They, therefore, began to offer poor Lydia petty +affronts. Convents and colleges resemble other society. There, too, +unjust contempt is like that “ferret of the woods,” which runs from hand +to hand and which always returns to its point of setting out. All the +scornful are themselves scorned by some one--a merited punishment, which +does not correct our pride any more than the other punishments +which abound in life cure our other faults. Lydia’s persecutors were +themselves the objects of outrages practised by their comrades born in +England, on account of certain peculiarities in their language and for +the nasal quality of their voices. The drama was limited, as we +can imagine, to a series of insignificant episodes and of which the +superintendents only surprised a demi-echo. + +Children nurse passions as strong as ours, but so much interrupted +by playfulness that it is impossible to measure their exact strength. +Lydia’s ‘amour propre’ was wounded in an incurable manner by that +revelation of her own peculiarity. Certain incidents of her American +life recurred to her, which she comprehended more clearly. She recalled +the portrait of her grandmother, the complexion, the hands, the hair +of her father, and she experienced that shame of her birth and of +her family much more common with children than our optimism imagines. +Parents of humble origin give their sons a liberal education, expose +them to the demoralization which it brings with it in their positions, +and what social hatreds date from the moment when the boy of twelve +blushes in secret at the condition of his relatives! With Lydia, +so instinctively jealous and untruthful, those first wounds induced +falsehood and jealousy. The slightest superiority even, noticed in +one of her companions, became to her a cause for suffering, and she +undertook to compensate by personal triumphs the difference of blood, +which, once discovered, wounds a vain nature. In order to assure herself +those triumphs she tried to win all the persons who approached her, +mistresses and comrades, and she began to practise that continued comedy +of attitude and of sentiment to which the fatal desire to please, so +quickly leads-that charming and dangerous tendency which borders much +less on goodness than falseness. At eighteen, submitted to a sort of +continual cabotinage, Lydia was, beneath the most attractive exterior, +a being profoundly, though unconsciously, wicked, capable of very little +affection--she loved no one truly but her brother--open to the invasion +of the passions of hatred which are the natural products of proud and +false minds. It was one of these passions, the most fatal of all, which +marriage was to develop within her--envy. + +That hideous vice, one of those which govern the world, has been so +little studied by moralists, as all too dishonorable for the heart +of man, no doubt, that this statement may appear improbable. Madame +Maitland, for years, had been envious of her husband, but envious as one +of the rivals of an artist would be, envious as one pretty woman is +of another, as one banker is of his opponent, as a politician of his +adversary, with the fierce, implacable envy which writhes with physical +pain in the face of success, which is transported with a sensual joy in +the face of disaster. It is a great mistake to limit the ravages of that +guilty passion to the domain of professional emulation. When it is deep, +it does not alone attack the qualities of the person, but the person +himself, and it was thus that Lydia envied Lincoln. Perhaps the analysis +of this sentiment, very subtle in its ugliness, will explain to some +a few of the antipathies against which they have struck in their +relatives. For it is not only between husband and wife that these +unavowed envies are met, it is between lover and mistress, friend and +friend, brother and brother, sometimes, alas, father and son, mother and +daughter! Lydia had married Lincoln Maitland partly out of obedience to +her brother’s wishes, partly from vanity, because the young man was an +American, and because it was a sort of victory over the prejudices of +race, of which she thought constantly, but of which she never spoke. + +It required only three months of married life to perceive that Maitland +could not forgive himself for that marriage. Although he affected to +scorn his compatriots, and although at heart he did not share any of the +views of the country in which he had not set foot since his fifth year, +he could not hear remarks made in New York upon that marriage without a +pang. He disliked Lydia for the humiliation, and she felt it. The birth +of a child would no doubt have modified that feeling, and, if it would +not have removed it, would at least have softened the embittered heart +of the young wife. But no child was born to them. They had not returned +from their wedding tour, upon which Florent accompanied them, before +their lives rolled along in that silence which forms the base of all +those households in which husband and wife, according to a simple and +grand expression of the people, do not live heart against heart. + +After the journey through Spain, which should have been one continued +enchantment, the wife became jealous of the evident preference which +Florent showed for Maitland. For the first time she perceived the hold +which that impassioned friendship had taken upon her brother’s heart. +He loved her, too, but with a secondary love. The comparison annoyed her +daily, hourly, and it did not fail to become a real wound. Returned to +Paris, where they spent almost three years, that wound was increased by +the sole fact that the puissant individuality of the painter speedily +relegated to the shade the individuality of his wife, simply, almost +mechanically, like a large tree which pushes a smaller one into the +background. The composite society of artists, amateurs, and writers who +visited Lincoln came there only for him. The house they had rented was +rented only for him. The journeys they made were for him. In short, +Lydia was borne away, like Florent, in the orbit of the most despotic +force in the world--that of a celebrated talent. An entire book would be +required to paint in their daily truth the continued humiliations which +brought the young wife to detest that talent and that celebrity with as +much ardor as Florent worshipped them. She remained, however, an honest +woman, in the sense in which the word is construed by the world, which +sums up woman’s entire dishonor in errors of love. + +But within Lydia’s breast grew a rooted aversion toward Lincoln. She +detested him for the pure blood which made of that large, fair, and +robust man so admirable a type of Anglo-Saxon beauty, by the side of +her, so thin, so insignificant indeed, in spite of the grace of her +pretty, dark face. She detested him for his taste, for the original +elegance with which he understood how to adorn the places in which he +lived, while she maintained within her a barbarous lack of taste for +the least arrangement of materials and of colors. When she was forced +to acknowledge progress in the painter, bitter hatred entered her heart. +When he lamented over his work, and when she saw him a prey to the +dolorous anxiety of an artist who doubts himself, she experienced a +profound joy, marred only by the evident sadness into which Lincoln’s +struggles plunged Florent. Never had she met the eyes of Chapron fixed +upon Maitland with that look of a faithful dog which rejoices in the joy +of its master, or which suffers in his sadness, without enduring, like +Alba Steno, the sensation of a “needle in the heart.” + +The idolatrous worship of her brother for the painter caused her to +suffer still more as she comprehended, with the infallible perspicacity +of antipathy, the immense dupery. She read the very depths of the souls +of the two old comrades of Beaumont. She knew that in that friendship, +as is almost always the case, one alone gave all to receive in exchange +only the most brutal recognition, that with which a huntsman or a master +gratifies a faithful dog! As for enlightening Florent with regard to +Lincoln’s character, she had vainly tried to do so by those fine and +perfidious insinuations in which women excel. She only recognized her +impotence, and myriads of hateful impressions were thus accumulated in +her heart, to be summed up in one of those frenzies of taciturn rancor +which bursts on the first opportunity with terrifying energy. Crime +itself has its laws of development. Between the pretty little girl who +wept on seeing a new toy in her brother’s hand and the Lydia Maitland, +forcer of locks, author of anonymous letters, driven by the thirst for +vengeance, even to villainy, no dramatic revolution of character had +taken place. The logical succession of days had sufficed. + +The occasion to gratify that deep and mortal longing to touch Lincoln +on some point truly sensitive, how often Lydia had sought it in vain, +before Madame Steno obtained an ascendancy over the painter. She had +been reduced by it to those meannesses of feminine animosity to manage, +as if accidentally, that her husband might read all the disagreeable +articles written about his paintings, innocently to praise before him +the rivals who had given him offense, to repeat to him with an air +of embarrassment the slightest criticisms pronounced on one of his +exhibits--all the unpleasantnesses which had the result of irritating +Florent, above all, for Maitland was one of those artists too well +satisfied with the results of his own work for the opinion of others +to annoy him very much. On the other hand, before the passion for the +dogaresse had possessed him, he had never loved. Many painters are thus, +satisfying with magnificent models an impetuosity of temperament which +does not mount from the senses to the heart. Accustomed to regard the +human form from a certain point, they find in beauty, which would +appear to us simply animal, principles of plastic emotion which at +times suffice for their amorous requirements. They are only more deeply +touched by it, when to that rather coarse intoxication is joined, in +the woman who inspires them, the refined graces of mind, the delicacy of +elegance and the subtleties of sentiment. + +Such was Madame Steno, who at once inspired the painter with a passion +as complete as a first love. It was really such. The Countess, who was +possessed of the penetration of voluptuousness, was not mistaken there. +Lydia, who was possessed of the penetration of hatred, was not mistaken +either. She knew from the first day how matters stood in the beginning, +because she was as observing as she was dissimulating; then, thanks +to means less hypothetic, she had always had the habit of making those +abominable inquiries which are natural, we venture to avow, to nine +women out of ten! And how many men are women, too, on this point, as +said the fabulist. At school Lydia was one of those who ascended to the +dormitory, or who reentered the study to rummage in the cupboards and +open trunks of her companions. When mature, never had a sealed letter +passed through her hands without her having ingeniously managed to read +through the envelope, or at least to guess from the postmark, the seal, +the handwriting of the address, who was the author of it. The instinct +of curiosity was so strong that she could not refrain, at a telegraph +office, from glancing over the shoulders of the persons before her, to +learn the contents of their despatches. She never had her hair dressed +or made her toilette without minutely questioning her maid as to the +goings-on in the pantry and the antechamber. It was through a story of +that kind that she learned the altercation between Florent and Gorka in +the vestibule, which proves, between parentheses, that these espionages +by the aid of servants are often efficacious. But they reveal a native +baseness, which will not recoil before any piece of villainy. + +When Madame Maitland suspected the liaison of Madame Steno and her +husband, she no more hesitated to open the latter’s secretary than she +later hesitated to open the desk of her brother. The correspondence +which she read in that way was of a nature which exasperated her +desire for vengeance almost to frenzy. For not only did she acquire the +evidence of a happiness shared by them which humiliated in her the woman +barren in all senses of the word, a stranger to voluptuousness as well +as to maternity, but she gathered from it numerous proofs that the +Countess cherished, with regard to her, a scorn of race as absolute +as if Venice had been a city of the United States.... That part of the +Adriatic abounds in prejudices of blood, as do all countries which serve +as confluents for every nation. It is sufficient to convince one’s self +of it, to have heard a Venetian treat of the Slavs as ‘Cziavoni’, and +the Levantines as ‘Gregugni’. + +Madame Steno, in those letters she had written with all the familiarity +and all the liberty of passion, never called Lydia anything but La +Morettina, and by a very strange illogicalness never was the name of the +brother of La Morettina mentioned without a formula of friendship. +As the mistress treated Florent in that manner, it must be that she +apprehended no hostility on the part of her lover’s brother-in-law. +Lydia understood it only too well, as well as the fresh proof of +Florent’s sentiments for Lincoln. Once more he gave precedence to the +friend over the sister, and on what an occasion! The most secret wounds +in her inmost being bled as she read. The success of Alba’s portrait, +which promised to be a masterpiece, ended by precipitating her into a +fierce and abominable action. She resolved to denounce Madame Steno’s +new love to the betrayed lover, and she wrote the twelve letters, wisely +calculated and graduated, which had indeed determined Gorka’s return. +His return had even been delayed too long to suit the relative of Iago, +who had decided to aim at Madame Steno through Alba by a still more +criminal denunciation. Lydia was in that state of exasperation in which +the vilest weapons seem the best, and she included innocent Alba in her +hatred for Maitland, on account of the portrait, a turn of sentiment +which will show that it was envy by which that soul was poisoned above +all. Ah, what bitter delight the simultaneous success of that double +infamy had procured for her! What savage joy, mingled with bitterness +and ecstacy, had been hers the day before, on witnessing the nervousness +of poor Alba and the suppressed fury of Boleslas! + +In her mind she had seen Maitland provoked by the rival whom she knew to +be as adroit with the sword as with the pistol. She would not have been +the great-grandchild of a slave of Louisiana, if she had not combined +with the natural energy of her hatreds a considerable amount of +superstition. A fortune-teller had once foretold, from the lines in her +palm, that she would cause the violent death of some person. “It will be +he,” she had thought, glancing at her husband with a horrible tremor +of hope.... And now she had the proof, the indisputable proof, that her +plot for vengeance was to terminate in the danger of another. Of what +other? + +The letter and will made by Florent disclosed to her the threat of a +fatal duel suspended over the head which was the dearest to her. So she +had driven to a tragical encounter the only being whom she loved.... The +disappointment of the heart in which palpitated the wild energies of a +bestial atavism was so sudden, so acute, so dolorous, that she uttered +an inarticulate cry, leaning upon her brother’s desk, and, in the face +of those sheets of paper which had revealed so much, she repeated: + +“He is going to fight a duel! He!... And I am the cause!”.... Then, +returning the letters and the will to the drawer, she closed it and +rose, saying aloud: + +“No. It shall not be. I will prevent it, if I have to cast myself +between them. I do not wish it! I do not wish it!” + +It was easy to utter such words. But the execution of them was less +easy. Lydia knew it, for she had no sooner uttered that vow than she +wrung her hands in despair--those weak hands which Madame Steno compared +in one of her letters to the paws of a monkey, the fingers were so +supple and so long--and she uttered this despairing cry: “But how?”.... +which so many criminals have uttered before the issue, unexpected and +fatal to them, of their shrewdest calculations. The poet has sung it in +the words which relate the story of all our faults, great and small: + + “The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices + Make instruments to plague us.” + +It is necessary that the belief in the equity of an incomprehensible +judge be well grounded in us, for the strongest minds are struck by a +sinister apprehension when they have to brave the chance of a misfortune +absolutely merited. The remembrance of the soothsayer’s prediction +suddenly occurred to Lydia. She uttered another cry, rubbing her hands +like a somnambulist. She saw her brother’s blood flowing.... No, +the duel should not take place! But how to prevent it? How-how? she +repeated. Florent was not at home. She could, therefore, not implore +him. If he should return, would there still be time? Lincoln was not at +home. Where was he? Perhaps at a rendezvous with Madame Steno. + +The image of that handsome idol of love clasped in the painter’s arms, +plunged in the abyss of intoxication which her ardent letters described, +was presented to the mind of the jealous wife. What irony to perceive +thus those two lovers, whom she had wished to strike, with the ecstacy +of bliss in their eyes! Lydia would have liked to tear out their eyes, +his as well as hers, and to trample them beneath her heel. A fresh flood +of hatred filled her heart. God! how she hated them, and with what +a powerless hatred! But her time would come; another need pressed +sorely--to prevent the meeting of the following day, to save her +brother. To whom should she turn, however? To Dorsenne? To Montfanon? +To Baron Hafner? To Peppino Ardea? She thought by turns of the four +personages whose almost simultaneous visits had caused her to believe +that they were the seconds of the two champions. She rejected them, +one after the other, comprehending that none of them possessed enough +authority to arrange the affair. Her thoughts finally reverted to +Florent’s adversary, to Boleslas Gorka, whose wife was her friend and +whom she had always found so courteous. What if she should ask him to +spare her brother? It was not Florent against whom the discarded lover +bore a grudge. Would he not be touched by her tears? Would he not tell +her what had led to the quarrel and what she should ask of her brother +that the quarrel might be conciliated? Could she not obtain from him +the promise to discharge his weapon in the air, if the duel was with +pistols, or, if it was with swords, simply to disarm his enemy? + +Like nearly all persons unversed in the art, she believed in infallible +fencers, in marksmen who never missed their aim, and she had also ideas +profoundly, absolutely inexact on the relations of one man with another +in the matter of an insult. But how can women admit that inflexible +rigor in certain cases, which forms the foundation of manly relations, +when they themselves allow of a similar rigor neither in their arguments +with men, nor in their discussions among themselves? Accustomed always +to appeal from convention to instinct and from reason to sentiment, they +are, in the face of certain laws, be they those of justice or of honor, +in a state of incomprehension worse than ignorance. A duel, for example, +appears to them like an arbitrary drama, which the wish of one of those +concerned can change at his fancy. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred +would think like Lydia Maitland of hastening to the adversary of the man +they love, to demand, to beg for his life. Let us add, however, that the +majority would not carry out that thought. They would confine +themselves to sewing in the vest of their beloved some blessed medal, +in recommending him to the Providence, which, for them, is still the +favoritism of heaven. Lydia felt that if ever Florent should learn of +her step with regard to Gorka, he would be very indignant. But who would +tell him? She was agitated by one of those fevers of fear and of remorse +which are too acute not to act, cost what it might. Her carriage was +announced, and she entered it, giving the address of the Palazzetto +Doria. In what terms should she approach the man to whom she was about +to pay that audacious and absurd visit? Ah, what mattered it? The +circumstances would inspire her. Her desire to cut short the duel was so +strong that she did not doubt of success. + +She was greatly disappointed when the footman at the palace told +her that the Count had gone out, while at the same moment a voice +interrupted him with a gay laugh. It was Countess Maud Gorka, who, +returning from her walk with her little boy, recognized Lydia’s coup, +and who said to her: + +“What a lucky idea I had of returning a little sooner. I see you were +afraid of a storm, as you drove out in a closed carriage. Will you come +upstairs a moment?” And, perceiving that the young woman, whose hand she +had taken, was trembling: “What ails you? I should think you were ill! +You do not feel well? My God, what ails her! She is ill, Luc,” she +added, turning to her son; “run to my room and bring me the large bottle +of English salts; Rose knows which one. Go, go quickly.” + +“It is nothing,” replied Lydia, who had indeed closed her eyes as if on +the point of swooning. “See, I am better already. I think I will return +home; it will be wiser.” + +“I shall not leave you,” said Maud, seating herself, too, in the +carriage; and, as they handed her the bottle of salts, she made Madame +Maitland inhale it, talking to her the while as to a sick child: “Poor +little thing!” + +“How her cheeks burn! And you pay visits in this state. It is very +venturesome! Rue Leopardi,” she called to the coachman, “quickly.” + +The carriage rolled away, and Madame Gorka continued to press the tiny +hands of Lydia, to whom she gave the tender name, so ironical under the +circumstances, of “Poor little one!” Maud was one of those women like +whom England produces many, for the honor of that healthy and robust +British civilization, who are at once all energy and all goodness. As +large and stout as Lydia was slender, she would rather have borne her to +her bed in her vigorous arms than to have abandoned her in the troubled +state in which she had surprised her. Not less practical and, as her +compatriots say, as matter-of-fact as she was charitable, she began to +question her friend on the symptoms which had preceded that attack, when +with astonishment she saw that altered face contract, tears gushing from +the closed eyes, and the fragile form convulsed by sobs. Lydia had +a nervous attack caused by anxiety, by the fresh disappointment of +Boleslas’s absence from home, and no doubt, too, by the gentleness with +which Maud addressed her, and tearing her handkerchief with her white +teeth, she moaned: + +“No, I am not ill. But it is that thought which I can not bear. No, I +can not. Ah, it is maddening!” And turning toward her companion, she in +her turn pressed her hands, saying: “But you know nothing! You suspect +nothing! It is that which maddens me, when I see you tranquil, calm, +happy, as if the minutes were not valuable, every one, to-day, to you as +well as to me. For if one is my brother, the other is your husband; and +you love him. You must love him, to have pardoned him for what you have +pardoned him.” + +She had spoken in a sort of delirium, brought about by her extreme +nervous excitement, and she had uttered, she, usually so dissembling, +her very deepest thought. She did not think she was giving Madame Gorka +any information by that allusion, so direct, to the liaison of Boleslas +with Madame Steno. She was persuaded, as was entire Rome, that Maud knew +of her husband’s infidelities, and that she tolerated them by one of +those heroic sacrifices which maternity justifies. How many women have +immolated thus their wifely pride to maintain the domestic relation +which the father shall at least not desert officially! All Rome was +mistaken, and Lydia Maitland was to have an unexpected proof. Not a +suspicion that such an intrigue could unite her husband with the mother +of her best friend had ever entered the thoughts of Boleslas’s wife. +But to account for that, it is necessary to admit, as well, and +to comprehend the depth of innocence of which, notwithstanding her +twenty-six years, the beautiful and healthy Englishwoman, with her eyes +so clear, so frank, was possessed. + +She was one of those persons who command the respect of the boldest of +men, and before whom the most dissolute women exercised care. She might +have seen the freedom of Madame Steno without being disillusioned. She +had only a liking for acquaintances and positive conversation. She was +very intellectual, but without any desire to study character. + +Dorsenne said of her, with more justness than he thought: “Madame +Boleslas Gorka is married to a man who has never been presented to her,” + meaning by that, that first of all she had no idea of her husband’s +character, and then of the treason of which she was the victim. However, +the novelist was not altogether right. Boleslas’s infidelity was of too +long standing for the woman passionately, religiously loyal, who was his +wife, not to have suffered by it. But there was an abyss between such +sufferings and the intuition of a determined fact such as that which +Lydia had just mentioned, and such a suspicion was so far from Maud’s +thoughts that her companion’s words only aroused in her astonishment +at the mysterious danger of which Lydia’s troubles was a proof more +eloquent still than her words. + +“Your brother? My husband?” she said. “I do not understand you.” + +“Naturally,” replied Lydia, “he has hidden all from you, as Florent +hid all from me. Well! They are going to fight a duel, and to-morrow +morning.... Do not tremble, in your turn,” she continued, twining her +arms around Maud Gorka. “We shall be two to prevent the terrible affair, +and we shall prevent it.” + +“A duel? To-morrow morning?” repeated Maud, in affright. “Boleslas +fights to-morrow with your brother? No, it is impossible. Who told you +so? How do