XII
The Count Hector de Tremorel, at twenty-six, was the model and ideal ofthe polished man of the world, proper to our age; a man useless alike tohimself and to others, harmful even, seeming to have been placed onearth expressly to play at the expense of all. Young, noble, elegant,rich by millions, endowed with vigorous health, this last descendant ofa great family squandered most foolishly and ignobly both his youth andhis patrimony. He acquired by excesses of all kinds a wide andunenviable celebrity. People talked of his stables, his carriages, hisservants, his furniture, his dogs, his favorite loves. His cast-offhorses still took prizes, and a jade distinguished by his notice waseagerly sought by the young bloods of the town. Do not think, however,that he was naturally vicious; he had a warm heart, and even generousemotions at twenty. Six years of unhealthy pleasures had spoiled him tothe marrow. Foolishly vain, he was ready to do anything to maintain hisnotoriety. He had the bold and determined egotism of one who has neverhad to think of anyone but himself, and has never suffered. Intoxicatedby the flatteries of the so-called friends who drew his money from him,he admired himself, mistaking his brutal cynicism for wit, and his loftydisdain of all morality and his idiotic scepticism, for character. Hewas also feeble; he had caprices, but never a will; feeble as a child, awoman, a girl. His biography was to be found in the petty journals ofthe day, which retailed his sayings--or what he might have said; hisleast actions and gestures were reported.
One night when he was supping at the Cafe de Paris, he threw all theplates out the window. It cost him twenty thousand francs. Bravo! Onemorning gossiping Paris learned with stupefaction that he had eloped toItaly with the wife of X---, the banker, a lady nineteen years married.He fought a duel, and killed his man. The week after, he was wounded inanother. He was a hero! On one occasion he went to Baden, where he brokethe bank. Another time, after playing sixty hours, he managed to loseone hundred and twenty thousand francs--won by a Russian prince.
He was one of those men whom success intoxicates, who long for applause,but who care not for what they are applauded. Count Hector was more thanravished by the noise he made in the world. It seemed to him the acme ofhonor and glory to have his name or initials constantly in the columnsof the Parisian World. He did not betray this, however, but said, withcharming modesty, after each new adventure:
"When will they stop talking about me?"
On great occasions, he borrowed from Louis XIV the epigram:
"After me the deluge."
The deluge came in his lifetime.
One April morning, his valet, a villainous fellow, drilled and dressedup by the count--woke him at nine o'clock with this speech:
"Monsieur, a bailiff is downstairs in the ante-chamber, and has come toseize your furniture."
Hector turned on his pillow, yawned, stretched, and replied:
"Well, tell him to begin operations with the stables and carriage-house;and then come up and dress me."
He did not seem disturbed, and the servant retired amazed at hismaster's coolness. The count had at least sense enough to know the stateof his finances; and he had foreseen, nay, expected the bailiff's visit.Three years before, when he had been laid up for six weeks inconsequence of a fall from his horse, he had measured the depth of thegulf toward which he was hastening. Then, he might yet have savedhimself. But he must have changed his whole course of life, reformed hishousehold, learned that twenty-one franc pieces made a napoleon. Fie,never! After mature reflection he had said to himself that he would goon to the end. When the last hour came, he would fly to the other end ofFrance, erase his name from his linen, and blow his brains out in someforest.
This hour had now come.
By contracting debts, signing bills, renewing obligations, payinginterests and compound interests, giving commissions by alwaysborrowing, and never paying, Hector had consumed the princelyheritage--nearly four millions in lands--which he had received at hisfather's death. The winter just past had cost him fifty thousand crowns.He had tried eight days before to borrow a hundred thousand francs, andhad failed. He had been refused, not because his property was not asmuch as he owed, but because it was known that property sold by abankrupt does not bring its value.
Thus it was that when the valet came in and said, "The bailiff is here,"he seemed like a spectre commanding suicide.
Hector took the announcement coolly and said, as he got up:
"Well, here's an end of it."
He was very calm, though a little confused. A little confusion isexcusable when a man passes from wealth to beggary. He thought he wouldmake his last toilet with especial care. Parbleu! The French nobilitygoes into battle in court costume! He was ready in less than an hour. Heput on his bejewelled watch-chain; then he put a pair of little pistols,of the finest quality, in his overcoat pocket; then he sent the valetaway, and opening his desk, he counted up what funds he had left. Tenthousand and some hundreds of francs remained. He might with this sumtake a journey, prolong his life two or three months; but he repelledwith disdain the thought of a miserable subterfuge, of a reprieve indisguise. He imagined that with this money he might make a great show ofgenerosity, which would be talked of in the world; it would bechivalrous to breakfast with his inamorata and make her a present ofthis money at dessert. During the meal he would be full of nervousgayety, of cynical humor, and then he would announce his intention tokill himself. The girl would not fail to narrate the scene everywhere;she would repeat his last conversation, his last will and gift; all thecafes would buzz with it at night; the papers would be full of it.