you know it?” + +“I read the proof of it with my eyes,” replied Lydia. “I read Florent’s +will. I read the letter which he prepared for Maitland and for me in +case of accident....” + +“Should I be in the state in which you see me if it were not true?” + +“Oh, I believe you!” cried Maud, pressing her hands to her eyelids, as +if to shut out a horrible sight. “But where can they be seen? Boleslas +has been here scarcely any of the time for two days. What is there +between them? What have they said to one another? One does not risk +one’s life for nothing when he has, like Boleslas, a wife and a son. +Answer me, I conjure you. Tell me all. I desire to know all. What is +there at the bottom of this duel?” + +“What could there be but a woman?” interrupted Lydia, who put into +the two last words more savage scorn than if she had publicly spit in +Caterina Steno’s face. But that fresh access of anger fell before the +surprise caused her by Madame Gorka’s reply. + +“What woman? I understand you still less than I did just now.” + +“When we are at home I will speak,”.... replied Lydia, after having +looked at Maud with a surprised glance, which was in itself the most +terrible reply. The two women were silent. It was Maud who now required +the sympathy of friendship, so greatly had the words uttered by Lydia +startled her. The companion whose arm rested upon hers in that carriage, +and who had inspired her with such pity fifteen minutes before, now +rendered her fearful. She seemed to be seated by the side of another +person. In the creature whose thin nostrils were dilated with passion, +whose mouth was distorted with bitterness, whose eyes sparkled with +anger, she no longer recognized little Madame Maitland, so taciturn, so +reserved that she was looked upon as insignificant. What had that voice, +usually so musical, told her; that voice so suddenly become harsh, +and which had already revealed to her the great danger suspended over +Boleslas? To what woman had that voice alluded, and what meant that +sudden reticence? + +Lydia was fully aware of the grief into which she would plunge Maud +without the slightest premeditation. For a moment she thought it almost +a crime to say more to a woman thus deluded. But at the same time she +saw in the revelation two certain results. In undeceiving Madame Gorka +she made a mortal enemy for Madame Steno, and, on the other hand, never +would the woman so deeply in love with her husband allow him to fight +for a former mistress. So, when they both entered the small salon of +the Moorish mansion, Lydia’s resolution was taken. She was determined to +conceal nothing of what she knew from unhappy Maud, who asked her, with +a beating heart, and in a voice choked by emotion: + +“Now, will you explain to me what you want to say?” + +“Question me,” replied the other; “I will answer you. I have gone too +far to draw back.” + +“You claimed that a woman was the cause of the duel between your brother +and my husband?” + +“I am sure of it,” replied Lydia. + +“What is that woman’s name?” + +“Madame Steno.” + +“Madame Steno?” repeated Maud. “Catherine Steno is the cause of that +duel? How?” + +“Because she is my husband’s mistress,” replied Lydia, brutally; +“because she has been your husband’s, because Gorka came here, mad +with jealousy, to provoke Lincoln, and because he met my brother, who +prevented him from entering.... They quarrelled, I know not in what +manner. But I know the cause of the duel.... Am I right, yes or no, in +telling you they are to fight about that woman?” + +“My husband’s mistress?” cried Maud. “You say Madame Steno has been my +husband’s mistress? It is not true. You lie! You lie! You lie! I do not +believe it.” + +“You do not believe me?” said Lydia, shrugging her shoulders. “As if I +had the least interest in deceiving you; as if one would lie when the +life of the only being one loves in the world is in the balance! For +I have only my brother, and perhaps to-morrow I shall no longer have +him.... But you shall believe me. I desire that we both hate that woman, +that we both be avenged upon her, as we both do not wish the duel to +take place--the duel of which, I repeat, she is the cause, the sole +cause.... You do not believe me? Do you know what caused your husband to +return? You did not expect him; confess! It was I--I, do you hear--who +wrote him what Steno and Lincoln were doing; day after day I wrote about +their love, their meetings, their bliss. Ah, I was sure it would not be +in vain, and he returned. Is that a proof?” + +“You did not do that?” cried Madame Gorka, recoiling with horror. “It +was infamous.” + +“Yes, I did it,” replied Lydia, with savage pride, “and why not? It was +my right when she took my husband from me. You have only to return and +to look in the place where Gorka keeps his letters. You will certainly +find those I wrote, and others, I assure you, from that woman. For she +has a mania for letter-writing.... Do you believe me now, or will you +repeat that I have lied?” + +“Never,” returned Maud, with sorrowful indignation upon her lovely, +loyal face, “no, never will I descend to such baseness.” + +“Well, I will descend for you,” said Lydia. “What you do not dare to +do, I will dare, and you will ask me to aid you in being avenged. Come,” + and, seizing the hand of her stupefied companion, she drew her into +Lincoln’s studio, at that moment unoccupied. She approached one of those +Spanish desks, called baygenos, and she touched two small panels, which +disclosed, on opening, a secret drawer, in which were a package +of letters, which she seized. Maud Gorka watched her with the same +terrified horror with which she would have seen some one killed and +robbed. That honorable soul revolted at the scene in which her mere +presence made of her an accomplice. But at the same time she was a prey, +as had been her husband several days before, to that maddening appetite +to know the truth, which becomes, in certain forms of doubt, a physical +need, as imperious as hunger and thirst, and she listened to Florent’s +sister, who continued: + +“Will it be a proof when you have seen the affair written in her own +hand? Yes,” she continued, with cruel irony, “she loves correspondence, +our fortunate rival. Justice must be rendered her that she may make no +more avowals. She writes as she feels. It seems that the successor was +jealous of his predecessor.... See, is this a proof this time?”.... +And, after having glanced at the first letters as a person familiar with +them, she handed one of those papers to Maud, who had not the courage to +avert her eyes. What she saw written upon that sheet drew from her a cry +of anguish. She had, however, only read ten lines, which proved how +much mistaken psychological Dorsenne was in thinking that Maitland +was ignorant of the former relations between his mistress and Gorka. +Countess Steno’s grandeur, that which made a courageous woman almost a +heroine in her passions, was an absolute sincerity and disgust for the +usual pettiness of flirtations. She would have disdained to deny to a +new lover the knowledge of her past, and the semiavowals, so common to +women, would have seemed to her a cowardice still worse. She had not +essayed to hide from Maitland what connection she had broken off for +him, and it was upon one of those phrases, in which she spoke of it +openly, that Madame Gorka’s eyes fell: + +“You will be pleased with me,” she wrote, “and I shall no longer see in +your dear blue eyes which I kiss, as I love them, that gleam of mistrust +which troubles me. I have stopped the correspondence with Gorka. If you +require it, I will even break with Maud, notwithstanding the reason you +know of and which will render it difficult for me. But how can you be +jealous yet?... Is not my frankness with regard to that liaison the +surest guarantee that it is ended? Come, do not be jealous. Listen to +what I know so well, that I felt I loved, and that my life began only +on the day when you took me in your arms. The woman you have awakened in +me, no one has known--” + +“She writes well, does she not?” said Lydia, with a gleam of savage +triumph in her eyes. “Do you believe me, now?... Do you see that we have +the same interest to-day, a common affront to avenge? And we will avenge +it.... Do you understand that you can not allow your husband to fight a +duel with my brother? You owe that to me who have given you this weapon +by which you hold him.... Threaten him with a divorce. Fortune is with +you. The law will give you your child. I repeat, you hold him firmly. +You will prevent the duel, will you not?” + +“Ah! What do you think it matters to me now if they fight or not?” said +Maud. “From the moment he deceived me was I not widowed? Do not approach +me,” she added, looking at Lydia with wild eyes, while a shudder of +repulsion shook her entire frame.... “Do not speak to me.... I have as +much horror of you as of him.... Let me go, let me leave here.... Even +to feel myself in the same room with you fills me with horror.... Ah, +what disgrace!” + +She retreated to the door, fixing upon her informant a gaze which the +other sustained, notwithstanding the scorn in it, with the gloomy pride +of defiance. She went out repeating: “Ah, what disgrace!” without Lydia +having addressed her, so greatly had surprise at the unexpected result +of all her attempts paralyzed her. But the formidable creature lost no +time in regret and repentance. She paused a few moments to think. Then, +crushing in her nervous hand the letter she had shown Maud, at the risk +of being discovered by her husband later, she said aloud: + +“Coward! Lord, what a coward she is! She loves. She will pardon. Will +there, then, be no one to aid me? No one to smite them in their insolent +happiness.” After meditating awhile, her face still more contracted, +she placed the letter in the drawer, which she closed again, and half +an hour later she summoned a commissionaire, to whom she intrusted a +letter, with the order to deliver it immediately, and that letter was +addressed to the inspector of police of the district. She informed him +of the intended duel, giving him the names of the two adversaries and of +the four seconds. If she had not been afraid of her brother, she would +even that time have signed her name. + +“I should have gone to work that way at first,” said she to herself, +when the door of the small salon closed behind the messenger to whom +she had given her order personally. “The police know how to prevent +them from fighting, even if I do not succeed with Florent.... As for +him?”.... and she looked at a portrait of Maitland upon the desk at +which she had just been writing. “Were I to tell him what is taking +place.... No, I will ask nothing of him.... I hate him too much.”.... +And she concluded with a fierce smile, which disclosed her teeth at the +corners of her mouth: + +“It is all the same. It is necessary that Maud Gorka work with me +against her. There is some one whom she will not pardon, and that +is.... Madame Steno.” And, in spite of her uneasiness, the wicked woman +trembled with delight at the thought of her work. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. ON THE GROUND + +When Maud Gorka left the house on the Rue Leopardi she walked on at +first rapidly, blindly, without seeing, without hearing anything, like +a wounded animal which runs through the thicket to escape danger, to +escape its wounds, to escape itself. It was a little more than half-past +three o’clock when the unhappy woman hastened from the studio, unable to +bear near her the presence of Lydia Maitland, of that sinister worker +of vengeance who had so cruelly revealed to her, with such indisputable +proofs, the atrocious affair, the long, the infamous, the inexpiable +treason. + +It was almost six o’clock before Maud Gorka really regained +consciousness. A very common occurrence aroused her from the +somnambulism of suffering in which she had wandered for two hours. The +storm which had threatened since noon at length broke. Maud, who had +scarcely heeded the first large drops, was forced to seek shelter when +the clouds suddenly burst, and she took refuge at the right extremity +of the colonnade of St. Peter’s. How had she gone that far? She did not +know herself precisely. She remembered vaguely that she had wandered +through a labyrinth of small streets, had crossed the Tiber--no doubt by +the Garibaldi bridge--had passed through a large garden--doubtless the +Janicule, since she had walked along a portion of the ramparts. She +had left the city by the Porte de Saint-Pancrace, to follow by that of +Cavallegieri the sinuous line of the Urban walls. + +That corner of Rome, with a view of the pines of the Villa Pamfili on +one side, and on the other the back part of the Vatican, serves as a +promenade during the winter for the few cardinals who go in search of +the afternoon sun, certain there of meeting only a few strangers. In the +month of May it is a desert, scorched by the sun, which glows upon +the brick, discolored by two centuries of that implacable heat which +caresses the scales of the green and gray lizards about to crawl between +the bees of Pope Urbain VIII’s escutcheon of the Barberini family. +Madame Gorka’s instinct had at least served her in leading her upon a +route on which she met no one. Now the sense of reality returned. She +recognized the objects around her, and that framework, so familiar to +her piety of fervent Catholicism, the enormous square, the obelisk of +Sixte-Quint in the centre, the fountains, the circular portico crowned +with bishops and martyrs, the palace of the Vatican at the corner, and +yonder the facade of the large papal cathedral, with the Saviour and the +apostles erect upon the august pediment. + +On any other occasion in life the pious young woman would have seen in +the chance which led her thither, almost unconsciously, an influence +from above, an invitation to enter the church, there to ask the strength +to suffer of the God who said: “Let him who wishes follow me, let him +renounce all, let him take up his cross and follow me!” But she was +passing through that first bitter paroxysm of grief in which it is +impossible to pray, so greatly does the revolt of nature cry out within +us. Later, we may recognize the hand of Providence in the trial imposed +upon us. We see at first only the terrible injustice of fate, and we +tremble in the deepest recesses of our souls with rebellion at the blow +from which we bleed. That which rendered the rebellion more invincible +and more fierce in Maud, was the suddenness of the mortal blow. + +Daily some pure, honest woman, like her, acquires the proof of the +treason of a husband whom she has not ceased to love. Ordinarily, +the indisputable proof is preceded by a long period of suspicion. The +faithless one neglects his hearth. A change takes place in his daily +habits. Various hints reveal to the outraged wife the trace of a rival, +which woman’s jealousy distinguishes with a scent as certain as that of +a dog which finds a stranger in the house. And, finally, although there +is in the transition from doubt to certainty a laceration of the heart, +it is at least the laceration of a heart prepared. That preparation, +that adaptation, so to speak, of her soul to the truth, Maud had been +deprived of. The care taken by Madame Steno to strengthen the friendship +between her and Alba had suppressed the slightest signs. Boleslas had +no need to change his domestic life in order to see his mistress at +his convenience and in an intimacy entertained, provoked, by his wife +herself. The wife, too, had been totally, absolutely deceived. She +had assisted in her husband’s adultery with one of those illusions so +complete that it seemed improbable to the indifferent and to strangers. +The awakening from such illusions is the most terrible. That man whom +society considered a complaisant husband, that woman who seemed so +indulgent a wife, suddenly find that they have committed a murder or +a suicide, to the great astonishment of the world which, even then, +hesitates to recognize in that access of folly the proof, the blow, more +formidable, more instantaneous in its ravages, than those of love-sudden +disillusion. When the disaster is not interrupted by acts of violence, +it causes an irreparable destruction of the youthfulness of the soul, it +is the idea instilled in us forever that all can betray, since we have +been betrayed in that manner. It is for years, for life, sometimes, that +powerlessness to be affected, to hope, to believe, which caused Maud +Gorka to remain, on that afternoon, leaning against the pedestal of a +column, watching the rain fall, instead of ascending to the Basilica, +where the confessional offers pardon for all sins and the remedy for all +sorrows. Alas! It was consolation simply to kneel there, and the poor +woman was only in the first stage of Calvary. + +She watched the rain fall, and she found a savage comfort in the +formidable character of the storm, which seemed like a cataclysm of +nature, to such degree did the flash of the lightning and the roar of +the thunder mingle with the echoes of the vast palace beneath the lash +of the wind. Forms began to take shape in her mind, after the whirlwind +of blind suffering in which she felt herself borne away after the first +glance cast upon that fatal letter. Each word rose before her eyes, so +feverish that she closed them with pain. The last two years of her life, +those which had bound her to Countess Steno, returned to her thoughts, +illuminated by a brilliance which drew from her constantly these words, +uttered with a moan: How could he? She saw Venice and their sojourn in +the villa to which Boleslas had conducted her after the death of their +little girl, in order that there, in the restful atmosphere of the +lagoon, she might overcome the keen paroxysm of pain. + +How very kind and delicate Madame Steno had been at that time; at least +how kind she had seemed, and how delicate likewise, comprehending her +grief and sympathizing with it.... Their superficial relations had +gradually ripened into friendship. Then, no doubt, the treason had +begun. The purloiner of love had introduced herself under cover of the +pity in which Maud had believed. Seeing the Countess so generous, she +had treated as calumny the slander of the world relative to a person +capable of such touching kindness of heart. And it was at that moment +that the false woman took Boleslas from her! A thousand details recurred +to her which at the time she had not understood; the sails of the two +lovers in the gondola, which she had not even thought of suspecting; a +visit which Boleslas had made to Piove and from which he only returned +the following day, giving as a pretext a missed train; words uttered +aside on the balcony of the Palais Steno at night, while she talked with +Alba. Yes, it was at Venice that their adultery began, before her who +had divined nothing, her whose heart was filled with inconsolable +regret for her lost darling! Ah, how could he? she moaned again, and the +visions multiplied. + +In her mind were then opened all the windows which Gorka’s perfidity +and the Countess’s as well, had sealed with such care. She saw again +the months which followed their return to Rome, and that mode of life +so convenient for both. How often had she walked out with Alba, thus +freeing the mother and the husband from the only surveillance annoying +to them. What did the lovers do during those hours? How many times on +returning to the Palazzetto Doria had she found Catherine Steno in the +library, seated on the divan beside Boleslas, and she had not mistrusted +that the woman had come, during her absence, to embrace that man, to +talk to him of love, to give herself to him, without doubt, with the +charm of villainy and of danger! She remembered the episode of their +meeting at Bayreuth the previous summer, when she went to England alone +with her son, and when her husband undertook to conduct Alba and the +Countess from Rome to Bavaria. They had all met at Nuremberg. The +apartments of the hotel in which the meeting took place became again +very vivid in Maud’s memory, with Madame Steno’s bedroom adjoining that +of Boleslas’s. + +The vision of their caresses, enjoyed in the liberty of the night, while +innocent Alba slept near by, and when she rolled away in a carriage with +little Luc, drew from her this cry once more: “Ah, how could he!”.... +And immediately that vision awoke in her the remembrance of her +husband’s recent return. She saw him traversing Europe on the receipt +of an anonymous letter, to reach that woman’s side twenty-four hours +sooner. What a proof of passion was the frenzy which had not allowed him +any longer to bear doubt and absence!... Did he love the mistress who +did not even love him, since she had deceived him with Maitland? And he +was going to fight a duel on her account!... Jealousy, at that +moment, wrung the wife’s heart with a pang still stronger than that of +indignation. She, the strong Englishwoman, so large, so robust, almost +masculine in form, mentally compared herself with the supple Italian +with her form so round, with her gestures so graceful, her hands so +delicate, her feet so dainty; compared herself with the creature of +desire, whose every movement implied a secret wave of passion, and she +ceased her cry--“Ah, how could he?”--at once. She had a clear knowledge +of the power of her rival. + +It is indeed a supreme agony for an honorable woman, who loves, to +feel herself thus degraded by the mere thought of the intoxication +her husband has tasted in arms more beautiful, more caressing, more +entwining than hers. It was, too, a signal for the return of will to the +tortured but proud soul. Disgust possessed her, so violent, so complete, +for the atmosphere of falsehood and of sensuality in which Boleslas had +lived two years, that she drew herself up, becoming again strong and +implacable. Braving the storm, she turned in the direction of her +home, with this resolution as firmly rooted in her mind as if she had +deliberated for months and months. + +“I will not remain with that man another day. Tomorrow I will leave for +England with my son.” + +How many, in a similar situation, have uttered such vows, to abjure them +when they find themselves face to face with the man who has betrayed +them, and whom they love. Maud was not of that order. Certainly she +loved dearly the seductive Boleslas, wedded against her parents’ will +the perfidious one for whom she had sacrificed all, living far from her +native land and her family for years, because it pleased him, breathing, +living, only for him and for their boy. But there was within her--as +her long, square chin, her short nose and the strength of her brow +revealed--the force of inflexibility--which is met with in characters +of an absolute uprightness. Love, with her, could be stifled by disgust, +or, rather, she considered it degrading to continue to love one whom she +scorned, and, at that moment, it was supreme scorn which reigned in her +heart. She had, in the highest degree, the great virtue which is found +wherever there is nobility, and of which the English have made the basis +of their moral education--the religion, the fanaticism of loyalty. She +had always grieved on discovering the wavering nature of Boleslas. But +if she had observed in him, with sorrow, any exaggerations of language, +any artificial sentiment, a dangerous suppleness of mind, she had +pardoned him those defects with the magnanimity of love, attributing +them to a defective training. Gorka at a very early age had witnessed +a stirring family drama--his mother and his father lived apart, while +neither the one nor the other had the exclusive guidance of the child. +How could she find indulgence for the shameful hypocrisy of two years’ +standing, for the villainy of that treachery practised at the domestic +hearth, for the continued, voluntary disloyalty of every day, every +hour? Though Maud experienced, in the midst of her despair, the sort of +calmness which proves a firm and just resolution, when she reentered the +Palazzetto Doria--what a drama had been enacted in her heart since +her going out!--and it was in a voice almost as calm as usual that she +asked: “Is the Count at home?” + +What did she experience when the servant, after answering her in the +affirmative, added: “Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, too, are awaiting +Madame in the salon.” At the thought that the woman who had stolen from +her her husband was there, the betrayed wife felt her blood boil, to use +a common but expressive phrase. It was very natural that Alba’s mother +should call upon her, as was her custom. It was still more natural for +her to come there that day. For very probably a report of the duel +the following day had reached her. Her presence, however, and at that +moment, aroused in Maud a feeling of indignation so impassioned that +her first impulse was to enter, to drive out Boleslas’s mistress as one +would drive out a servant surprised thieving. Suddenly the thought of +Alba presented itself to her mind, of that sweet and pure Alba, of that +soul as pure as her name, of her whose dearest friend she was. Since the +dread revelation she had thought several times of the young girl. But +her deep sorrow having absorbed all the power of her soul, she had not +been able to feel such friendship for the delicate and pretty child. +At the thought of ejecting her rival, as she had the right to do, that +sentiment stirred within her. A strange pity flooded her soul, which +caused her to pause in the centre of the large hall, ornamented with +statues and columns, which she was in the act of crossing. She called +the servant just as he was about to put his hand on the knob of the +door. The analogy between her situation and that of Alba struck her +very forcibly. She experienced the sensation which Alba had so often +experienced in connection with Fanny, sympathy with a sorrow so like +her own. She could not give her hand to Madame Steno after what she had +discovered, nor could she speak to her otherwise than to order her +from her house. And to utter before Alba one single phrase, to make +one single gesture which would arouse her suspicions, would be too +implacable, too iniquitous a vengeance! She turned toward the door which +led to her own room, bidding the servant ask his master to come thither. +She had devised a means of satisfying her just indignation without +wounding her dear friend, who was not responsible for the fact that the +two culprits had taken shelter behind her innocence. + +Having entered the small, pretty boudoir which led into her bedroom, she +seated herself at her desk, on which was a photograph of Madame Steno, +in a group consisting of Boleslas, Alba, and herself. The photograph +smiled with a smile of superb insolence, which suddenly reawakened in +the outraged woman her frenzy of rancor, interrupted or rather suspended +for several moments by pity. She took the frame in her hands, she cast +it upon the ground, trampling the glass beneath her feet, then she began +to write, on the first blank sheet, one of those notes which passion +alone dares to pen, which does not draw back at every word: + +“I know all. For two years you have been my husband’s mistress. Do not +deny it. I have read the confession written by your own hand. I do not +wish to see nor to speak to you again. Never again set foot in my house. +On account of your daughter I have not driven you out to-day. A second +time I shall not hesitate.” + +She was just about to sign Maud Gorka, when the sound of the door +opening and shutting caused her to turn. Boleslas was before her. Upon +his face was an ambiguous expression, which exasperated the unhappy wife +still more. Having returned more than an hour before, he had learned +that Maud had accompanied to the Rue Leopardi Madame Maitland, who was +ill, and he awaited her return with impatience, agitated by the thought +that Florent’s sister was no doubt ill owing to the duel of the morrow, +and in that case, Maud, too, would know all. There are conversations +and, above all, adieux which a man who is about to fight a duel always +likes to avoid. Although he forced a smile, he no longer doubted. His +wife’s evident agitation could not be explained by any other cause. +Could he divine that she had learned not only of the duel, but, too, of +an intrigue that day ended and of which she had known nothing for two +years? As she was silent, and as that silence embarrassed him, he tried, +in order to keep him in countenance, to take her hand and kiss it, as +was his custom. She repelled him with a look which he had never seen +upon her face and said to him, handing him the sheet of paper lying +before her: + +“Do you wish to read this note before I send it to Madame Steno, who is +in the salon with her daughter?” + +Boleslas took the letter. He read the terrible lines, and he became +livid. His agitation was so great that he returned the paper to his wife +without replying, without attempting to prevent, as was his duty, the +insult offered to his former mistress, whom he still loved to the point +of risking his life for her. That man, so brave and so yielding at once, +was overwhelmed by one of those surprises which put to flight all the +powers of the mind, and he watched Maud slip the note into an envelope, +write the address and ring. He heard her say to the servant: + +“You will take this note to Countess Steno and you will excuse me to the +ladies.... I feel too indisposed to receive any one. If they insist, +you will reply that I have forbidden you to admit any one. You +understand--any one.” + +The man took the note. He left the room and he had no doubt fulfilled +his errand while the husband and wife stood there, face to face, neither +of them breaking the formidable silence. They felt that the hour was a +solemn one. + +Never, since the day on which Cardinal Manning had united their +destinies in the chapel of Ardrahan Castle, had they been engaged in +a crisis so tragical. Such moments lay bare the very depths of the +character. Courageous and noble, Maud did not think of weighing her +words. She did not try to feed her jealousy, nor to accentuate the +cruelty of the cause of the insult which she had the right to launch +at the man toward whom that very morning she had been so confiding, so +tender. The baseness and the cruelty were to remain forever unknown +to the woman who no longer hesitated as to the bold resolution she +had made. No. That which she expected of the man whom she had loved so +dearly, of whom she had entertained so exalted an opinion, whom she had +just seen fall so low, was a cry of truth, an avowal in which she would +find the throb of a last remnant of honor. If he were silent it was not +because he was preparing a denial. The tenor of Maud’s letter left no +doubt as to the nature of the proofs she had in her hand, which she had +there no doubt. How? He did not ask himself that question, governed as +he was by a phenomenon in which was revealed to the full the singular +complexity of his nature. The Slav’s especial characteristic is a +prodigious, instantaneous nervousness. It seems that those beings with +the uncertain hearts have a faculty of amplifying in themselves, to the +point of absorbing the heart altogether, states of partial, passing, and +yet sincere emotion. The intensity of their momentary excitement thus +makes of them sincere comedians, who speak to you as if they felt +certain sentiments of an exclusive order, to feel contradictory ones the +day after, with the same ardor, with the same untruthfulness, unjustly +say the victims of those natures, so much the more deceitful as they are +more vibrating. + +He suffered, indeed, on discovering that Maud had been initiated into +his criminal intrigue, but he suffered more for her than for himself. It +was sufficient for that suffering to occupy a few moments, a few hours. +It reinvested the personality of the impassioned and weak husband who +loved his wife while betraying her. There was, indeed, a shade of it in +his adventure, but a very slight shade. And yet, he did not think he was +telling an untruth, when he finally broke the silence to say to her whom +he had so long deceived: + +“You have avenged yourself with much severity, Maud, but you had the +right.... I do not know who has informed you of an error which was very +culpable, very wrong, very unfortunate, too.... I know that I have in +Rome enemies bent upon my ruin, and I am sure they have left me no means +of defending myself. I have deceived you, and I have suffered.” + +He paused after those words, uttered with a tremor of conviction which +was not assumed. He had forgotten that ten minutes before he had entered +the room with the firm determination to hide his duel and its cause from +the woman for whose pardon he would at that moment have sacrificed his +life without hesitation. He continued, in a voice softened by affection: +“Whatever they have told you, whatever you have read, I swear to you, +you do not know all.” + +“I know enough,” interrupted Maud, “since I know that you have been the +lover of that woman, of the mother of my intimate friend, at my side, +under my very eyes.... If you had suffered by that deception, as you +say, you would not have waited to avow all to me until I held in my +hands the undeniable proof of your infamy.... You have cast aside the +mask, or, rather, I have wrested it from you.... I desire no more.... As +for the details of the shameful story, spare me them. It was not to hear +them that I reentered a house every corner of which reminds me that I +believed in you implicitly, and that you have betrayed me, not one day, +but every day; that you betrayed me the day before yesterday, yesterday, +this morning, an hour ago.... I repeat, that is sufficient.” + +“But it is not sufficient for me!” exclaimed Boleslas. “Yes, all you +have just said is true, and I deserve to have you tell it to me. But +that which you could not read in those letters shown to you, that which +I have kept for two years in the depths of my heart, and which must now +be told--is that, through all these fatal impulses, I have never ceased +to love you.... Ah, do not recoil from me, do not look at me thus.... I +feel it once more in the agony I have suffered since you are speaking to +me; there is something within me that has never ceased being yours. +That woman has been my aberration. She has had my madness, my senses, +my passion, all the evil instincts of my being.... You have remained my +idol, my affection, my religion.... If I lied to you it was because I +knew that the day on which you would find out my fault I should see you +before me, despairing and implacable as you now are, as I can not bear +to have you be. Ah, judge me, condemn me, curse me; but know, but feel, +that in spite of all I have loved you, I still love you.” + +Again he spoke with an enthusiasm which was not feigned. Though he +had deceived her, he recognized only too well the value of the loyal +creature before him, whom he feared he should lose. If he could not move +her at the moment when he was about to fight a duel, when could he +move her? So he approached her with the same gesture of suppliant and +impassioned adoration which he employed in the early days of their +marriage, and before his treason, when he had told her of his love. No +doubt that remembrance thrust itself upon Maud and disgusted her, for it +was with veritable horror that she again recoiled, replying: + +“Be silent! That lie is the worst of all. It pains me. I blush for you, +in seeing that you have not even the courage to acknowledge your fault. +God is my witness, I should have respected you more, had you said: ‘I +have ceased loving you. I have taken a mistress. It was convenient for +me to lie to you. I have lied. I have sacrificed all to my passion, my +honor, my duties, my vows and you.’.... Ah, speak to me like that, that +I may have with you the sentiment of truth.... But that you dare +to repeat to me words of tenderness after what you have done to me, +inspires me with repulsion. It is too bitter.” + +“Yes,” said Boleslas, “you think thus. True and simple as you are, how +could you have learned to understand what a weak will is--a will which +wishes and which does not, which rises and which falls?... And yet, if +I had not loved you, what interest would I have in lying to you? Have I +anything to conceal now? Ah, if you knew in what a position I am, on the +eve of what day, I beseech you to believe that at least the best part of +my being has never ceased to be yours!” + +It was the strongest effort he could make to bring back the heart of his +wife so deeply wounded--the allusion to his duel. For since she had not +mentioned it to him, it was no doubt because she was still ignorant of +it. He was once more startled by the reply she made, and which proved +to him to what a degree indignation had paralyzed even her love. He +resumed: + +“Do you know it?” + +“I know that you fight a duel to-morrow,” said she, “and for your +mistress, I know, too.” + +“It is not true,” he exclaimed; “it is not for her.” + +“What?” asked Maud, energetically. “Was it not on her account that you +went to the Rue Leopardi to provoke your rival? For she is not even true +to you, and it is justice. Was it not on her account that you wished +to enter the house, in spite of that rival’s brother-in-law, and that a +dispute arose between you, followed by this challenge? Was it not on her +account, and to revenge yourself, that you returned from Poland, because +you had received anonymous letters which told you all? And to know all +has not disgusted you forever with that creature?... But if she had +deigned to lie to you, she would have you still at her feet, and you +dare to tell me that you love me when you have not even cared to spare +me the affront of learning all that villainy--all that baseness, all +that disgrace--through some one else?” + +“Who was it?” he asked. “Name that Judas to me, at least?” + +“Do not speak thus,” interrupted Maud, bitterly; “you have lost the +right.... And then do not seek too far.... I have seen Madame Maitland +to-day.” + +“Madame Maitland?” repeated Boleslas. “Did Madame Maitland denounce me +to you? Did Madame Maitland write those anonymous letters?” + +“She desired to be avenged,” replied Maud, adding: “She has the right, +since your mistress robbed her of her husband.” + +“Well, I, too, will be avenged!” exclaimed the young man. “I will kill +that husband for her, after I have killed her brother. I will kill them +both, one after the other.”.... His mobile countenance, which had just +expressed the most impassioned of supplications, now expressed only +hatred and rage, and the same change took place in his immoderate +sensibility. “Of what use is it to try to settle matters?” he continued. +“I see only too well all is ended between us. Your pride and your rancor +are stronger than your love. If it had been otherwise, you would have +begged me not to fight, and you would only have reproached me, as you +have the right to do, I do not deny.... But from the moment that you +no longer love me, woe to him whom I find in my path! Woe to Madame +Maitland and to those she loves!” + +“This time at least you are sincere,” replied Maud, with renewed +bitterness. “Do you think I have not suffered sufficient humiliation? +Would you like me to supplicate you not to fight for that creature? +And do you not feel the supreme outrage which that encounter is to me? +Moreover,” she continued with tragical solemnity, “I did not summon you +to have with you a conversation as sad as it is useless, but to tell you +my resolution.... I hope that you will not oblige me to resort for its +execution to the means which the law puts in my power?” + +“I don’t deserve to be spoken to thus,” said Boleslas, haughtily. + +“I will remain here to-night,” resumed Maud, without heeding that reply, +“for the last time. To-morrow evening I shall leave for England.” + +“You are free,” said he, with a bow. + +“And I shall take my son with me,” she added. + +“Our son!” he replied, with the composure of a man overcome by an access +of tenderness and who controls himself. “That? No. I forbid it.” + +“You forbid it?” said she. “Very well, we will appeal it. I knew that +you would force me,” she continued, haughtily, in her turn, “to have +recourse to the law.... But I shall not recoil before anything. In +betraying me as you have done, you have also betrayed our child. I will +not leave him to you. You are not worthy of him.” + +“Listen, Maud,” said Boleslas, sadly, after a pause, “remember that it +is perhaps the last time we shall meet.... To-morrow, if I am killed, +you shall do as you like.... If I live, I promise to consent to any +arrangement that will be just.... What I ask of you is--and I have the +right, notwithstanding my faults--in the name of our early years of +wedded life, in the name of that son himself, to leave me in a different +way, to have a feeling, I don’t say of pardon, but of pity.” + +“Did you have it for me,” she replied, “when you were following your +passion by way of my heart? No!”.... And she walked before him in order +to reach the door, fixing upon him eyes so haughty that he involuntarily +lowered his. “You have no longer a wife and I have no longer a +husband.... I am no Madame Maitland; I do not avenge myself by means of +anonymous letters nor by denunciation.... But to pardon you?... Never, +do you hear, never!” + +With those words she left the room, with those words into which she put +all the indomitable energy of her character.... Boleslas did not essay +to detain her. When, an hour after that horrible conversation, his valet +came to inform him that dinner was served, the wretched man was still +in the same place, his elbow on the mantelpiece and his forehead in +his hand. He knew Maud too well to hope that she would change her +determination, and there was in him, in spite of his faults, his folly +and his complications, too much of the real gentleman to employ means +of violence and to detain her forcibly, when he had erred so gravely. So +she went thus. If, just before, he had exaggerated the expression of his +feelings in saying, in thinking rather, that he had never ceased loving +her, it was true that amid all his errors he had maintained for her an +affection composed particularly of gratitude, remorse, esteem and, it +must be said, of selfishness. + +He loved for the devotion of which he was absolutely sure, and then, +like many husbands who deceive an irreproachable wife, he was proud of +her, while unfaithful to her. She seemed to him at once the dignity and +the charity of his life. She had remained in his eyes the one to whom he +could always return, the assured friend of moments of trial, the haven +after the tempest, the moral peace when he was weary of the troubles of +passion. What life would he lead when she was gone? For she would go! +Her resolution was irrevocable. All dropped from his side at once. The +mistress, to whom he had sacrificed the noblest and most loving heart, +he had lost under circumstances as abject as their two years of passion +had been dishonorable. His wife was about to leave him, and would he +succeed in keeping his son? He had returned to be avenged, and he had +not even succeeded in meeting his rival. That being so impressionable +had experienced, in the face of so many repeated blows, a disappointment +so absolute that he gladly looked forward to the prospect of exposing +himself to death on the following day, while at the same time a +bitter flood of rancor possessed him at the thought of all the persons +concerned in his adventure. He would have liked to crush Madame Steno +and Maitland, Lydia and Florent--Dorsenne, too--for having given him the +false word of honor, which had strengthened still more his thirst for +vengeance by calming it for a few hours. + +His confusion of thoughts was only greater when he was seated alone +with his son at dinner. That morning he had seen before him his wife’s +smiling face. The absence of her whom at that moment he valued above all +else was so sad to him that he ventured one last attempt, and after +the meal he sent little Luc to see if his mother would receive him. The +child returned with a reply in the negative. “Mamma is resting.... She +does not wish to be disturbed.” So the matter was irremissible. She +would not see her husband until the morrow--if he lived. For vainly did +Boleslas convince himself that afternoon that he had lost none of his +skill in practising before his admiring seconds; a duel is always +a lottery. He might be killed, and if the possibility of an eternal +separation had not moved the injured woman, what prayer would move her? +He saw her in his thoughts--her who at that moment, with blinds drawn, +all lights subdued, endured in the semi-darkness that suffering which +curses but does not pardon. Ah, but that sight was painful to him! And, +in order that she might at least know how he felt, he took their son in +his arms, and, pressing him to his breast, said: “If you see your mother +before I do, you will tell her that we spent a very lonesome evening +without her, will you not?” + +“Why, what ails you?” exclaimed the child. “You have wet my cheeks with +tears--you are sweeping!” + +“You will tell her that, too, promise me,” replied the father, “so that +she will take good care of herself, seeing how we love her.” + +“But,” said the little boy, “she was not ill when we walked together +after breakfast. She was so gay.” + +“I think, too, it will be nothing serious,” replied Gorka. He was +obliged to dismiss his son and to go out. He felt so horribly sad that +he was physically afraid to remain alone in the house. But whither +should he go? Mechanically he repaired to the club, although it was too +early to meet many of the members there. He came upon Pietrapertosa and +Cibo, who had dined there, and who, seated on one of the divans, were +conferring in whispers with the gravity of two ambassadors discussing +the Bulgarian or Egyptian question. + +“You have a very nervous air,” they said to Boleslas, “you who were in +such good form this afternoon.” + +“Yes,” said Cibo, “you should have dined with us as we asked you to.” + +“When one is to fight a duel,” continued Pietrapertosa, sententiously, +“one should see neither one’s wife nor one’s mistress. Madame Gorka +suspects nothing, I hope?” + +“Absolutely nothing,” replied Boleslas; “you are right. I should have +done better not to have left you. But, here I am. We will exorcise +dismal thoughts by playing cards and supping!” + +“By playing cards and supping!” exclaimed Pietrapertosa. “And your hand? +Think of your hand.... You will tremble, and you will miss your man.” + +“Alright dinner,” said Cibo, “to bed at ten o’clock, up at six-thirty, +and two eggs with a glass of old port is the recipe Machault gives.” + +“And which I shall not follow,” said Boleslas, adding: “I give you my +word that if I had no other cause for care than this duel, you would not +see me in this condition.” He uttered that phrase in a tragical voice, +the sincerity of which the two Italians felt. They looked at each +other without speaking. They were too shrewd and too well aware of the +simplest scandals of Rome not to have divined the veritable cause of the +encounter between Florent and Boleslas. On the other hand, they knew the +latter too well not to mistrust somewhat his attitudes. However, there +was such simple emotion in his accent that they spontaneously pitied +him, and, without another word, they no longer opposed the caprices of +their strange client, whom they did not leave until two o’clock in the +morning--and fortune favored them. For they found themselves at the end +of a game, recklessly played, each the richer by two or three hundred +louis apiece. That meant a few days more in Paris on the next visit. +They, too, truly regretted their friend’s luck, saying, on separating: + +“I very much fear for him,” said Cibo. “Such luck at gaming, the night +before a duel--bad sign, very bad sign.” + +“So much the more so that some one was there,” replied Pietrapertosa, +making with his fingers the sign which conjures the jettutura. For +nothing in the world would he have named the personages against whose +evil eye he provided in that manner. But Cibo understood him, and, +drawing from his trousers pocket his watch, which he fastened a +l’anglaise by a safety chain to his belt, he pointed out among the +charms a golden horn: + +“I have not let it go this evening,” said he. “The worst is, that Gorka +will not sleep, and then, his hand!” + +Only the first of those two prognostics was to be verified. Returning +home at that late hour, Boleslas did not even retire. He employed the +remainder of the night in writing a long letter to his wife, one to his +son, to be given to him on his eighteenth birthday, all in case of an +accident. Then he examined his papers and he came upon the package of +letters he had received from Madame Steno. Merely to reread a few of +them, and to glance at the portraits of that faithless mistress again, +heightened his anger to such a degree that he enclosed the whole in a +large envelope, which he addressed to Lincoln Maitland. He had no sooner +sealed it than he shrugged his shoulders, saying: “Of what use?” He +raised the piece of material which stopped up the chimney, and, placing +the envelope on the fire-dogs, he set it on fire. He shook with the +tongs the remains of that which had been the most ardent, the most +complete passion of his life, and he relighted the flames under the +pieces of paper still intact. The unreasonable employment of a night +which might be his last had scarcely paled his face. But his friends, +who knew him well, started on seeing him with that impassively sinister +countenance when he alighted from his phaeton, at about eight o’clock, +at the inn selected for the meeting. He had ordered the carriage the day +before to allay his wife’s suspicions by the pretense of taking one of +his usual morning drives. In his mental confusion he had forgotten to +give a counter order, and that accident caused him to escape the two +policemen charged by the questorship to watch the Palazzetto Doria, on +Lydia Maitland’s denunciation. The hired victoria, which those agents +took, soon lost track of the swift English horses, driven as a man of +his character and of his mental condition could drive. + +The precaution of Chapron’s sister was, therefore, baffled in that +direction, and she succeeded no better with regard to her brother, who, +to avoid all explanation with Lincoln, had gone, under the pretext of a +visit to the country, to dine and sleep at the hotel. It was there that +Montfanon and Dorsenne met him to conduct him to the rendezvous in the +classical landau. Hardly had they reached the eminence of the circus of +Maxence, on the Appian Way, when they were passed by Boleslas’s phaeton. + +“You can rest very easy,” said Montfanon to Florent. “How can one aim +correctly when one tires one’s arm in that way?” + +That had been the only allusion to the duel made between the three men +during the journey, which had taken about an hour. Florent talked as he +usually did, asking all sorts of questions which attested his care +for minute information--the most of which might be utilized by his +brother-in-law-and the Marquis had replied by evoking, with his habitual +erudition, several of the souvenirs which peopled that vast country, +strewn with tombs, aqueducts, ruined villas, with the line of the Monts +Albains enclosing them beyond. + +Dorsenne was silent. It was the first affair at which he had assisted, +and his nervous anxiety was extreme. + +Tragical presentiments oppressed him, and at the same time he +apprehended momentarily that, Montfanon’s religious scruples +reawakening, he would not only have to seek another second, but would +have to defer a solution so near. However, the struggle which was taking +place in the heart of the “old leaguer” between the gentleman and +the Christian, was displayed during the drive only by an almost +imperceptible gesture. As the carriage passed the entrance to the +catacomb of St. Calixtus, the former soldier of the Pope turned away his +head. Then he resumed the conversation with redoubled energy, to pause +in his turn, however, when the landau took, a little beyond the Tomb of +Caecilia, a transverse road in the direction of the Ardeatine Way. It +was there that ‘l’Osteria del tempo perso’ was built, upon the ground +belonging to Cibo, on which the duel was to take place. + +Before l’Osteria, whose signboard was surmounted by the arms of Pope +Innocent VIII, three carriages were already waiting--Gorka’s phaeton, +a landau which had brought Cibo, Pietrapertosa and the doctor, and +a simple botte, in which a porter had come. That unusual number of +vehicles seemed likely to attract the attention of riflemen out for +a stroll, but Cibo answered for the discretion of the innkeeper, who +indeed cherished for his master the devotion of vassal to lord, still +common in Italy. The three newcomers had no need to make the slightest +explanation. Hardly had they alighted from the carriage, when the maid +conducted them through the hall, where at that moment two huntsmen were +breakfasting, their guns between their knees, and who, like true Romans, +scarcely deigned to glance at the strangers, who passed from the common +hall into a small court, from that court, through a shed, into a large +field enclosed by boards, with here and there a few pine-trees. + +That rather odd duelling-ground had formerly served Cibo as a paddock. +He had essayed to increase his slender income by buying at a bargain +some jaded horses, which he intended fattening by means of rest and +good fodder, and then selling to cabmen, averaging a small profit. The +speculation having miscarried, the place was neglected and unused, save +under circumstances similar to those of this particular morning. + +“We have arrived last,” said Montfanon, looking at his watch; “we are, +however, five minutes ahead of time. Remember,” he added in a low voice, +turning to Florent, “to keep the body well in the background,” these +words being followed by other directions. + +“Thanks,” replied Florent, who looked at the Marquis and Dorsenne with +a glance which he ordinarily had only for Lincoln, “and you know that, +whatever may come, I thank you for all from the depths of my heart.” + +The young man put so much grace in that adieu, his courage was so +simple, his sacrifice for his brother-in-law so magnanimous and +natural--in fact, for two days both seconds had so fully appreciated the +charm of that disposition, absolutely free from thoughts of self--that +they pressed his hand with the emotion of true friends. They were +themselves, moreover, interested, and at once began the series of +preparations without which the role of assistant would be physically +insupportable to persons endowed with a little sensibility. In +experienced hands like those of Montfanon, Cibo and Pietrapertosa, such +preliminaries are speedily arranged. The code is as exact as the step +of a ballet. Twenty minutes after the entrance of the last arrivals, the +two adversaries were face to face. The signal was given. The two shots +were fired simultaneously, and Florent sank upon the grass which covered +the enclosure. He had a bullet in his thigh. + +Dorsenne has often related since, as a singular trait of literary mania, +that at the moment the wounded man fell he, himself, notwithstanding +the anxiety which possessed him, had watched Montfanon, to study him. He +adds that never had he seen a face express such sorrowful piety as that +of the man who, scorning all human respect, made the sign of the cross. +It was the devotee of the catacombs, who had left the altar of the +martyrs to accomplish a work of charity, then carried away by anger so +far as to place himself under the necessity of participating in a duel, +who was, no doubt, asking pardon of God. What remorse was stirring +within the heart of the fervent, almost mystical Christian, so strangely +mixed up in an adventure of that kind? He had at least this comfort, +that after the first examination, and when they had borne Florent into +a room prepared hastily by the care of Cibo, the doctor declared himself +satisfied. The ball could even be removed at once, and as neither the +bone nor the muscles had been injured it was a matter of a few weeks at +the most. + +“All that now remains for us,” concluded Cibo, who had brought back the +news, “is to draw up our official report.” + +At that instant, and as the witnesses were preparing to reenter the +house for the last formality, an incident occurred, very unexpected, +which was to transform the encounter, up to that time so simple, into +one of those memorable duels which are talked over at clubs and in +armories. If Pietrapertosa and Cibo had ceased since morning to believe +in the jettatura of the “some one” whom neither had named, it must be +acknowledged that they were very unjust, for the good fortune of having +gained something wherewith to swell their Parisian purses was surely +naught by the side of this--to have to discuss with the Cavals, the +Machaults and other professionals the case, almost unprecedented, in +which they were participants. + +Boleslas Gorka, who, when once his adversary had fallen, paced to and +fro without seeming to care as to the gravity of the wound, suddenly +approached the group formed by the four men, and in a tone of voice +which did not predict the terrible aggression in which he was about to +indulge, he said: + +“One moment, gentlemen. I desire to say a few words in your presence to +Monsieur Dorsenne.” + +“I am at your service, Gorka,” replied Julien, who did not suspect the +hostile intention of his old friend. He did not divine the form which +that hostility was about to take, but he had always upon his mind his +word of honor falsely given, and he was prepared to answer for it. + +“It will not take much time, sir,” continued Boleslas, still with the +same insolently formal politeness, “you know we have an account to +settle.... But as I have some cause not to believe in the validity of +your honor, I should like to remove all cause of evasion.” And before +any one could interfere in the unheard-of proceedings he had raised his +glove and struck Dorsenne in the face. As Gorka spoke, the writer turned +pale. He had not the time to reply to the audacious insult offered him +by a similar one, for the three witnesses of the scene cast themselves +between him and his aggressor. He, however, pushed them aside with a +resolute air. + +“Remember, sirs,” said he, “that by preventing me from inflicting +on Monsieur Gorka the punishment he deserves, you force me to obtain +another reparation. And I demand it immediately.... I will not leave +this place,” he continued, “without having obtained it.” + +“Nor I, without having given it to you,” replied Boleslas. “It is all I +ask.” + +“No, Dorsenne,” cried Montfanon, who had been the first to seize the +raised arm of the writer, “you shall not fight thus. First, you have no +right. It requires at least twenty-four hours between the provocation +and the encounter.... And you, sirs, must not agree to serve as seconds +for Monsieur Gorka, after he has failed in a manner so grave in all the +rules of the ground.... If you lend yourselves to it, it is barbarous, +it is madness, whatsoever you like. It is no longer a duel.” + +“I repeat, Montfanon,” replied Dorsenne, “that I will not leave here and +that I will not allow Monsieur Gorka to leave until I have obtained the +reparation to which I feel I have the right.” + +“And I repeat that I am at Monsieur Dorsenne’s service,” replied +Boleslas. + +“Very well, sirs,” said Montfanon. “There only remains for us to +leave you to arrange it one with the other as you wish, and for us to +withdraw.... Is not that your opinion?” he continued, addressing Cibo +and Pietrapertosa, who did not reply immediately. + +“Certainly,” finally said one; “the case is difficult.” + +“There are, however, precedents,” insinuated the other. + +“Yes,” resumed Cibo, “if it were only the two successive duels of Henry +de Pene.” + +“Which furnish authority,” concluded Pietrapertosa. + +“Authority has nothing to do with it,” again exclaimed Montfanon. “I +know, for my part, that I am not here to assist at a butchery, and that +I will not assist at it.... I am going, sirs, and I expect you will do +the same, for I do not suppose you would select coachmen to play the +part of seconds.... Adieu, Dorsenne.... You do not doubt my friendship +for you.... I think I am giving you a veritable proof of it by not +permitting you to fight under such conditions.” + +When the old nobleman reentered the inn, he waited ten minutes, +persuaded that his departure would determine that of Cibo and of +Pietrapertosa, and that the new affair, following so strangely upon the +other, would be deferred until the next day. He had not told an untruth. +It was his strong friendship for Julien which had made him apprehend +a duel organized in that way, under the influence of a righteous +indignation. Gorka’s unjustifiable violence would certainly not permit +a second encounter to be avoided. But as the insult had been outrageous, +it was the more essential that the conditions should be fixed calmly and +after grave consideration. To divert his impatience, Montfanon bade +the innkeeper point out to him whither they had carried Florent, and +he ascended to the tiny room, where the doctor was dressing the wounded +man’s leg. + +“You see,” said the latter, with a smile, “I shall have to limp a little +for a month.... And Dorsenne?” + +“He is all right, I hope,” replied Montfanon, adding, with ill-humor: +“Dorsenne is a fool; that is what Dorsenne is. And Gorka is a wild +beast; that is what Gorka is.” And he related the episode which had +just taken place to the two men, who were so surprised that the doctor, +bandage in hand, paused in his work. “And they wish to fight there at +once, like redskins. Why not scalp one another?... And that Cibo and +that Pietrapertosa would have consented to the duel if I had not opposed +it! Fortunately they lack two seconds, and it is not easy to find in +this district two men who can sign an official report, for it is the +mode nowadays to have those paltry scraps of paper. One of my friends +and myself had two such witnesses at twenty francs apiece. But that was +in Paris in ‘sixty-two.” And he entered upon the recital of the old-time +duel, to calm his anxiety, which burst forth again in these words: “It +seems they do not decide to separate so quickly. It is not, however, +possible that they will fight.... Can we see them from here?” He +approached the window, which indeed looked upon the enclosure. The +sight which met his eyes caused the excellent man to stammer.... “The +miserable men!... It is monstrous.... They are mad.... They have found +seconds.... Whom have they taken?... Those two huntsmen!... Ali, my God! +My God!”.... He could say no more. The doctor had hastened to the window +to see what was passing, regardless of the fact that Florent dragged +himself thither as well. Did they remain there a few seconds, fifteen +minutes or longer? They could never tell, so greatly were they +terrified. + +As Montfanon had anticipated, the conditions of the duel were terrible. +For Pietrapertosa, who seemed to direct the combat, after having +measured a space sufficiently long, of about fifty feet, was in the act +of tracing in the centre two lines scarcely ten or twelve metres apart. + +“They have chosen the duel a ‘marche interrompue’,” groaned the veteran +duellist, whose knowledge of the ground did not deceive him. Dorsenne +and Gorka, once placed, face to face, commenced indeed to advance, now +raising, now lowering their weapons with the terrible slowness of two +adversaries resolved not to miss their mark. + +A shot was fired. It was by Boleslas. Dorsenne was unharmed. Several +steps had still to be taken in order to reach the limit. He took them, +and he paused to aim at his opponent with so evident an intention of +killing him that they could distinctly hear Cibo cry: + +“Fire! For God’s sake, fire!” + +Julien pressed the trigger, as if in obedience to that order, incorrect, +but too natural to be even noticed. The weapon was discharged, and the +three spectators at the window of the bedroom uttered three simultaneous +exclamations on seeing Gorka’s arm fall and his hand drop the pistol. + +“It is nothing,” cried the doctor, “but a broken arm.” + +“The good Lord has been better to us than we deserve,” said the Marquis. + +“Now, at least, the madman will be quieted.... Brave Dorsenne!” cried +Florent, who thought of his brother-in-law and who added gayly, leaning +on Montfanon and the doctor in order to reach the couch: “Finish +quickly, doctor, they will need you below immediately.” + + + + +BOOK 4. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. LUCID ALBA + +The doctor had diagnosed the case correctly. Dorsenne’s ball had struck +Gorka below the wrist. Two centimetres more to the right or to the +left, and undoubtedly Boleslas would have been killed. He escaped with +a fracture of the forearm, which would confine him for a few days to +his room, and which would force him to submit for several weeks to the +annoyance of a sling. When he was taken home and his personal physician, +hastily summoned, made him a bandage and prescribed for the first few +days bed and rest, he experienced a new access of rage, which exceeded +the paroxysms of the day before and of that morning. All parts of his +soul, the noblest as well as the meanest, bled at once and caused him to +suffer with another agony than that occasioned by his wounded arm. Was +he satisfied in the desire, almost morbid, to figure in the eyes of +those who knew him as an extraordinary personage? He had hastened from +Poland through Europe as an avenger of his betrayed love, and he had +begun by missing his rival. Instead of provoking him immediately in +the salon of Villa Steno, he had waited, and another had had time to +substitute himself for the one he had wished to chastise. The other, +whose death would at least have given a tragical issue to the adventure, +Boleslas had scarcely touched. He had hoped in striking Dorsenne to +execute at least one traitor whom he considered as having trifled with +the most sacred of confidences. He had simply succeeded in giving that +false friend occasion to humiliate him bitterly, leaving out of the +question that he had rendered it impossible to fight again for many +days. None of the persons who had wronged him would be punished for +some time, neither his coarse and cowardly rival, nor his perfidious +mistress, nor monstrous Lydia Maitland, whose infamy he had just +discovered. They were all happy and triumphant, on that lovely, radiant +May day, while he tossed on a bed of pain, and it was proven too clearly +to him that very afternoon by his two seconds, the only visitors whom +he had not denied admission, and who came to see him about five o’clock. +They came from the races of Tor di Quinto, which had taken place that +day. + +“All is well,” began Cibo, “I will guarantee that no one has talked.... +I have told you before, I am sure of my innkeeper, and we have paid the +witnesses and the coachman.” + +“Were Madame Steno and her daughter at the races?” interrupted Boleslas. + +“Yes,” replied the Roman, whom the abruptness of the question surprised +too much for him to evade it with his habitual diplomacy. + +“With whom?” asked the wounded man. + +“Alone, that time,” replied Cibo, with an eagerness in which Boleslas +distinguished an intention to deceive him. + +“And Madame Maitland?” + +“She was there, too, with her husband,” said Pietrapertosa, heedless of +Cibo’s warning glances, “and all Rome besides,” adding: “Do you know +the engagement of Ardea and little Hafner is public? They were all three +there, the betrothed and the father, and so happy! I vow, it was fine. +Cardinal Guerillot baptized pretty Fanny.” + +“And Dorsenne?” again questioned the invalid. + +“He was there,” said Cibo. “You will be vexed when I tell you of the +reply he dared to make us. We asked him how he had managed--nervous +as he is--to aim at you as he aimed, without trembling. For he did +not tremble. And guess what he replied? That he thought of a recipe of +Stendhal’s--to recite from memory four Latin verses, before firing. ‘And +might one know what you chose?’ I asked of him. Thereupon he repeated: +‘Tityre, tu patulae recubens!” + +“It is a case which recalls the word of Casal,” interrupted +Pietrapertosa, “when that snob of a Figon recommended to us at the +club his varnish manufactured from a recipe of a valet of the Prince of +Wales. If the young man is not settled by us, I shall be sorry for him.” + +Although the two ‘confreres’ had repeated that mediocre pleasantry a +hundred times, they laughed at the top of their sonorous voices and +succeeded in entirely unnerving the injured man. He gave as a pretext +his need of rest to dismiss the fine fellows, of whose sympathy he was +assured, whom he had just found loyal and devoted, but who caused him +pain in conjuring up, in answer to his question, the images of all his +enemies. When one is suffering from a certain sort of pain, remarks like +those naively exchanged between the two Roman imitators of Casal are +intolerable to the hearer. One desires to be alone to feed upon, at +least in peace, the bitter food, the exasperating and inefficacious +rancor against people and against fate, with which Gorka at that moment +felt his heart to be so full. The presence of his former mistress at the +races, and on that afternoon, wounded him more cruelly than the rest. +He did not doubt that she knew through Maitland, himself, certainly +informed by Chapron, of the two duels and of his injury. It was on her +account that he had fought, and that very day she appeared in public, +smiling, coquetting, as if two years of passion had not united their +lives, as if he were to her merely a social acquaintance, a guest at her +dinners and her soirees. He knew her habits so well, and how eagerly, +when she loved, she drank in the presence of him she loved. No doubt she +had an appointment on the race-course with Maitland, as she had formerly +had with him, and the painter had gone thither when he should have cared +for his courageous, his noble brother-in-law, whom he had allowed to +fight for him! What a worthy lover the selfish and brutal American was +of that vile creature! The image of the happy couple tortured Boleslas +with the bitterest jealousy intermingled with disgust, and, by contrast, +he thought of his own wife, the proud and tender Maud whom he had lost. + +He pictured to himself other illnesses when he had seen that beautiful +nurse by his bedside. He saw again the true glance with which that wife, +so shamefully betrayed, looked at him, the movements of her loyal hands, +which yielded to no one the care of waiting upon him. To-day she had +allowed him to go to a duel without seeing him. He had returned. She had +not even inquired as to his wound. The doctor had dressed it without +her presence, and all that he knew of her was what he learned from their +child. For he sent for Luc. He explained to him his broken arm, as +had been agreed upon with his friends, by a fall on the staircase, and +little Luc replied: + +“When will you join us, then? Mamma says we leave for England this +evening or in the morning. All the trunks are almost ready.” + +That evening or to-morrow? So Maud was going to execute her threat. She +was going away forever, and without an explanation. He could not even +plead his cause once more to the woman who certainly would not respond +to another appeal, since she had found, in her outraged pride, the +strength to be severe, when he was in danger of death. In the face +of that evidence of the desertion of all connected with him, Boleslas +suffered one of those accesses of discouragement, deep, absolute, +irremediable, in which one longs to sleep forever. He asked himself: +“Were I to try one more step?” and he replied: “She will not!” when his +valet entered with word that the Countess desired to speak with him. +His agitation was so extreme that, for a second, he fancied it was with +regard to Madame Steno, and he was almost afraid to see his wife enter. + +Without any doubt, the emotions undergone during the past few days had +been very great. He had, however, experienced none more violent, even +beneath the pistol raised by Dorsenne, than that of seeing advance to +his bed the embodiment of his remorse. Maud’s face, in which ordinarily +glowed the beauty of a blood quickened by the English habits of fresh +air and daily exercise, showed undeniable traces of tears, of sadness, +and of insomnia. The pallor of the cheeks, the dark circles beneath the +eyes, the dryness of the lips and their bitter expression, the feverish +glitter, above all, in the eyes, related more eloquently than words the +terrible agony of which she was the victim. The past twenty-four hours +had acted upon her like certain long illnesses, in which it seems that +the very essence of the organism is altered. She was another person. +The rapid metamorphosis, so tragical and so striking, caused Boleslas to +forget his own anguish. He experienced nothing but one great regret when +the woman, so visibly bowed down by grief, was seated, and when he saw +in her eyes the look of implacable coldness, even through the fever, +before which he had recoiled the day before. But she was there, and her +unhoped-for presence was to the young man, even under the circumstances, +an infinite consolation. He, therefore, said, with an almost childish +grace, which he could assume when he desired to please: + +“You recognized the fact that it would be too cruel of you to go away +without seeing me again. I should not have dared to ask it of you, and +yet it was the only pleasure I could have.... I thank you for having +given it to me.” + +“Do not thank me,” replied Maud, shaking her head, “it is not on +your account that I am here. It is from duty.... Let me speak,” she +continued, stopping by a gesture her husband’s reply, “you can answer me +afterward.... Had it only been a question of you and of me, I repeat, I +should not have seen you again.... But, as I told you yesterday, we have +a son.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed Boleslas, sadly. “It is to make me still more wretched +that you have come.... You should remember, however, that I am in no +condition to discuss with you so cruel a question.... I thought I had +already said that I would not disregard your rights on condition that +you did not disregard mine.” + +“It is not of my rights that I wish to speak, nor of yours,” interrupted +Maud, “but of his, the only ones of importance. When I left you +yesterday, I was suffering too severely to feel anything but my pain. It +was then that, in my mental agony, I recalled words repeated to me by my +father: ‘When one suffers, he should look his grief in the face, and it +will always teach him something.’ I was ashamed of my weakness, and I +looked my grief in the face. It taught me, first, to accept it as a +just punishment for having married against the advice and wishes of my +father.” + +“Ah, do not abjure our past!” cried the young man; “the past which has +remained so dear to me through all.” + +“No, I do not abjure it,” replied Maud, “for it was on recurring to +it--it was on returning to my early impressions--that I could find not +an excuse, but an explanation of your conduct. I remembered what you +related to me of the misfortunes of your childhood and of your youth, +and how you had grown up between your father and your mother, passing +six months with one, six months with the other--not caring for, not +being able to judge either of them--forced to hide from one your +feelings for the other. I saw for the first time that your parents’ +separation had the effect of saddening your heart at that epoch. It +is that which perverted your character.... And I read in advance Luc’s +history in yours.... Listen, Boleslas! I speak to you as I would speak +before God! My first feeling when that thought presented itself to my +mind was not to resume life with you; such a life would be henceforth +too bitter. No, it was to say to myself, I will have my son to myself. +He shall feel my influence alone. I saw you set out this morning--set +out to insult me once more, to sacrifice me once more! If you had been +truly repentant would you have offered me that last affront? And when +you returned--when they informed me that you had a broken arm--I wished +to tell the little one myself that you were ill.... I saw how much he +loved you, I discovered what a place you already occupied in his heart, +and I comprehended that, even if the law gave him to me, as I know it +would, his childhood would be like yours, his youth like your youth.” + +“Then,” she went on, with an accent in which emotion struggled through +her pride, “I did not feel justified in destroying the respect so deep, +the love so true, he bears you, and I have come to say to you: You have +wronged me greatly. You have killed within me something that will never +come to life again. I feel that for years I shall carry a weight on my +mind and on my heart at the thought that you could have betrayed me as +you have. But I feel that for our boy this separation on which I had +resolved is too perilous. I feel that I shall find in the certainty +of avoiding a moral danger for him the strength to continue a common +existence, and I will continue it. But human nature is human nature, and +that strength I can have only on one condition.” + +“And that is?” asked Boleslas. Maud’s speech, for it was a speech +carefully reflected upon, every phrase of which had been weighed by that +scrupulous conscience, contrasted strongly in its lucid reasoning with +the state of nervous excitement in which he had lived for several days. +He had been more pained by it than he would have been by passionate +reproaches. At the same time he had been moved by the reference to his +son’s love for him, and he felt that if he did not become reconciled +with Maud at that moment his future domestic life would be ended. There +was a little of each sentiment in the few words he added to the anxiety +of his question. “Although you have spoken to me very severely, and +although you might have said the same thing in other terms, although, +above all, it is very painful to me to have you condemn my entire +character on one single error, I love you, I love my son, and I agree +in advance to your conditions. I esteem your character too much to doubt +that they will be reconcilable with my dignity. As for the duel of this +morning,” he added, “you know very well that it was too late to withdraw +without dishonor.” + +“I should like your promise, first of all,” replied Madame Gorka, who +did not answer his last remark, “that during the time in which you are +obliged to keep your room no one shall be admitted.... I could not bear +that creature in my house, nor any one who would speak to me or to you +of her.” + +“I promise,” said the young man, who felt a flood of warmth enter his +soul at the first proof that the jealousy of the loving woman still +existed beneath the indignation of the wife. And he added, with a smile, +“That will not be a great sacrifice. And then?” + +“Then?... That the doctor will permit us to go to England. We will leave +orders for the management of things during our absence. We will go this +winter wherever you like, but not to this house; never again to this +city.” + +“That is a promise, too,” said Boleslas, “and that will be no great +sacrifice either; and then?” + +“And then,” said she in a low voice, as if ashamed of herself. “You must +never write to her, you must never try to find out what has become of +her.” + +“I give you my word,” replied Boleslas, taking her hand, and adding: +“And then?” + +“There is no then,” said she, withdrawing her hand, but gently. And she +began to realize herself her promise of pardon, for she rearranged the +pillows under the wounded man’s head, while he resumed: + +“Yes, my noble Maud, there is a then. It is that I shall prove to you +how much truth there was in my words of yesterday, in my assurance that +I love you in spite of my faults. It is the mother who returns to me +today. But I want my wife, my dear wife, and I shall win her back.” + +She made no reply. She experienced, on hearing him pronounce those last +words with a transfigured face, an emotion which did not vanish. She had +acquired, beneath the shock of her great sorrow, an intuition too deep +of her husband’s nature, and that facility, which formerly charmed her +by rendering her anxious, now inspired her with horror. That man with +the mobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himself. +It sufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparation of years, and +to respect himself for it--as if that was really sufficient--for the +difficult task. At least during the eight days which lapsed between that +conversation and their departure he strictly observed the promise he had +given his wife. In vain did Cibo, Pietrapertosa, Hafner, Ardea try to +see him. When the train which bore them away steamed out he asked his +wife, with a pride that time justified by deeds: + +“Are you satisfied with me?” + +“I am satisfied that we have left Rome,” said she, evasively, and it was +true in two senses of the word: + +First of all, because she did not delude herself with regard to the +return of the moral energy of which Boleslas was so proud. She knew that +his variable will was at the mercy of the first sensation. Then, what +she had not confessed to her husband, the sorrow of a broken friendship +was joined in her to the sorrows of a betrayed wife. The sudden +discovery of the infamy of Alba’s mother had not destroyed her strong +affection for the young girl, and during the entire week, busy with +her preparations for a final departure, she had not ceased to wonder +anxiously: “What will she think of my silence?... What has her mother +told her?... What has she divined?” + +She had loved the “poor little soul,” as she called the Contessina in +her pretty English term. She had devoted to her the friendship peculiar +to young women for young girls--a sentiment--very strong and yet very +delicate, which resembles, in its tenderness, the devotion of an elder +sister for a younger. There is in it a little naive protection and also +a little romantic and gracious melancholy. The elder friend is severe +and critical. She tries to assuage, while envying them, the excessive +enthusiasms of the younger. She receives, she provokes her confidence +with the touching gravity of a counsellor. The younger friend is curious +and admiring. She shows herself in all the truth of that graceful +awakening of thoughts and emotions which precede her own period before +marriage. And when there is, as was the case with Alba Steno, a +certain discord of soul between that younger friend and her mother, +the affection for the sister chosen becomes so deep that it can not be +broken without wounds on both sides. It was for that reason that, on +leaving Rome, faithful and noble Maud experienced at once a sense of +relief and of pain--of relief, because she was no longer exposed to the +danger of an explanation with Alba; of pain, because it was so bitter +a thought for her that she could never justify her heart to her friend, +could never aid her in emerging from the difficulties of her life, +could, finally, never love her openly as she had loved her secretly. +She said to herself as she saw the city disappear in the night with its +curves and its lights: + +“If she thinks badly of me, may she divine nothing! Who will now prevent +her from yielding herself up to her sentiment for that dangerous and +perfidious Dorsenne? Who will console her when she is sad? Who will +defend her against her mother? I was perhaps wrong in writing to the +woman, as I did, the letter, which might have been delivered to her in +her daughter’s presence.... Ah, poor little soul!... May God watch over +her!” + +She turned, then, toward her son, whose hair she stroked, as if to +exorcise, by the evidence of present duty, the nostalgia which possessed +her at the thought of an affection sacrificed forever. Hers was a nature +too active, too habituated to the British virtue of self-control to +submit to the languor of vain emotions. + +The two persons of whom her friendship, now impotent, had thought, were, +for various reasons, the two fatal instruments of the fate of the “poor +little soul,” and the vague remorse which Maud herself felt with regard +to the terrible note sent to Madame Steno in the presence of the young +girl, was only too true. When the servant had given that letter to +the Countess, saying that Madame Gorka excused herself on account of +indisposition, Alba Steno’s first impulse had been to enter her friend’s +room. + +“I will go to embrace her and to see if she has need of anything,” she +said. + +“Madame has forbidden any one to enter her room,” replied the footman, +with embarrassment, and, at the same moment, Madame Steno, who had just +opened the note, said, in a voice which struck the young girl by its +change: + +“Let us go; I do not feel well, either.” + +The woman, so haughty, so accustomed to bend all to her will, was indeed +trembling in a very pitiful manner beneath the insult of those phrases +which drove her, Caterina Steno, away with such ignominy. She paled to +the roots of her fair hair, her face was distorted, and for the first +and last time Alba saw her form tremble. It was only for a few +moments. At the foot of the staircase energy gained the mastery in that +courageous character, created for the shock of strong emotions and +for instantaneous action. But rapid as had been that passage, it had +sufficed to disconcert the young girl. For not a moment did she doubt +that the note was the cause of that extraordinary metamorphosis in the +Countess’s aspect and attitude. The fact that Maud would not receive +her, her friend, in her room was not less strange. What was happening? +What did the letter contain? What were they hiding from her? If she had, +the day before, felt the “needle in the heart” only on divining a scene +of violent explanation between her mother and Boleslas Gorka, how would +she have been agonized to ascertain the state into which the few lines +of Boleslas’s wife had cast that mother! The anonymous denunciation +recurred to her, and with it all the suspicion she had in vain rejected. +The mother was unaware that for months there was taking place in her +daughter a moral drama of which that scene formed a decisive episode, +she was too shrewd not to understand that her emotion had been very +imprudent, and that she must explain it. Moreover, the rupture with Maud +was irreparable, and it was necessary that Alba should be included in +it. + +The mother, at once so guilty and so loving, so blind and so +considerate, had no sooner foreseen the necessity than her decision was +made, and a false explanation invented: + +“Guess what Maud has just written me?” said she, brusquely, to her +daughter, when they were seated side by side in their carriage. God, +what balm the simple phrase introduced into Alba’s heart! Her mother was +about to show her the note! Her joy was short-lived! The note remained +where the Countess had slipped it, after having nervously folded it, in +the opening in her glove. And she continued: “She accuses me of being +the cause of a duel between her husband and Florent Chapron, and she +quarrels with me by letter, without seeing me, without speaking to me!” + +“Boleslas Gorka has fought a duel with Florent Chapron?” repeated the +young girl. + +“Yes,” replied her mother. “I knew that through Hafner. I did not speak +of it to you in order not to worry you with regard to Maud, and I have +only awaited her so long to cheer her up in case I should have found her +uneasy, and this is how she rewards me for my friendship! It seems that +Gorka took offence at some remark of Chapron’s about Poles, one of those +innocent remarks made daily on any nation--the Italians, the French, the +English, the Germans, the Jews--and which mean nothing.... I repeated +the remark in jest to Gorka!... I leave you to judge.... Is it my fault +if, instead of laughing at it, he insulted poor Florent, and if the +absurd encounter resulted from it? And Maud, who writes me that she will +never pardon me, that I am a false friend, that I did it expressly to +exasperate her husband.... Ah, let her watch her husband, let her lock +him up, if he is mad! And I, who have received them as I have, I, who +have made their position for them in Rome, I, who had no other thought +than for her just now!... You hear,” she added, pressing her daughter’s +hand with a fervor which was at least sincere, if her words were +untruthful, “I forbid you seeing her again or writing to her. If she +does not offer me an apology for her insulting note, I no longer wish to +know her. One is foolish to be so kind!” + +For the first time, while listening to that speech, Alba was convinced +that her mother was deceiving her. Since suspicion had entered her heart +with regard to her mother, the object until then of such admiration and +affection, she had passed through many stages of mistrust. To talk +with the Countess was always to dissipate them. That was because Madame +Steno, apart from her amorous immorality, was of a frank and truthful +nature. + +It was indeed a customary and known weakness of Florent’s to repeat +those witticisms which abound in national epigrams, as mediocre as they +are iniquitous. Alba could recall at least twenty circumstances when the +excellent man had uttered such jests at which a sensitive person might +take offence. She would not have thought it utterly impossible that a +duel between Gorka and Chapron might have been provoked by an incident +of that order. But Chapron was the brother-in-law of Maitland, of the +new friend with whom Madame Steno had become infatuated during the +absence of the Polish Count, and what a brother-in-law! He of whom +Dorsenne said: “He would set Rome on fire to cook an egg for his +sister’s husband.” When Madame Steno announced that duel to her +daughter, an invincible and immediate deduction possessed the poor +child--Florent was fighting for his brother-in-law. And on account +of whom, if not of Madame Steno? The thought would not, however, have +possessed her a second in the face of the very plausible explanation +made by the Countess, if Alba had not had in her heart a certain proof +that her mother was not telling the truth. The young girl loved Maud as +much as she was loved by her. She knew the sensibility of her faithful +and, delicate friend, as that friend knew hers. For Maud to write her +mother a letter which produced an immediate rupture, there must have +been some grave reason. + +Another material proof was soon joined to that moral proof. Granted the +character and the habits of the Countess, since she had not shown Maud’s +letter to her daughter there and then, it was because the letter was not +fit to be shown. But she heard on the following day only the description +of the duel, related by Maitland to Madame Steno, the savage aggression +of Gorka against Dorsenne, the composure of the latter and the issue, +relatively harmless, of the two duels. + +“You see,” said her mother to her, “I was right in saying that Gorka is +mad!... It seems he has had a fit of insanity since the duel, and that +they prevent him from seeing any one.... Can you now comprehend how Maud +could blame me for what is hereditary in the Gorka family?” + +Such was indeed the story which the Venetian and her friends, Hafner, +Ardea, and others, circulated throughout Rome in order to diminish the +scandal. The accusation of madness is very common to women who have +goaded to excess man’s passion, and who then wish to avoid all blame for +the deeds or words of that man. In this case, Boleslas’s fury and his +two incomprehensible duels, fifteen minutes apart, justified the story. +When it became known in the city that the Palazzetto Doria was strictly +closed, that Maud Gorka received no one, and finally that she was +taking away her husband in the manner which resembled a flight, no doubt +remained of the young man’s wrecked reason. + +Two persons profited very handsomely by the gossiping, the origin of +which was a mystery. One was the innkeeper of the ‘Tempo Perso’, whose +simple ‘bettola’ became, during those few days, a veritable place of +pilgrimage, and who sold a quantity of wine and numbers of fresh eggs. +The other was Dorsenne’s publisher, of whom the Roman booksellers +ordered several hundred volumes. + +“If I had had that duel in Paris,” said the novelist to Mademoiselle +Steno, relating to her the unforeseen result, “I should perhaps have at +length known the intoxication of the thirtieth edition.” + +It was a few days after the departure of the Gorkas that he jested thus, +at a large dinner of twenty-four covers, given at Villa Steno in honor +of Peppino Ardea and Fanny Hafner. Reestablished in the Countess’s favor +since his duel, he had again become a frequenter of her house, so much +the more assiduous as the increasing melancholy of Alba interested +him greatly. The enigma of the young girl’s character redoubled that +interest at each visit in such a degree that, notwithstanding the heat, +already beginning, of the dangerous Roman summer, he constantly +deferred his return to Paris until the morrow. What had she guessed in +consequence of the encounter, the details of which she had asked of +him with an emotion scarcely hidden in her eyes of a blue as clear, as +transparent, as impenetrable at the same time, as the water of certain +Alpine lakes at the foot of the glaciers. He thought he was doing right +in corroborating the story of Boleslas Gorka’s madness, which he knew +better than any one else to be false. But was it not the surest means of +exempting Madame Steno from connection with the affair? Why had he seen +Alba’s beautiful eyes veiled with a sadness inexplicable, as if he had +just given her another blow? He did not know that since the day on +which the word insanity had been uttered before her relative to Maud’s +husband, the Contessina was the victim of a reasoning as simple as +irrefutable. + +“If Boleslas be mad, as they say,” said Alba, “why does Maud, whom I +know to be so just and who loves me so dearly, attribute to my mother +the responsibility of this duel, to the point of breaking with me +thus, and of leaving without a line of explanation?... No.... There is +something else.”.... The nature of the “something else” the young girl +comprehended, on recalling her mother’s face during the perusal of +Maud’s letter. During the ten days following that scene, she saw +constantly before her that face, and the fear imprinted upon those +features ordinarily so calm, so haughty! Ah, poor little soul, indeed, +who could not succeed in banishing this fixed idea “My mother is not a +good woman.” + +Idea! So much the more terrible, as Alba had no longer the ignorance of +a young girl, if she had the innocence. Accustomed to the conversations, +at times very bold, of the Countess’s salon, enlightened by the reading +of novels chanced upon, the words lover and mistress had for her +a signification of physical intimacy such that it was an almost +intolerable torture for her to associate them with the relations of her +mother, first toward Gorka, then toward Maitland. That torture she had +undergone during the entire dinner, at the conclusion of which Dorsenne +essayed to chat gayly with her. She sat beside the painter, and the +man’s very breath, his gestures, the sound of his voice, his manner of +eating and of drinking, the knowledge of his very proximity, had caused +her such keen suffering that it was impossible for her to take anything +but large glasses of iced water. Several times during that dinner, +prolonged amid the sparkle of magnificent silver and Venetian crystal, +amid the perfume of flowers and the gleam of jewels, she had seen +Maitland’s eyes fixed upon the Countess with an expression which +almost caused her to cry out, so clearly did her instinct divine its +impassioned sensuality, and once she thought she saw her mother respond +to it. + +She felt with appalling clearness that which before she had uncertainly +experienced, the immodest character of that mother’s beauty. With +the pearls in her fair hair, with neck and arms bare in a corsage +the delicate green tint of which showed to advantage the incomparable +splendor of her skin, with her dewy lips, with her voluptuous eyes +shaded by their long lashes, the dogaresse looked in the centre of that +table like an empress and like a courtesan. She resembled the Caterina +Cornaro, the gallant queen of the island of Cypress, painted by Titian, +and whose name she worthily bore. For years Alba had been so proud +of the ray of seduction cast forth by the Countess, so proud of those +statuesque arms, of the superb carriage, of the face which defied the +passage of time, of the bloom of opulent life the glorious creature +displayed. During that dinner she was almost ashamed of it. + +She had been pained to see Madame Maitland seated a few paces farther +on, with brow and lips contracted as if by thoughts of bitterness. She +wondered: Does Lydia suspect them, too? But was it possible that her +mother, whom she knew to be so generous, so magnanimous, so kind, could +have that smile of sovereign tranquillity with such secrets in her +heart? Was it possible that she could have betrayed Maud for months and +months with the same light of joy in her eyes? + +“Come,” said Julien, stopping himself suddenly in the midst of a speech, +in which he had related two or three literary anecdotes. “Instead of +listening to your friend Dorsenne, little Countess, you are following +several blue devils flying through the room.” + +“They would fly, in any case,” replied Alba, who, pointing to Fanny +Hafner and Prince d’Ardea seated on a couch, continued: “Has what I told +you a few weeks since been realized? You do not know all the irony of +it. You have not assisted, as I did the day before yesterday, at the +poor girl’s baptism.” + +“It is true,” replied Julien, “you were godmother. I dreamed of Leo +Thirteenth as godfather, with a princess of the house of Bourbon as +godmother. Hafner’s triumph would have been complete!” + +“He had to content himself with his ambassador and your servant,” + replied Alba with a faint smile, which was speedily converted into +an expression of bitterness. “Are you satisfied with your pupil?” she +added. “I am progressing.... I laugh--when I wish to weep.... But you +yourself would not have laughed had you seen the fervor of charming +Fanny. She was the picture of blissful faith. Do not scoff at her.” + +“And where did the ceremony take place?” asked Dorsenne, obeying the +almost suppliant injunction. + +“In the chapel of the Dames du Cenacle.” + +“I know the place,” replied the novelist, “one of the most beautiful +corners of Rome! It is in the old Palais Piancini, a large mansion +almost opposite the ‘Calcographie Royale’, where they sell those +fantastic etchings of the great Piranese, those dungeons and those ruins +of so intense a poesy! It is the Gaya of stone. There is a garden on the +terrace. And to ascend to the chapel one follows a winding staircase, an +incline without steps, and one meets nuns in violet gowns, with faces +so delicate in the white framework of their bonnets. In short, an ideal +retreat for one of my heroines. My old friend Montfanon took me there. +As we ascended to that tower, six weeks ago, we heard the shrill voices +of ten little girls, singing: ‘Questo cuor tu la vedrai’. It was a +procession of catechists, going in the opposite direction, with +tapers which flickered dimly in the remnant of daylight.... It was +exquisite.... But, now permit me to laugh at the thought of Montfanon’s +choler when I relate to him this baptism. If I knew where to find +the old leaguer! But he has been hiding since our duel. He is in some +retreat doing penance. As I have already told you, the world for him +has not stirred since Francois de Guise. He only admits the alms of +the Protestants and the Jews. When Monseigneur Guerillot tells him of +Fanny’s religious aspirations, he raves immoderately. Were she to +cast herself to the lions, like Saint Blandine, he would still cry out +‘sacrilege.’” + +“He did not see her the day before yesterday,” said Alba, “nor the +expression upon her face when she recited the Credo. I do not believe in +mysticism, you know, and I have moments of doubt. There are times when +I can no longer believe in anything, life seems to me so wretched +and sad.... But I shall never forget that expression. She saw God!... +Several women were present with very touching faces, and there were +many devotees.... The Cardinal is very venerable.... All were by Fanny’s +side, like saints around the Madonna in the early paintings which you +have taught me to like, and when the baptism had been gone through, +guess what she said to me: ‘Come, let us pray for my dear father, and +for his conversion.’ Is not such blindness melancholy.” + +“The fact is,” said Dorsenne again, jocosely, “that in the father’s +dictionary the word has another meaning: Conversion, feminine +substantive, means to him income.... But let us reason a little, +Countess. Why do you think it sad that the daughter should see her +father’s character in her own light?... You should, on the contrary, +rejoice at it.... And why do you find it melancholy that this adorable +saint should be the daughter of a thief?... How I wish that you were +really my pupil, and that it would not be too absurd to give you here, +in this corner of the hall, a lesson in intellectuality!... I would say +to you, when you see one of those anomalies which renders you indignant, +think of the causes. It is so easy. Although Protestant, Fanny is +of Jewish origin--that is to say, the descendant of a persecuted +race--which in consequence has developed by the side of the inherent +defects of a proscribed people the corresponding virtues, the devotion, +the abnegation of the woman who feels that she is the grace of a +threatened hearth, the sweet flower which perfumes the sombre prison.” + +“It is all beautiful and true,” replied Alba, very seriously. She had +hung upon Dorsenne’s lips while he spoke, with the instinctive taste for +ideas of that order which proved her veritable origin. “But you do +not mention the sorrow. This is what one can not do--look upon as a +tapestry, as a picture, as an object; the creature who has not asked to +live and who suffers. You, who have feeling, what is your theory when +you weep?” + +“I can very clearly foresee the day on which Fanny will feel her +misfortune,” continued the young girl. “I do not know when she will +begin to judge her father, but that she already begins to judge Ardea, +alas, I am only too sure.... Watch her at this moment, I pray you.” + +Dorsenne indeed looked at the couple. Fanny was listening to the Prince, +but with a trace of suffering upon her beautiful face, so pure in +outline that the nobleness in it was ideal. + +He was laughing at some anecdote which he thought excellent, and +which clashed with the sense of delicacy of the person to whom he was +addressing himself. They were no longer the couple who, in the early +days of their betrothal, had given to Julien the sentiment of a complete +illusion on the part of the young girl for her future husband. + +“You are right, Contessina,” said he, “the decrystallization has +commenced. It is a little too soon.” + +“Yes, it is too soon,” replied Alba. “And yet it is too late. Would you +believe that there are times when I ask myself if it would not be my +duty to tell her the truth about her marriage, such as I know it, with +the story of the weak man, the forced sale, and of the bargaining of +Ardea?” + +“You will not do it,” said Dorsenne. “Moreover, why? This one or +another, the man who marries her will only want her money, rest assured. +It is necessary that the millions be paid for here below, it is one of +their ransoms.... But I shall cause you to be scolded by your mother, +for I am monopolizing you, and I have still two calls to pay this +evening.” + +“Well, postpone them,” said Alba. “I beseech you, do not go.” + +“I must,” replied Julien. “It is the last Wednesday of old Duchess +Pietrapertosa, and after her grandson’s recent kindness--” + +“She is so ugly,” said Alba, “will you sacrifice me to her?” + +“Then there is my compatriot, who goes away tomorrow and of whom I must +take leave this evening, Madame de Sauve, with whom you met me at the +museum.... You will not say she is ugly, will you?” + +“No,” responded Alba, dreamily, “she is very pretty.”.... She had +another prayer upon her lips, which she did not formulate. Then, with +a beseeching glance: “Return, at least. Promise me that you will return +after your two visits. They will be over in an hour and a half. It will +not be midnight. You know some do not ever come before one and sometimes +two o’clock. You will return?” + +“If possible, yes. But at any rate, we shall meet to-morrow, at the +studio, to see the portrait.” + +“Then, adieu,” said the young girl, in a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER X. COMMON MISERY + +The Contessina’s disposition was too different from her mother’s for the +mother to comprehend that heart, the more contracted in proportion as it +was touched, while emotion was synonymous with expansion in the opulent +and impulsive Venetian. That evening she had not even observed Alba’s +dreaminess, Dorsenne once gone, and it required that Hafner should +call her attention to it. To the scheming Baron, if the novelist +was attentive to the young girl it was certainly with the object of +capturing a considerable dowry. Julien’s income of twenty-five thousand +francs meant independence. The two hundred and fifty thousand francs +which Alba would have at her mother’s death was a very large fortune. +So Hafner thought he would deserve the name of “old friend,” by taking +Madame Steno aside and saying to her: + +“Do you not think Alba has been a little strange for several days!” + +“She has always been so,” replied the Countess. “Young people are like +that nowadays; there is no more youth.” + +“Do you not think,” continued the Baron, “that perhaps there is another +cause for that sadness--some interest in some one, for example?” + +“Alba?” exclaimed the mother. “For whom?” + +“For Dorsenne,” returned Hafner, lowering his voice; “he just left five +minutes ago, and you see she is no longer interested in anything nor in +any one.” + +“Ah, I should be very much pleased,” said Madame Steno, laughing. “He is +a handsome fellow; he has talent, fortune. He is the grand-nephew of a +hero, which is equivalent to nobility, in my opinion. But Alba has +no thought of it, I assure you. She would have told me; she tells me +everything. We are two friends, almost two comrades, and she knows +I shall leave her perfectly free to choose.... No, my old friend, I +understand my daughter. Neither Dorsenne nor any one else interests her, +unfortunately. I sometimes fear she will go into a decline, like her +cousin Andryana Navagero, whom she resembles.... But I must cheer her +up. It will not take long.” + +“A Dorsenne for a son-in-law!” said Hafner to himself, as he watched the +Countess walk toward Alba through the scattered groups of her guests, +and he shook his head, turning his eyes with satisfaction upon his +future son-in-law. “That is what comes of not watching one’s children +closely. One fancies one understands them until some folly opens one’s +eyes!... And, it is too late!... Well, I have warned her, and it is no +affair of mine!” + +In spite of Fanny’s observed and increasing vexation Ardea amused +himself by relating to her anecdotes, more or less true, of the +goings-on in the Vatican. He thus attempted to abate a Catholic +enthusiasm at which he was already offended. His sense of the ridiculous +and that of his social interest made him perceive how absurd it would be +to go into clerical society after having taken for a wife a millionaire +converted the day before. To be just, it must be added that the +Countess’s dry champagne was not altogether irresponsible for the +persistency with which he teased his betrothed. It was not the first +time he had indulged in the semi-intoxication which had been one of the +sins of his youth, a sin less rare in the southern climates than the +modesty of the North imagines. + +“You come opportunely, Contessina,” said he, when Mademoiselle Steno had +seated herself upon the couch beside them. “Your friend is scandalized +by a little story I have just told her.... The one of the noble guard +who used the telephone of the Vatican this winter to appoint rendezvous +with Guilia Rezzonico without awakening the jealousy of Ugolino.... But +it is nothing. I have almost quarrelled with Fanny for having revealed +to her that the Holy Father repeated his benediction in Chapel Sixtine, +with a singing master, like a prima donna....” + +“I have already told you that I do not like those jests,” said Fanny, +with visible irritation, which her patience, however, governed. “If you +desire to continue them, I will leave you to converse with Alba.” + +“Since you see that you annoy her,” said the latter to the Prince, +“change the subject.” + +“Ah, Contessina,” replied Peppino, shaking his head, “you support +her already. What will it be later? Well, I apologize for my innocent +epigrams on His Holiness in his dressing-gown. And,” he continued, +laughing, “it is a pity, for I have still two or three entertaining +stories, notably one about a coffer filled with gold pieces, which a +faithful bequeathed to the Pope. And that poor, dear man was about to +count them when the coffer slipped from his hand, and there was the +entire treasure on the floor, and the Pope and a cardinal on all fours +were scrambling for the napoleons, when a servant entered.... Tableau! +....I assure you that good Pius IX would be the first to laugh with us +at all the Vatican jokes. He is not so much ‘alla mano’. But he is a +holy man just the same. Do not think I do not render him justice. Only, +the holy man is a man, and a good old man. That is what you do not wish +to see.” + +“Where are you going?” said Alba to Fanny, who had risen as she had +threatened to do. + +“To talk with my father, to whom I have several words to say.” + +“I warned you to change the subject,” said Alba, when she and the Prince +were alone. Ardea, somewhat abashed, shrugged his shoulders and laughed: + +“You will confess that the situation is quite piquant, little +Countess.... You will see she will forbid me to go to the Quirinal.... +Only one thing will be lacking, and it is that Papa Hafner should +discover religious scruples which would prevent him from greeting the +King.... But Fanny must be appeased!” + +“My God!” said Alba to herself, seeing the young man rise in his turn. +“I believe he is intoxicated. What a pity!” + +As have almost all revolutions of that order, the work of Christianity, +accomplished for years, in Fanny had for its principle an example. + +The death of a friend, the sublime death of a true believer, ended by +determining her faith. She saw the dying woman receive the sacrament, +and the ineffable joy of the benediction upon the face of the sufferer +of twenty lighted up by ecstasy. She heard her say, with a smile of +conviction: + +“I go to ask you of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.” + +How could she have resisted such a cry and such a sight? + +The very day after that death she asked of her father permission to be +baptized, which request drew from the Baron a reply too significant not +to be repeated here: + +“Undoubtedly,” had replied the surprising man, who instead of a heart, +had a Bourse list on which all was tariffed, even God, “undoubtedly I +am touched, very deeply touched, and very happy to see that religious +matters preoccupy you to such a degree. To the people it is a necessary +curb, and to us it accords with a certain rank, a certain society, a +certain deportment. I think that a person called like you to live in +Austria and in Italy should be a Catholic. However, it is necessary to +remember that you might marry some one of another faith. Do not +object. I am your father. I can foresee all. I know you will marry only +according to the dictates of your heart. Wait then until it has spoken, +to settle the question.... If you love a Catholic, you will then have +occasion to pay a compliment to your betrothed by adopting his faith, +of which he will be very sensible.... From now until then, I shall not +prevent you from following ceremonies which please you. Those of the +Roman liturgy are, assuredly, among the best; I myself attended Saint +Peter’s at the time of the pontifical government.... The taste, the +magnificence, the music, all moved me.... But to take a definite, +irreparable step, I repeat, you must wait. Your actual condition of a +Protestant has the grand sentiment of being more neutral, less defined.” + +What words to listen to by a heart already touched by the attraction of +‘grace and by the nostalgia of eternal life! But the heart was that of +a young girl very pure and very tender. To judge her father was to her +impossible, and the Baron’s firmness had convinced her that she must +obey his wishes and pray that he be enlightened. She therefore waited, +hoping, sustained and directed meanwhile by Cardinal Guerillot, +who later on was to baptize her and to obtain for her the favor of +approaching the holy table for the first time at the Pope’s mass. That +prelate, one of the noblest figures of which the French bishopric has +had cause to be proud, since Monseigneur Pie, was one of those grand +Christians for whom the hand of God is as visible in the direction of +human beings as it is invisible to doubtful souls. When Fanny, already +devoted to her charities, confided in him the serious troubles of her +mind and the discord which had arisen between her and her father on the +so essential point of her baptism, the Cardinal replied: + +“Have faith in God. He will give you a sign when your time has come.” + And he uttered those words with an accent whose conviction had filled +the young girl with a certainty which had never left her. + +In spite of his seventy years, and of the experiences of the confession, +in spite of the disenchanting struggle with the freemasonry of his +French diocese, which had caused his exile to Rome, the venerable man +looked at Fanny’s marriage from a supernatural standpoint. Many priests +are thus capable of a naivete which, on careful analysis, is often +in the right. But at the moment the antithesis between the authentic +reality and that which they believe, constitutes an irony almost absurd. +When he had baptized Fanny, the old Bishop of Clermont was possessed by +a joy so deep that he said to her, to express to her the more delicately +the tender respect of his friendship: + +“I can now say as did Saint Monica after the baptism of Saint Augustine: +‘Cur hic sim, nescio; jam consumpta spe hujus saeculi’. I do not know +why I remain here below. All my hope of the age is consummated. And like +her I can add--the only thing which made me desire to remain awhile was +to see you a Catholic before dying. The traveller, who has tarried, has +now nothing to do but to go. He has gathered the last and the prettiest +flower.”.... + +Noble and faithful apostle, who was indeed to go so shortly after, +meriting what they said of him, that which the African bishop said +of his mother: “That religious soul was at length absolved from her +body.”.... He did not anticipate that he would pay dearly for that +realization of his last wish! He did not foresee that she whom he +ingenuously termed his most beautiful flower was to become to him the +principal cause of bitter sorrow. Poor, grand Cardinal! It was the final +trial of his life, the supremely bitter drop in his chalice, to assist +at the disenchantment which followed so closely upon the blissful +intoxication of his gentle neophyte’s first initiation. To whom, if +not to him, should she have gone to ask counsel, in all the tormenting +doubts which she at once began to have in her feelings with regard to +her fiance? + +It was, therefore, that on the day following the evening on which +imprudent Ardea had jested so persistently upon a subject sacred to her +that she rang at the door of the apartment which Monseigneur Guerillot +occupied in the large mansion on Rue des Quatre-Fontaines. There was +no question of incriminating the spirit of those pleasantries, nor of +relating her humiliating observations on the Prince’s intoxication. No. +She wished to ease her mind, on which rested a shade of sorrow. At the +time of her betrothal, she had fancied she loved Ardea, for the emotion +of her religious life at length freed had inspired her with gratitude +for him who was, however, only the pretext of that exemption. She +trembled to-day, not only at not loving him any more, but at hating him, +and above all she felt herself a prey to that repugnance for the useless +cares of the world, to that lassitude of transitory hopes, to that +nostalgia of repose in God, undeniable signs of true vocations. + +At the thought that she might, if she survived her father and she +remained free, retire to the ‘Dames du Cenacle,’ she felt at her +approaching marriage an inward repugnance, which augmented still more +the proof of her future husband’s deplorable character. Had she the +right to form such bonds with such feelings? Would it be honorable +to break, without further developments, the betrothal which had been +between her and her father the condition of her baptism? She was already +there, after so few days! And her wound was deeper after the night on +which the Prince had, uttered his careless jests. + +“It is permitted you to withdraw,” replied Monsieur Guerillot, “but you +are not permitted to lack charity in your judgment.” + +There was within Fanny too much sincerity, her faith was too simple and +too deep for her not to follow out that advice to the letter, and she +conformed to it in deeds as well as in intentions. For, before taking +a walk in the afternoon with Alba, she took the greatest care to remove +all traces which the little scene of the day before could have left in +her friend’s mind. Her efforts went very far. She would ask pardon of +her fiance.... Pardon! For what? For having been wounded by him, wounded +to the depths of her sensibility? She felt that the charity of judgment +recommended by the pious Cardinal was a difficult virtue. It exercises +a discipline of the entire heart, sometimes irreconcilable with the +clearness of the intelligence. Alba looked at her friend with a glance +full of an astonishment, almost sorrowful, and she embraced her, saying: + +“Peppino is not worthy even to kiss the ground on which you tread, that +is my opinion, and if he does not spend his entire life in trying to be +worthy of you, it will be a crime.” + +As for the Prince himself, the impulses which dictated to his fiancee +words of apology when he was in the wrong, were not unintelligible to +him, as they would have been to Hafner. He thought that the latter had +lectured his daughter, and he congratulated himself on having cut short +at once that little comedy of exaggerated religious feeling. + +“Never mind that,” said he, with condescension, “it is I who have failed +in form. For at heart you have always found me respectful of that which +my fathers respected. But times have changed, and certain fanaticisms +are no longer admissible. That is what I have wished to say to you in +such a manner that you could take no offence.” + +And he gallantly kissed Fanny’s tiny hand, not divining that he had +redoubled the melancholy of that too-generous child. The discord +continued to be excessive between the world of ideas in which she moved +and that in which the ruined Prince existed. As the mystics say with so +much depth, they were not of the same heaven. + +Of all the chimeras which had lasted hours, God alone remained. It +sufficed the noble creature to say: “My father is so happy, I will not +mar his joy.” + +“I will do my duty toward my husband. I will be so good a wife that I +will transform him. He has religion. He has heart. It will be my role to +make of him a true Christian. And then I shall have my children and +the poor.” Such were the thoughts which filled the mind of the envied +betrothed. For her the journals began to describe the dresses already +prepared, for her a staff of tailors, dressmakers, needlewomen and +jewellers were working; she would have on her contract the same +signature as a princess of the blood, who would be a princess herself +and related to one of the most glorious aristocracies in the world. Such +were the thoughts she would no doubt have through life, as she walked +in the garden of the Palais Castagna, that historical garden in which +is still to be seen a row of pear-trees, in the place where Sixte-Quint, +near death, gathered some fruit. He tasted it, and he said to Cardinal +Castagna--playing on their two names, his being Peretti--“The pears are +spoiled. The Romans have had enough. They will soon eat chestnuts.” That +family anecdote enchanted Justus Hafner. It seemed to him full of the +most delightful humor. He repeated it to his colleagues at the club, +to his tradesmen, to it mattered not whom. He did not even mistrust +Dorsenne’s irony. + +“I met Hafner this morning on the Corso,” said the latter to Alba at one +of the soirees at the end of the month, “and I had my third edition of +the pleasantry on the pears and chestnuts. And then, as we took a few +steps in the same direction, he pointed out to me the Palais Bonaparte, +saying, ‘We are also related to them.’.... Which means that a +grand-nephew of the Emperor married a cousin of Peppino.... I swear he +thinks he is related to Napoleon!... He is not even proud of it. The +Bonapartes are nowhere when it is a question of nobility!... I await the +time when he will blush.” + +“And I the time when he will be punished as he deserves,” interrupted +Alba Steno, in a mournful voice. “He is insolently triumphant. But no. +....He will succeed.... If it be true that his fortune is one immense +theft, think of those he has ruined. In what can they believe in the +face of his infamous happiness?” + +“If they are philosophers,” replied Dorsenne, laughing still more gayly, +“this spectacle will cause them to meditate on the words uttered by one +of my friends: ‘One can not doubt the hand of God, for it created the +world.’ Do you remember a certain prayer-book of Montluc’s?” + +“The one which your friend Montfanon bought to vex the poor little +thing?” + +“Precisely. The old-leaguer has returned it to Ribalta; the latter told +me so yesterday; no doubt in a spirit of mortification. I say no +doubt for I have not seen the poor, dear man since the duel, which his +impatience toward Ardea and Hafner rendered in evitable. He retired, I +know not for how many days, to the convent of Mount Olivet, near Sienna, +where he has a friend, one Abbe de Negro, of whom he always speaks as +of a saint. I learned, through Rebalta, that he has returned, but is +invisible. I tried to force an entrance. In short, the volume is +again in the shop of the curiosity-seeker in the Rue Borgognona, if +Mademoiselle Hafner still wants it!” + +“What good fortune!” exclaimed Fanny, with a sparkle of delight in her +eyes. “I did not know what present to offer my dear Cardinal. Shall we +make the purchase at once?” + +“Montluc’s prayer-book?” repeated old Ribalta, when the two young ladies +had alighted from the carriage before his small book-shop, more dusty, +more littered than ever with pamphlets, in which he still was, with his +face more wrinkled, more wan and more proud, peering from beneath his +broad-brimmed hat, which he did not raise. “How do you know it is here? +Who has told you? Are there spies everywhere?” + +“It was Monsieur Dorsenne, one of Monsieur de Montfanon’s friends,” said +Fanny, in her gentle voice. + +“Sara sara,” replied the merchant with his habitual insolence, and, +opening the drawer of the chest in which he kept the most incongruous +treasures, he drew from it the precious volume, which he held toward +them, without giving it up. Then he began a speech, which reproduced the +details given by Montfanon himself. “Ah, it is very authentic. There +is an indistinct but undeniable signature. I have compared it with that +which is preserved in the archives of Sienna. It is Montluc’s writing, +and there is his escutcheon with the turtles.... Here, too, are the +half-moons of the Piccolomini.... This book has a history....” + +“The Marshal gave it, after the famous siege, to one of the members of +that illustrious family. And it was for one of the descendants that I +was commissioned to buy it.... They will not give it up for less than +two thousand francs.” + +“What a cheat!” said Alba to her companion, in English. “Dorsenne told +me that Monsieur de Monfanon bought it for four hundred.” + +“Are you sure?” asked Fanny, who, on receiving a reply in the +affirmative, addressed the bookseller, with the same gentleness, but +with reproach in her accent: “Two thousand francs, Monsieur Ribalta? But +it is not a just price, since you sold it to Monsieur de Montfanon for +one-fifth of that sum.” + +“Then I am a liar and a thief,” roughly replied the old man; “a thief +and a liar,” he repeated. “Four hundred francs! You wish to have this +book for four hundred francs? I wish Monsieur de Montfanon was here to +tell you how much I asked him for it.” + +The old bookseller smiled cruelly as he replaced the prayerbook in the +drawer, the key of which he turned, and turning toward the two young +girls, whose delicate beauty, heightened by their fine toilettes, +contrasted so delightfully with the sordid surroundings, he enveloped +them with a glance so malicious that they shuddered and instinctively +drew nearer one another. Then the bookseller resumed, in a voice hoarser +and deeper than ever: “If you wish to spend four hundred francs I have +a volume which is worth it, and which I propose to take to the Palais +Savorelli one of these days.... Ha, ha! It must be one of the very +last, for the Baron has bought them all.” In uttering, those enigmatical +words, he opened the cup board which formed the lower part of the chest, +and took from one of the shelves a book wrapped in a newspaper. He then +unfolded the journal, and, holding the volume in his enormous hand with +his dirty nails, he disclosed the title to the two young girls: ‘Hafner +and His Band; Some Reflections on the Scandalous Acquittal. By a +Shareholder.’ It was a pamphlet, at that date forgotten, but which +created much excitement at one time in the financial circles of +Paris, of London and of Berlin, having been printed at once in three +languages--in French, in German and in English--on the day after the +suit of the ‘Credit Austro Dalmate.’ The dealer’s chestnut-colored +eyes twinkled with a truly ferocious joy as he held out the volume and +repeated: + +“It is worth four hundred francs.” + +“Do not read that book, Fanny,” said Alba quickly, after having read the +title of the work, and again speaking in English; “it is one of those +books with which one should not even pollute one’s thoughts.” + +“You may keep the book, sir,” she continued, “since you have made +yourself the accomplice of those who have written it, by speculating on +the fear you hoped it would inspire. Mademoiselle Hafner has known of it +long, and neither she nor her father will give a centime.” + +“Very well! So much the better, so much the better,” said Ribalta, +wrapping up his volume again; “tell your father I will keep it at his +service.” + +“Ah, the miserable man!” said Alba, when Fanny and she had left the shop +and reentered the carriage. “To dare to show you that!” + +“You saw,” replied Fanny, “I was so surprised I could not utter a word. +That the man should offer me that infamous work is very impertinent. +My father?... You do not know his scrupulousness in business. It is the +honor of his profession. There is not a sovereign in Europe who has not +given him a testimonial.” + +That impassioned protestation was so touching, the generous child’s +illusion was so sincere, that Alba pressed her hand with a deeper +tenderness. When Alba found herself that evening with her friend +Dorsenne, who again dined at Madame Steno’s, she took him aside to +relate to him the tragical scene, and to ask him: “Have you seen that +pamphlet?” + +“To-day,” said the writer. “Montfanon, whom I have found at length, has +just bought one of the two copies which Ribalta received lately. The +old leaguer believes everything, you know, when a Hafner is in the +question.... I am more skeptical in the bad as well as in the good. It +was only the account given by the trial which produced any impression on +me, for that is truth.” + +“But he was acquitted.” + +“Yes,” replied Dorsenne, “though it is none the less true that he ruined +hundreds and hundreds of persons.” + +“Then, by the account given you of the case, it is clear to you that he +is dishonest,” interrupted Alba. + +“As clear as that you are here, Contessina,” replied Dorsenne, “if to +steal means to plunder one’s neighbors and to escape justice. But that +would be nothing. The sinister corner in this affair is the suicide of +one Schroeder, a brave citizen of Vienna, who knew our Baron intimately, +and who invested, on the advice of his excellent friend, his entire +fortune, three hundred thousand florins, in the scheme. He lost them, +and, in despair, killed himself, his wife, and their three children.” + +“My God!” cried Alba, clasping her hands. “And Fanny might have read +that letter in the book.” + +“Yes,” continued Julien, “and all the rest with proof in support of +it. But rest assured, she shall not have the volume. I will go to that +anarchist of a Ribalta to-morrow and I will buy the last copy, if Hafner +has not already bought it.” + +Notwithstanding his constant affectation of irony, and, notwithstanding, +his assumption of intellectual egotism, Julien was obliging. He never +hesitated to render any one a service. He had not told his little friend +an untruth when he promised her to buy the dangerous work, and the +following morning he turned toward the Rue Borgognona, furnished with +the twenty louis demanded by the bookseller. Imagine his feelings when +the latter said to him: + +“It is too late, Monsieur Dorsenne. The young lady was here last night. +She pretended not to prefer one volume to the other. It was to bargain, +no doubt. Ha, ha! But she had to pay the price. I would have asked the +father more. One owes some consideration to a young girl.” + +“Wretch!” exclaimed the novelist. “And you can jest after having +committed that Judas-like act! To inform a child of her father’s +misdeeds, when she is ignorant of them!... Never, do you hear, never +any more will Monsieur de Montfanon and I set foot in your shop, nor +Monseigneur Guerillot, nor any of the persons of my acquaintance. I +will tell the whole world of your infamy. I will write it, and it shall +appear in all the journals of Rome. I will ruin you, I will force you to +close this dusty old shop.” + +During the entire day, Dorsenne vainly tried to shake off the weight +of melancholy which that visit to the brigand of the Rue Borgognona had +left upon his heart. + +On crossing, at nine o’clock, the threshold of the Villa Steno to give +an account of his mission to the Contessina, he was singularly moved. +There was no one there but the Maitlands, two tourists and two English +diplomatists, on their way to posts in the East. + +“I was awaiting you,” said Alba to her friend, as soon as she could +speak with him in a corner of the salon. “I need your advice. Last night +a tragical incident took place at the Hafner’s.” + +“Probably,” replied Dorsenne. “Fanny has bought Ribalta’s book.” + +“She has bought the book!” said Alba, changing color and trembling. “Ah, +the unhappy girl; the other thing was not sufficient!” + +“What other thing?” questioned Julien. + +“You remember,” said the young girl, “that I told you of that Noe +Ancona, the agent who served Hafner as a tool in selling up Ardea, and +in thus forcing the marriage. Well, it seems this personage did not +think himself sufficiently well-paid for his complicity. He demanded of +the Baron a large sum, with which to found some large swindling scheme, +which the latter refused point-blank. The other threatened to relate +their little dealing to Ardea, and he did so.” + +“And Peppino was angry?” asked Dorsenne, shaking his head. “That is not +like him.” + +“Indignant or not,” continued Alba, “last night he went to the Palais +Savorelli to make a terrible scene with his future father-in-law.” + +“And to obtain an increase of dowry,” said Julian. + +“He was not by any means tactful, then,” replied Alba, “for even in the +presence of Fanny, who entered in the midst of their conversation, he +did not pause. Perhaps he had drunk a little more than he could stand, +which has of late become common with him. But, you see, the poor child +was initiated into the abominable bargain with regard to her future, to +her happiness, and if she has read the book, too! It is too dreadful!” + +“What a violent scene!” exclaimed Dorsenne. “So the engagement has been +broken off?” + +“Not officially. Fanny is ill in bed from the excitement. Ardea came +this morning to see my mother, who has also seen Hafner. She has +reconciled them by proving to them, which she thinks true, that they +have a common interest in avoiding all scandal, and arranging matters. +But it rests with the poor little one. Mamma wished me to go, this +afternoon, to beseech her to reconsider her resolution. For she has told +her father she never wishes to hear the Prince’s voice again. I have +refused. Mamma insists. Am I not right?” + +“Who knows?” replied Julien. “What would be her life alone with her +father, now that her illusions with regard to him have been swept away?” + +The touching scene had indeed taken place, and less than twenty-four +hours after the novelist had thus expressed to himself the regret of not +assisting at it. Only he was mistaken as to the tenor of the dialogue, +in a manner which proved that the subtlety of intelligence will never +divine the simplicity of the heart. The most dolorous of all moral +tragedies knit and unknit the most often in silence. It was in +the afternoon, toward six o’clock, that a servant came to announce +Mademoiselle Hafner’s visit to the Contessina, busy at that moment +reading for the tenth time the ‘Eglogue Mondaine,’ that delicate story +by Dorsenne. When Fanny entered the room, Alba could see what a trial +her charming god-daughter of the past week had sustained, by the +surprising and rapid alteration in that expressive and noble visage. She +took her hand at first without speaking to her, as if she was entirely +ignorant of the cause of her friend’s real indisposition. She then said: + +“How pleased I am to see you! Are you better?” + +“I have never been ill,” replied Fanny, who did not know how to tell an +untruth. “I have had pain, that is all.” Looking at Alba, as if to beg +her to ask no question, she added: + +“I have come to bid you adieu.” + +“You are going away?” asked the Contessina. “Yes,” said Fanny, “I am +going to spend the summer at one of our estates in Styria.” And, in +a low voice: “Has your mother told you that my engagement is broken?” + “Yes,” replied Alba, and both were again silent. After several moments +Fanny was the first to ask: “And how shall you spend your summer?”--“We +shall go to Piove, as usual,” was Alba’s answer. “Perhaps Dorsenne will +be there, and the Maitlands will surely be.” A third pause ensued. +They gazed at one another, and, without uttering another word, they +distinctly read one another’s hearts. The martyrdom they suffered was so +similar, they both knew it to be so like, that they felt the same +pity possess them at the same moment. Forced to condemn with the most +irrevocable condemnation, the one her father, the other, her mother, +each felt attracted toward the friend, like her, unhappy, and, falling +into one another’s arms, they both sobbed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE LAKE DI PORTO + +Her friend’s tears had relieved sad Alba’s heart while she held that +friend in her arms, quivering with sorrow and pity; but when she was +gone, and Madame Steno’s daughter was alone, face to face with her +thoughts, a greater distress seized her. The pity which her companion in +misery had shown for her--was it not one more proof that she was right +in mistrusting her mother? Alas! The miserable child did not know that +while she was plunged in despair, there was in Rome and in her immediate +vicinity a creature bent upon realizing a mad vow. And that creature was +the same who had not recoiled before the infamy of an anonymous letter, +pretty and sinister Lydia Maitland--that delicate, that silent young +woman with the large brown eyes, always smiling, always impenetrable in +the midst of that dull complexion which no emotion, it seemed, had ever +tinged. The failure of her first attempt had exasperated her hatred +against her husband and against the Countess to the verge of fury, but a +concentrated fury, which was waiting for another occasion to strike, for +weeks, patiently, obscurely. She had thought to wreak her vengeance by +the return of Gorka, and in what had it ended? In freeing Lincoln from +a dangerous rival and in imperilling the life of the only being for whom +she cared! + +The sojourn at the country-seat of her husband’s mistress exasperated +Lydia’s hidden anger. She suffered so that she cried aloud, like an +imprisoned animal beating against the bars, when she pictured to herself +the happiness which the two lovers would enjoy in the intimacy of the +villa, with the beauties of the Venetian scenery surrounding them. No +doubt the wife could provoke a scandal and obtain a divorce, thanks to +proofs as indisputable as those with which she had overwhelmed Maud. +It would be sufficient to carry to a lawyer the correspondence in the +Spanish escritoire. But of what use? She would not be avenged on her +husband, to whom a divorce would be a matter of indifference now that he +earned as much money as he required, and she would lose her brother. In +vain Lydia told herself that, warned as Alba had been by her letter, her +doubt of Madame Steno’s misconduct would no longer be impossible. She +was convinced by innumerable trifling signs that the Contessina still +doubted, and then she concluded: + +“It is there that the blow must be struck. But how?” + +Yes. How? There was at the service of hatred in that delicate woman, in +appearance oblivious of worldliness, that masculine energy in decision +which is to be found in all families of truly military origin. The blood +of Colonel Chapron stirred within her and gave her the desire to act. By +dint of pondering upon those reasonings, Lydia ended by elaborating one +of those plans of a simplicity really infernal, in which she revealed +what must be called the genius of evil, for there was so much clearness +in the conception and of villainy in the execution. She assured herself +that it was unnecessary to seek any other stage than the studio for +the scene she meditated. She knew too well the fury of passion by which +Madame Steno was possessed to doubt that, as soon as she was alone +with Lincoln, she did not refuse him those kisses of which their +correspondence spoke. The snare to be laid was very simple. It required +that Alba and Lydia should be in some post of observation while the +lovers believed themselves alone, were it only for a moment. The +position of the places furnished the formidable woman with the means of +obtaining the place of espionage in all security. Situated on the second +floor, the studio occupied most of the depth of the house. The wall, +which separated it from the side of the apartments, ended in a partition +formed of colored glass, through which it was impossible to see. That +glass lighted a dark corridor adjoining the linen-room. Lydia employed +several hours of several nights in cutting with a diamond a hole, the +size of a fifty centime-piece, in one of those unpolished squares. + +Her preparations had been completed several days when, notwithstanding +her absence of scruple in the satiating of her hatred, she still +hesitated to employ that mode of vengeance, so much atrocious cruelty +was there in causing a daughter to spy upon her mother. It was Alba +herself who kindled the last spark of humanity with which that +dark conscience was lighted up, and that by the most innocent of +conversations. It was the very evening of the afternoon on which she had +exchanged that sad adieu with Fanny Hafner. She was more unnerved than +usual, and she was conversing with Dorsenne in that corner of the long +hall. They did not heed the fact that Lydia drew near them, by a simple +change of seat which permitted her, while herself conversing with some +guest, to lend an ear to the words uttered by the Contessina. + +It was Florent who was the subject of their conversation, and she said +to Dorsenne, who was praising him: + +“What would you have? It is true I almost feel repulsion toward him. +He is to me like a being of another species. His friendship for his +brother-in-law? Yes. It is very beautiful, very touching; but it does +not touch me. It is a devotion which is not human. It is too instinctive +and too blind. Indeed, I know that I am wrong. There is that prejudice +of race which I can never entirely overcome.” + +Dorsenne touched her fingers at that moment, under the pretext of taking +from her her fan, in reality to warn her, and he said, in a very low +voice that time: + +“Let us go a little farther on. Lydia Maitland is too near.” + +He fancied he surprised a start on the part of Florent’s sister, at whom +he accidentally glanced, while his too-sensible interlocutor no longer +watched her! But as the pretty, clear laugh of Lydia rang out at the +same moment, imprudent Alba replied: + +“Fortunately, she has heard nothing. And see how one can speak of +trouble without mistrusting it.... I have just been wicked,” she +continued, “for it is not their fault, neither Florent’s nor hers, if +there is a little negro blood in their veins, so much the more so as +it is connected by the blood of a hero, and they are both perfectly +educated, and what is better, perfectly good, and then I know very well +that if there is a grand thought in this age it is to have proclaimed +that truly all men are brothers.” + +She had spoken in a lower voice, but too late. Moreover, even if +Florent’s sister could have heard those words, they would not have +sufficed to heal the wound which the first ones had made in the most +sensitive part of her ‘amour propre’! + +“And I hesitated,” said she to herself, “I thought of sparing her!” + +The following morning, toward noon, she found herself at the atelier, +seated beside Madame Steno, while Lincoln gave to the portrait the last +touches, and while Alba posed in the large armchair, absent and pale as +usual. Florent Chapron, after having assisted at part of the sitting, +left the room, leaning upon the crutch, which he still used. His +withdrawal seemed so propitious to Lydia that she resolved immediately +not to allow such an opportunity to escape, and as if fatality +interfered to render her work of infamy more easy, Madame Steno aided +her by suddenly interrupting the work of the painter who, after hard +working without speaking for half an hour, paused to wipe his forehead, +on which were large drops of perspiration, so great was his excitement. + +“Come, my little Linco,” said she, with the affectionate solicitude +of an old mistress, “you must rest. For two hours you have not ceased +painting, and such minute details.... It tires me merely to watch you.” + +“I am not at all tired,” replied Maitland, who, however, laid down his +palette and brush, and rolling a cigarette, lighted it, continuing, with +a proud smile: “We have only that one superiority, we Americans, but we +have it--it is a power to apply ourselves which the Old World no longer +knows.... It is for that reason that there are professions in which we +have no rivals.” + +“But see!” replied Lydia, “you have taken Alba for a Bostonian or a New +Yorker, and you have made her pose so long that she is pale. She must +have a change. Come with me, dear, I will show you the costume they have +sent me from Paris, and which I shall wear this afternoon to the garden +party at the English embassy.” + +She forced Alba Steno to rise from the armchair as she uttered those +words, then she entwined her arms about her waist to draw her away and +kissed her. Ah, if ever a caress merited being compared to the hideous +flattery of Iscariot, it was that, and the young girl might have replied +with the sublime words: “Friend, why hast thou betrayed me by a kiss?” + Alas! She believed in it, in the sincerity of that proof of affection, +and she returned her false friend’s kiss with a gratitude which did not +soften that heart saturated with hatred, for five minutes had not passed +ere Lydia had put into execution her hideous project. Under the pretext +of reaching the liner-room more quickly, she took a servant’s staircase, +which led to that lobby with the glass partition, in which was the +opening through which to look into the atelier. + +“This is very strange,” said she, pausing suddenly. And, pointing out to +her innocent companion the round spot, she said: “Probably some servant +who has wished to eavesdrop.--But what for? You, who are tall, look +and see how it has been done and what it looks on. If it is a hole cut +purposely, I shall discover the culprit and he shall go.” + +Alba obeyed the perfidious request absently, and applied her eye to the +aperture. The author of the anonymous letters had chosen her moment only +too well. As soon as the door of the studio was closed, the Countess +rose to approach Lincoln. She entwined around the young man’s neck her +arms, which gleamed through the transparent sleeves of her summer gown, +and she kissed with greedy lips his eyes and mouth. Lydia, who had +retained one of the girl’s hands in hers, felt that hand tremble +convulsively. A hunter who hears rustle the foliage of the thicket +through which should pass the game he is awaiting, does not experience +a joy more complete. Her snare was successful. She said to her unhappy +victim: + +“What ails you? How you tremble!” + +And she essayed to push her away in order to put herself in her +place. Alba, whom the sight of her mother embracing Lincoln with those +passionate kisses inspired at that moment with an inexplicable horror, +had, however, enough presence of mind in the midst of her suffering +to understand the danger of that mother whom she had surprised thus, +clasping in the arms of a guilty mistress--whom?--the husband of the +very woman speaking to her, who asked her why she trembled with fear, +who would look through that same hole to see that same tableau!... +In order to prevent what she believed would be to Lydia a terrible +revelation, the courageous child had one of those desperate thoughts +such as immediate peril inspires. With her free hand she struck the +glass so violently that it was shivered into atoms, cutting her fingers +and her wrist. + +Lydia exclaimed, angrily: + +“Miserable girl, you did that purposely!” + +The fierce creature as she uttered these words, rushed toward the large +hole now made in the panel--too late! + +She only saw Lincoln erect in the centre of the studio, looking toward +the broken window, while the Countess, standing a few paces from him, +exclaimed: + +“My daughter! What has happened to my daughter? I recognized her voice.” + +“Do not alarm yourself,” replied Lydia, with atrocious sarcasm. “Alba +broke the pane to give you a warning.” + +“But, is she hurt?” asked the mother. + +“Very slightly,” replied the implacable woman with the same accent of +irony, and she turned again toward the Contessina with a glance of such +rancor that, even in the state of confusion in which the latter was +plunged by that which she had surprised, that glance paralyzed her with +fear. She felt the same shudder which had possessed her dear friend +Maud, in that same studio, in the face of the sinister depths of that +dark soul, suddenly exposed. She had not time to precisely define her +feelings, for already her mother was beside her, pressing her in her +arms--in those very arms which Alba had just seen twined around the neck +of a lover--while that same mouth showered kisses upon him. The +moral shock was so great that the young girl fainted. She regained +consciousness and almost at once. She saw her mother as mad with anxiety +as she had just seen her trembling with joy and love. She again saw +Lydia Maitland’s eyes fixed upon them both with an expression too +significant now. And, as she had had the presence of mind to save that +guilty mother, she found in her tenderness the strength to smile at +her, to lie to her, to blind her forever as to the truth of that hideous +scene which had just been enacted in that lobby. + +“I was frightened at the sight of my own blood,” said she, “and I +believe it is only a small cut.... See! I can move my hand without +pain.” + +When the doctor, hastily summoned, had confirmed that no particles of +glass had remained in the cuts, the Countess felt so reassured that her +gayety returned. Never had she been in a mood more charming than in the +carriage which took them to the Villa Steno. + +To a person obliged by proof to condemn another without ceasing to +love her, there is no greater sorrow than to perceive the absolute +unconsciousness of that other person and her serenity in her fault. Poor +Alba, felt overwhelmed by a sadness greater, more depressing still, and +which became materially insupportable, when, toward half-past two, her +mother bade her farewell, although the fete at the English embassy did +not begin until five o’clock. + +“I promised poor Hafner to go to see him to-day. I know he is bowed down +with grief. I would like to try to arrange all.... I will send back the +carriage if you wish to go out awhile. I have telephoned Lydia to expect +me at four o’clock.... She will take me.” + +She had, on detailing the employment so natural of her afternoon, eyes +too brilliant, a smile too happy. She looked too youthful in her light +toilette. Her feet trembled with too nervous an impatience. How could +Alba not have felt that she was telling her an untruth? The undeceived +child had the intuition that the visit to Fanny’s father was only a +pretext. It was not the first time that the Countess employed it to +free herself from inconvenient surveillance, the act of sending back +the carriage, which, in Rome as in Paris, is always the probable sign of +clandestine meetings with women of their rank. It was not the first +time that Alba was possessed by suspicion on certain mysterious +disappearances of her mother. That mother did not mistrust that poor +Alba--her Alba, the child so tenderly loved in spite of all--was +suffering at that very moment and on her account the most terrible of +temptations.... When the carriage had disappeared the fixed gaze of the +young girl was turned upon the pavement, and then she felt arise in +her a sudden, instinctive, almost irresistible idea to end the moral +suffering by which she was devoured. It was so simple!... It was +sufficient to end life. One movement which she could make, one single +movement--she could lean over the balustrade, against which her arm +rested, in a certain manner--so, a little more forward, a little +more--and that suffering would be terminated. Yes, it would be so very +simple. She saw herself lying upon the pavement, her limbs broken, her +head crushed, dead--dead--freed! She leaned forward and was about to +leap, when her eyes fell upon a person who was walking below, the sight +of whom suddenly aroused her from the folly, the strange charm of which +had just laid hold so powerfully upon her. She drew back. She rubbed her +eyes with her hands, and she, who was accustomed to mystical enthusiasm, +said aloud: + +“My God! You send him to me! I am saved.” And she summoned the footman +to tell him that if M. Dorsenne asked for her, he should be shown into +Madame Steno’s small salon. “I am not at home to any one else,” she +added. + +It was indeed Julien, whom she had seen approach the house at the very +instant when she was only separated from the abyss by that last tremor +of animal repugnance, which is found even in suicide of the most ardent +kind. Do not madmen themselves choose to die in one manner rather than +in another? She paused several moments in order to collect herself. + +“Yes,” said she at length, to herself, “it is the only solution. I will +find out if he loves me truly. And if he does not?” + +She again looked toward the window, in order to assure herself that, +in case that conversation did not end as she desired, the tragical and +simple means remained at her service by which to free herself from that +infamous life which she surely could not bear. + +Julien began the conversation in his tone of sentimental raillery, so +speedily to be transformed into one of drama! He knew very well, on +arriving at Villa Steno, that he was to have his last tete-a-tete with +his pretty and interesting little friend. For he had at length decided +to go away, and, to be more sure of not failing, he had engaged his +sleeping-berth for that night. He had jested so much with love that he +entered upon that conversation with a jest; when, having tried to take +Alba’s hand to press a kiss upon it, he saw that it was bandaged. + +“What has happened to you, little Countess? Have my laurels or those of +Florent Chapron prevented you from sleeping, that you are here with +the classical wrist of a duellist?... Seriously, how have you hurt +yourself?” + +“I leaned against a window, which broke and the pieces of glass cut my +fingers somewhat,” replied the young girl with a faint smile, adding: +“It is nothing.” + +“What an imprudent child you are!” said Dorsenne in his tone of friendly +scolding. “Do you know that you might have severed an artery and have +caused a very serious, perhaps a fatal, hemorrhage?” + +“That would not have been such a great misfortune,” replied Alba, +shaking her pretty head with an expression so bitter about her mouth +that the young man, too, ceased smiling. + +“Do not speak in that tone,” said he, “or I shall think you did it +purposely.” + +“Purposely?” repeated the young girl. “Purposely? Why should I have done +it purposely?” + +And she blushed and laughed in the same nervous way she had laughed +fifteen minutes before, when she looked down into the street. Dorsenne +felt that she was suffering, and his heart contracted. The trouble +against which he had struggled for several days with all the energy +of an independent artist, and which for some time systematized his +celibacy, again oppressed him. He thought it time to put between “folly” + and him the irreparability of his categorical resolution. So he replied +to his little friend with his habitual gentleness, but in a tone of +firmness, which already announced his determination: + +“I have again vexed you, Contessina, and you are looking at me with the +glance of our hours of dispute. You will later regret having been unkind +to-day.” + +As he pronounced those enigmatical words, she saw that he had in his +eyes and in his smile something different and indefinable. It must have +been that she loved him still more than she herself believed as for a +second she forgot both her pain and her resolution, and she asked him, +quickly: + +“You have some trouble? You are suffering? What is it?” + +“Nothing,” replied Dorsenne. “But time is flying, the minutes are going +by, and not only the minutes. There is an old and charming. French ode, +which you do not know and which begins: + + ‘Le temps s’en va, le temps s’en va, Madame. + Las, le temps? Non. Mais nous nous en allons.’” + +“Which means, little Countess, in simple prose, that this is no doubt +the last conversation we shall have together this season, and that it +would be cruel to mar for me this last visit.” + +“Do I understand you aright?” said Alba. She, too, knew too well +Julien’s way of speaking not to know that that mannerism, half-mocking, +half-sentimental, always served him to prepare phrases more grave, +and against the emotion of which her fear of appearing a dupe rose in +advance. She crossed her arms upon her breast, and after a pause she +continued, in a grave voice: “You are going away?” + +“Yes,” he replied, and from his coat-pocket he partly drew his ticket. +“You see I have acted like the poltroons who cast themselves into the +water. My ticket is bought, and I shall no longer hold that little +discourse which I have held for months, that, ‘Sir executioner, one +moment.... Du Barry’.” + +“You are going away?” repeated the young girl, who did not seem to have +heeded the jest by which Julien had concealed his own confusion at the +effect of his so abruptly announced departure. “I shall not see you any +more!... And if I ask you not to go yet? You have spoken to me of our +friendship.... If I pray you, if I beseech you, in the name of that +friendship, not to deprive me of it at this instant, when I have no +one, when I am so alone, so horribly alone, will you answer no? You have +often told me that you were my friend, my true friend? If it be true, +you will not go. I repeat, I am alone, and I am afraid.” + +“Come, little Countess,” replied Dorsenne, who began to be terrified +by the young girl’s sudden excitement, “it is not reasonable to agitate +yourself thus, because yesterday you had a very sad conversation with +Fanny Hafner! First, it is altogether impossible for me to defer my +departure. You force me to give you coarse, almost commercial reasons. +But my book is about to appear, and I must be there for the launching of +the sale, of which I have already told you. And then you are going away, +too. You will have all the diversions of the country, of your Venetian +friends and charming Lydia Maitland!” + +“Do not mention that name,” interrupted Alba, whose face became +discomposed at the allusion to the sojourn at Piove. “You do not know +how you pain me, nor what that woman is, what a monster of cruelty +and of perfidy! Ask me no more. I shall tell you nothing. But,” the +Contessina that time clasping her hands, her poor, thin hands, which +trembled with the anguish of the words she dared to utter, “do you not +comprehend that if I speak to you as I do, it is because I have need of +you in order to live?” Then in a low voice, choked by emotion: “It +is because I love you!” All the modesty natural to a child of twenty +mounted to her pale face in a flood of purple, when she had uttered that +avowal. “Yes, I love you!” she repeated, in an accent as deep, but more +firm. “It is not, however, so common a thing to find real devotion, a +being who only asks to serve you, to be useful to you, to live in your +shadow. And you will understand that to have the right of giving you +my life, to bear your name, to be your wife, to follow you, I felt very +vividly in your presence at the moment I was about to lose you. You +will pardon my lack of modesty for the first, for the last time. I have +suffered too much.” + +She ceased. Never had the absolute purity of the charming creature, born +and bred in an atmosphere of corruption, and remaining in the same so +intact, so noble, so frank, flashed out as at that moment. All that +virgin and unhappy soul was in her eyes which implored Julien, on her +lips which trembled at having spoken thus, on her brow around which +floated, like an aureole, the fair hair stirred by the breeze which +entered the open window. She had found the means of daring that +prodigious step, the boldest a woman can permit herself, still more so +a young girl, with so chaste a simplicity that at that moment Dorsenne +would not have dared to touch even the hand of that child who confided +herself to him so madly, so loyally. + +Dorsenne was undoubtedly greatly interested in her, with a curiosity, +without enthusiasm, and against which a reaction had already set in. +That touching speech, in which trembled a distress so tender and each +word of which later on made him weep with regret, produced upon him +at that moment an impression of fear rather than love or pity. When at +length he broke the cruel silence, the sound of his voice revealed to +the unhappy girl the uselessness of that supreme appeal addressed by her +to life. + +She had only kept, to exorcise the demon of suicide, her hope in +the heart of that man, and that heart, toward which she turned in so +immoderate a transport, drew back instead of responding. + +“Calm yourself, I beseech you,” said he to her. “You can understand that +I am very much moved, very much surprised, at what I have heard! I did +not suspect it. My God! How troubled you are. And yet,” he continued +with more firmness, “I should despise myself were I to lie to you. You +have been so loyal toward me.... To marry you? Ah, it would be the +most delightful dream of happiness if that dream were not prevented by +honesty. Poor child,” and his voice sounded almost bitter, “you do not +know me. You do not know what a writer of my order is, and that to unite +your destiny to mine would be for you martyrdom more severe than your +moral solitude of to-day. You see, I came to your home with so much joy, +because I was free, because each time I could say to myself that I need +not return again. Such a confession is not romantic. But it is thus. If +that relation became a bond, an obligation, a fixed framework in which +to move, a circle of habits in which to imprison me, I should only have +one thought--flight. An engagement for my entire life? No, no, I could +not bear it. There are souls of passage as well as birds of passage, and +I am one. You will understand it tomorrow, now, and you will remember +that I have spoken to you as a man of honor, who would be miserable if +he thought he had augmented, involuntarily, the sorrows of your life +when his only desire was to assuage them. My God! What is to be done?” + he cried, on seeing, as he spoke, tears gush from the young girl’s eyes, +which she did not wipe away. + +“Go away,” she replied, “leave me. I do not want you. I am grateful to +you for not having deceived me.” + +“But your presence is too cruel. I am ashamed of having spoken to you, +now that I know you do not love me. I have been mad, do not punish me by +remaining longer. After the conversation we have just had, my honor will +not permit us to talk longer.” + +“You are right,” said Julien, after another pause. He took his hat, +which he had placed upon a table at the beginning of that visit, +so rapidly and abruptly terminated by a confession of sentiments so +strange. He said: + +“Then, farewell.” She inclined her fair head without replying. + +The door was closed. Alba Steno was again alone. Half an hour later, +when the footman entered to ask for orders relative to the carriage sent +back by the Countess, he found her standing motionless at the window +from which she had watched Dorsenne depart. There she had once more +been seized by the temptation of suicide. She had again felt with an +irresistible force the magnetic attraction of death. Life appeared to +her once more as something too vile, too useless, too insupportable to +be borne. The carriage was at her disposal. By way of the Portese gate +and along the Tiber, with the Countess’s horses, it would take an hour +and a half to reach the Lake di Porto. She had, too, this pretext, to +avoid the curiosity of the servants: one of the Roman noblewomen of her +acquaintance, Princess Torlonia, owned an isolated villa on the border +of that lake.... She ascended hastily to don her hat. And without +writing a word of farewell to any one, without even casting a glance at +the objects among which she had lived and suffered, she descended the +staircase and gave the coachman the name of the villa, adding “Drive +quickly; I am late now.” + +The Lake di Porto is only, as its name indicates, the port of the +ancient Tiber. The road which leads from Transtevere runs along the +river, which rolls through a plain strewn with ruins and indented with +barren hills, its brackish water discolored from the sand and mud of the +Apennines. + +Here groups of eucalyptus, there groups of pine parasols above some +ruined walls, were all the vegetation which met Alba Steno’s eye. But +the scene accorded so well with the moral devastation she bore within +her that the barrenness around her in her last walk was pleasant to her. + +The feeling that she was nearing eternal peace, final sleep in which she +should suffer no more, augmented when she alighted from the carriage, +and, having passed the garden of Villa Torlonia, she found herself +facing the small lake, so grandiose in its smallness by the wildness of +its surroundings, and motionless, surprised in even that supreme moment +by the magic of that hidden sight, she paused amid the reeds with their +red tufts to look at that pond which was to become her tomb, and she +murmured: + +“How beautiful it is!” + +There was in the humid atmosphere which gradually penetrated her a charm +of mortal rest, to which she abandoned herself dreamily, almost with +physical voluptuousness, drinking into her being the feverish fumes of +that place--one of the most fatal at that season and at that hour of all +that dangerous coast--until she shuddered in her light summer gown. +Her shoulders contracted, her teeth chattered, and that feeling of +discomfort was to her as a signal for action. She took another allee of +rose-bushes in flower to reach a point on the bank barren of vegetation, +where was outlined the form of a boat. She soon detached it, and, +managing the heavy oars with her delicate hands, she advanced toward the +middle of the lake. + +When she was in the spot which she thought the deepest and the most +suitable for her design, she ceased rowing. Then, by a delicate care, +which made her smile herself, so much did it betray instinctive and +childish order at such a solemn moment, she put her hat, her umbrella +and her gloves on one of the transversal boards of the boat. She had +made effort to move the heavy oars, so that she was perspiring. A second +shudder seized her as she was arranging the trifling objects, so keen, +so chilly, so that time that she paused. She lay there motionless, her +eyes fixed upon the water, whose undulations lapped the boat. At the +last moment she felt reenter her heart, not love of life, but love for +her mother. All the details of the events which would follow her suicide +were presented to her mind. + +She saw herself plunging into the deep water which would close over +her head. Her suffering would be ended, but Madame Steno? She saw the +coachman growing uneasy over her absence, ringing at the door of Villa +Torlonia, the servants in search. The loosened boat would relate enough. +Would the Countess know that she had killed herself? Would she know +the cause of that desperate end? The terrible face of Lydia Maitland +appeared to the young girl. She comprehended that the woman hated her +enemy too much not to enlighten her with regard to the circumstances +which had preceded that suicide. The cry so simple and of a significance +so terrible: “You did it purposely!” returned to Alba’s memory. She saw +her mother learning that her daughter had seen all. She had loved her so +much, that mother, she loved her so dearly still! + +Then, as a third violent chill shook her from head to foot, Alba began +to think of another mode, and one as sure, of death without any one in +the world being able to suspect that it was voluntary. She recalled +the fact that she was in one of the most dreaded corners of the Roman +Campagna; that she had known persons carried off in a few days by the +pernicious fevers contracted in similar places, at that hour and in +that season, notably one of her friends, one of the Bonapartes living +in Rome, who came thither to hunt when overheated. If she were to try to +catch that same disease?... And she took up the oars. When she felt +her brow moist with the second effort, she opened her bodice and her +chemise, she exposed her neck, her breast, her throat, and she lay down +in the boat, allowing the damp air to envelop, to caress, to chill her, +inviting the entrance into her blood of the fatal germs. How long did +she remain thus, half-unconscious, in the atmosphere more and more laden +with miasma in proportion as the sun sank? A cry made her rise and again +take up the oars. It was the coachman, who, not seeing her return, had +descended from the box and was hailing the boat at all hazards. When she +stepped upon the bank and when he saw her so pale, the man, who had been +in the Countess’s service for years, could not help saying to her, with +the familiarity of an Italian servant: + +“You have taken cold, Mademoiselle, and this place is so dangerous.” + +“Indeed,” she replied, “I have had a chill. It will be nothing. Let us +return quickly. Above all, do not say that I was in the boat. You will +cause me to be scolded.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. EPILOGUE + +“And it was directly after that conversation that the poor child left +for the lake, where she caught the pernicious fever?” asked Montfanon. + +“Directly,” replied Dorsenne, “and what troubles me the most is that I +can not doubt but that she went there purposely. I was so troubled by +our conversation that I had not the strength to leave Rome the same +evening, as I told her I should. After much hesitation--you understand +why, now that I have told you all--I returned to the Villa Steno at six +o’clock. To speak to her, but of what? Did I know? It was madness. For +her avowal only allowed of two replies, either that which I made her or +an offer of marriage. Ah, I did not reason so much. I was afraid.... Of +what?... I do not know. I reached the villa, where I found the Countess, +gay and radiant, as was her custom, and tete-a-tete with her American. +‘Only think, there is my child,’ said she to me, ‘who has refused to go +to the English embassy, where she would enjoy herself, and who has gone +out for a drive alone.... Will you await her?’” + +“At length she began to grow uneasy, and I, seeing that no one returned, +took my leave, my heart oppressed by presentiments.... Alba’s carriage +stopped at the door just as I was going out. She was pale, of a greenish +pallor, which caused me to say on approaching her: ‘Whence have you +come?’ as if I had the right. Her lips, already discolored, trembled as +they replied. When I learned where she had spent that hour of sunset, +and near what lake, the most deadly in the neighborhood, I said to her: +‘What imprudence!’ I shall all my life see the glance she gave me at the +moment, as she replied: ‘Say, rather, how wise, and pray that I may have +taken the fever and that I die of it.’ You know the rest, and how her +wish has been realized. She indeed contracted the fever, and so severely +that she died in less than six days. I have no doubt, since her last +words, that it was a suicide.” + +“And the mother,” asked Montfanon, “did she not comprehend finally?” + +“Absolutely nothing,” replied Dorsenne. “It is inconceivable, but it is +thus. Ah! she is truly the worthy friend of that knave Hafner, whom +his daughter’s broken engagement has not grieved, in spite of his +discomfiture. I forgot to tell you that he had just sold Palais Castagna +to a joint-stock company to convert it into a hotel. I laugh,” he +continued with singular acrimony, “in order not to weep, for I am +arriving at the most heartrending part. Do you know where I saw poor +Alba Steno’s face for the last time? It was three days ago, the day +after her death, at this hour. I called to inquire for the Countess! +She was receiving! ‘Do you wish to bid her adieu?’ she asked me. ‘Good +Lincoln is just molding her face for me.’ And I entered the chamber of +death. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were sunken, her pretty nose was +pinched, and upon her brow and in the corners of her mouth was a mixture +of bitterness and of repose which I can not describe to you. I thought: +‘If you had liked, she would be alive, she would smile, she would love +you!’ The American was beside the bed, while Florent Chapron, always +faithful, was preparing the oil to put upon the face of the corpse, and +sinister Lydia Maitland was watching the scene with eyes which made +me shudder, reminding me of what I had divined at the time of my last +conversation with Alba. If she does not undertake to play the part of a +Nemesis and to tell all to the Countess, I am mistaken in faces! For the +moment she was silent, and guess the only words the mother uttered +when her lover, he on whose account her daughter had suffered so much, +approached their common victim: ‘Above all, do not injure her lovely +lashes!’ What horrible irony, was it not? Horrible!” + +The young man sank upon a bench as he uttered that cry of distress and +of remorse, which Montfanon mechanically repeated, as if startled by the +tragical confidence he had just received. + +Montfanon shook his gray head several times as if deliberating; then +forced Dorsenne to rise, chiding him thus: + +“Come, Julien, we can not remain here all the afternoon dreaming and +sighing like young women! The child is dead. We can not restore her to +life, you in despairing, I in deploring. We should do better to look in +the face our responsibility in that sinister adventure, to repent of it +and to expiate it.” + +“Our responsibility?” interrogated Julien. “I see mine, although I can +truly not see yours.” + +“Yours and mine,” replied Montfanon. “I am no sophist, and I am not in +the habit of shifting my conscience. Yes or no,” he insisted, with a +return of his usual excitement, “did I leave the catacombs to arrange +that unfortunate duel? Yes or no, did I yield to the paroxysm of choler +which possessed me on hearing of the engagement of Ardea and on finding +that I was in the presence of that equivocal Hafner? Yes or no, did that +duel help to enlighten Madame Gorka as to her husband’s doings, and, in +consequence, Mademoiselle Steno as to her mother’s? Did you not relate +to me the progress of her anguish since that scandal, there just +now?... And if I have been startled, as I have been, by the news of that +suicide, know it has been for this reason especially, because a voice +has said to me: ‘A few of the tears of that dead girl are laid to your +account.”’ + +“But, my poor friend,” interrupted Dorsenne, “whence such reasoning? +According to that, we could not live any more. There enters into our +lives, by indirect means, a collection of actions which in no way +concerns us, and in admitting that we have a debt of responsibility to +pay, that debt commences and ends in that which we have wished directly, +sincerely, clearly.” + +“It would be very convenient,” replied the Marquis, with still more +vivacity, “but the proof that it is not true is that you yourself +are filled with remorse at not having saved the soul so weak of that +defenseless child. Ah, I do not mince the truth to myself, and I shall +not do so to you. You remember the morning when you were so gay, and +when you gave me the theory of your cosmopolitanism? It amused you, as +a perfect dilettante, so you said, to assist in one of those dramas of +race which bring into play the personages from all points of the earth +and of history, and you then traced to me a programme very true, my +faith, and which events have almost brought about. Madame Steno has +indeed conducted herself toward her two lovers as a Venetian of the time +of Aretin; Chapron, with all the blind devotion of a descendant of an +oppressed race; his sister with the villainous ferocity of a rebel who +at length shakes off the yoke, since you think she wrote those anonymous +letters. Hafner and Ardea have laid bare two detestable souls, the one +of an infamous usurer, half German, half Dutch; the other of a degraded +nobleman, in whom is revived some ancient ‘condottiere’. Gorka has been +brave and mad, like entire Poland; his wife implacable and loyal, like +all of England. Maitland continues to be positive, insensible, and +wilful in the midst of it all, as all America. And poor Alba ended as +did her father. I do not speak to you of Baron Hafner’s daughter,” and +he raised his hat. Then, in an altered voice: + +“She is a saint, in whom I was deceived. But she has Jewish blood in +her veins, blood which was that of the people of God. I should have +remembered it and the beautiful saying of the Middle Ages: ‘The Jewish +women shall be saved because they have wept for our Lord in secret.’.... +You outlined for me in advance the scene of the drama in which we have +been mixed up.... And do you remember what I said: ‘Is there not among +them a soul which you might aid in doing better?’ You laughed in my face +at that moment. You would have treated me, had you been less polite, +as a Philistine and a cabotin. You wished to be only a spectator, the +gentleman in the balcony who wipes the glasses of his lorgnette in order +to lose none of the comedy. Well, you could not do so. That role is not +permitted a man. He must act, and he acts always, even when he thinks +he is looking on, even when he washes his hands as Pontius Pilate, that +dilettante, too, who uttered the words of your masters and of yourself. +What is truth? Truth is that there is always and everywhere a duty to +fulfil. Mine was to prevent that criminal encounter. Yours was not to +pay attention to that young girl if you did not love her, and if +you loved her, to marry her and to take her from her abominable +surroundings. We have both failed, and at what a price!” + +“You are very severe,” said the young man; “but if you were right would +not Alba be dead? Of what use is it for me to know what I should have +done when it is too late?” + +“First, never to do so again,” said the Marquis; “then to judge yourself +and your life.” + +“There is truth in what you say,” replied Dorsenne, “but you are +mistaken if you think that the most intellectual men of our age have not +suffered, too, from that abuse of thought. What is to be done? Ah, it is +the disease of a century too cultivated, and there is no cure.” + +“There is one,” interrupted Montfanon, “which you do not wish to see.... +You will not deny that Balzac was the boldest of our modern writers. Is +it necessary for me, an ignorant man, to recite to you the phrase which +governs his work: ‘Thought, principle of evil and of good can only be +prepared, subdued, directed by religion.’ See?” he continued, suddenly +taking his companion by the arm and forcing him to look into a +transversal allee through the copse, “there he is, the doctor who holds +the remedy for that malady of the soul as for all the others. Do +not show yourself. They will have forgotten our presence. But, look, +look!....Ah, what a meeting!” + +The personage who appeared suddenly in that melancholy, deserted garden, +and in a manner almost supernatural, so much did his presence form a +living commentary to the discourse of the impassioned nobleman, was +no other than the Holy Father himself, on the point of entering his +carriage for his usual drive. Dorsenne, who only knew Leo XIII from +his portraits, saw an old man, bent, bowed, whose white cassock gleamed +beneath the red mantle, and who leaned on one side upon a prelate of +his court, on the other upon one of his officers. In drawing back, +as Montfanon had advised, in order not to bring a reprimand upon +the keepers, he could study at his leisure the delicate face of the +Sovereign Pontiff, who paused at a bed of roses to converse familiarly +with a kneeling gardener. He saw the infinitely indulgent smile of +that spirituelle mouth. He saw the light of those eyes which seemed +to justify by their brightness the ‘lumen in coelo’ applied to the +successor of Pie IX by a celebrated prophecy. He saw the venerable +hand, that white, transparent hand, which was raised to give the solemn +benediction with so much majesty, turn toward a fine yellow rose, and +the fingers bend the flower without plucking it, as if not to harm the +frail creation of God. The old Pope for a second inhaled its perfume and +then resumed his walk toward the carriage, vaguely to be seen between +the trunks of the green oaks. The black horses set off at a trot, and +Dorsenne, turning again toward Montfanon, perceived large tears upon +the lashes of the former zouave, who, forgetting the rest of their +conversation, said, with a sigh: “And that is the only pleasure allowed +him, who is, however, the successor of the first apostle, to inhale his +flowers and drive in a carriage as rapidly as his horses can go! They +have procured four paltry kilometers of road at the foot of the terrace +where we were half an hour since. And he goes on, he goes on, thus +deluding himself with regard to the vast space which is forbidden him. I +have seen many tragical sights in my life. I have been to the war, and I +have spent one entire night wounded on a battlefield covered with snow, +among the dead, grazed by the wheels of the artillery of the conquerors, +who defiled singing. Nothing has moved me like that drive of the old +man, who has never uttered a complaint and who has for himself only that +acre of land in which to move freely. But these are grand words which +the holy man wrote one day at the foot of his portrait for a missionary. +The words explain his life: ‘Debitricem martyrii fidem’--Faith is bound +to martyrdom.” + +“‘Debitricem martyrii fidem’,” repeated Dorsenne, “that is beautiful, +indeed. And,” he added, in a low voice, “you just now abused very rudely +the dilettantes and the sceptic. But do you think there would be one +of them who would refuse martyrdom if he could have at the same time +faith?” + +Never had Montfanon heard the young man utter a similar phrase and +in such an accent. The image returned to him, by way of contrast, of +Dorsenne, alert and foppish, the dandy of literature, so gayly a scoffer +and a sophist, to whom antique and venerable Rome was only a city of +pleasure, a cosmopolis more paradoxical than Florence, Nice, Biarritz, +St. Moritz, than such and such other cities of international winter and +summer. He felt that for the first time that soul was strained to its +depths, the tragical death of poor Alba had become in the mind of the +writer the point of remorse around which revolved the moral life of the +superior and incomplete being, exiled from simple humanity by the most +invincible pride of mind. Montfanon comprehended that every additional +word would pain the wounded heart. He was afraid of having already +lectured Dorsenne too severely. He took within his arm the arm of the +young man, and he pressed it silently, putting into that manly caress +all the warm and discreet pity of an elder brother. + + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + Conditions of blindness so voluntary that they become complicity + Despotism natural to puissant personalities + Egyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetre + Follow their thoughts instead of heeding objects + Has as much sense as the handle of a basket + Have never known in the morning what I would do in the evening + I no longer love you + Imagine what it would be never to have been born + Mediocre sensibility + Melancholy problem of the birth and death of love + Mobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himself + No flies enter a closed mouth + Not an excuse, but an explanation of your conduct + One of those trustful men who did not judge when they loved + Only one thing infamous in love, and that is a falsehood + Pitiful checker-board of life + Scarcely a shade of gentle condescension + Sufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparation + That suffering which curses but does not pardon + That you can aid them in leading better lives? + The forests have taught man liberty + There is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideas + There is always and everywhere a duty to fulfil + Thinking it better not to lie on minor points + Too prudent to risk or gain much + Walked at the rapid pace characteristic of monomaniacs + Words are nothing; it is the tone in which they are uttered + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cosmopolis, Complete, by Paul Bourget + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOPOLIS, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3967-0.txt or 3967-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/6/3967/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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