This idea strangely excited him, and comforted him at once. He was goingout, when his eyes fell upon the mass of papers in his desk. Perhapsthere was something there which might dim the positiveness of hisresolution. He emptied all the drawers without looking or choosing, andput all the papers in the fire. He looked with pride upon thisconflagration; there were bills, love letters, business letters, bonds,patents of nobility, deeds of property. Was it not his brilliant pastwhich flickered and consumed in the fireplace?
The bailiff occurred to him, and he hastily descended. He was the mostpolite of bailiffs, a man of taste and wit, a friend of artists, himselfa poet at times. He had already seized eight horses in the stables withall their harness and trappings, and five carriages with their equipage,in the carriage-house.
"I'm going on slowly, Count," said he bowing. "Perhaps you wish toarrest the execution. The sum is large, to be sure, but a man in yourposition--"
"Believe that you are here because it suits me," interrupted Hector,proudly, "this house doesn't suit me; I shall never enter it again. So,as you are master, go on."
And wheeling round on his heel he went off.
The astonished bailiff proceeded with his work. He went from room toroom, admiring and seizing. He seized cups gained at the races,collections of pipes and arms, and the library, containing manysporting-books, superbly bound.
Meanwhile the Count de Tremorel, who was resolved more than ever onsuicide, ascending the boulevards came to his inamorata's house, whichwas near the Madeleine. He had introduced her some six months beforeinto the demi-monde as Jenny Fancy. Her real name was Pelagie Taponnet,and although the count did not know it, she was his valet's sister. Shewas pretty and lively, with delicate hands and a tiny foot, superbchestnut hair, white teeth, and great impertinent black eyes, which werelanguishing, caressing, or provoking, at will. She had passed suddenlyfrom the most abject poverty to a state of extravagant luxury. Thisbrilliant change did not astonish her as much as you might think.Forty-eight hours after her removal to her new apartments, she hadestablished order among the servants; she made them obey a glance or agesture; and she made her dress-makers and milliners submit with goodgrace to her orders. Jenny soon began to languish, in her fine rooms,for new excitement; her gorgeous toilets no longer amused her. A woman'shappiness is not complete unless seasoned by the jealousy of rivals.Jenny's rivals lived in the Faubourg du Temple, near the barrier; theycould not envy her splendor, for they d
id not know her, and she wasstrictly forbidden to associate with and so dazzle them. As forTremorel, Jenny submitted to him from necessity. He seemed to her themost tiresome of men. She thought his friends the dreariest of beings.Perhaps she perceived beneath their ironically polite manner, a contemptfor her, and understood of how little consequence she was to these richpeople, these high livers, gamblers, men of the world. Her pleasurescomprised an evening with someone of her own class, card-playing, atwhich she won, and a midnight supper. The rest of the time she sufferedennui. She was wearied to death: A hundred times she was on the point ofdiscarding Tremorel, abandoning all this luxury, money, servants, andresuming her old life. Many a time she packed up; her vanity alwayschecked her at the last moment.
Hector de Tremorel rang at her door at eleven on the morning inquestion. She did not expect him so early, and she was evidentlysurprised when he told her he had come to breakfast, and asked her tohasten the cook, as he was in a great hurry.
She had never, she thought, seen him so amiable, so gay. All throughbreakfast he sparkled, as he promised himself he would, with spirit andfun. At last, while they were sipping their coffee, Hector spoke:
"All this, my dear, is only a preface, intended to prepare you for apiece of news which will surprise you. I am a ruined man."
She looked at him with amazement, not seeming to comprehend him.
"I said--ruined," said he, laughing bitterly, "as ruined as man can be."
"Oh, you are making fun of me, joking--"
"I never spoke so seriously in my life. It seems strange to you, doesn'tit? Yet it's sober truth."
Jenny's large eyes continued to interrogate him.
"Why," he continued, with lofty carelessness, "life, you know, is like abunch of grapes, which one either eats gradually, piece by piece, orsqueezes into a glass to be tossed off at a gulp. I've chosen the latterway. My grape was four million francs; they are drunk up to the dregs. Idon't regret them, I've had a jolly life for my money. But now I canflatter myself that I am as much of a beggar as any beggar in France.Everything at my house is in the bailiff's hands--I am without adomicile, without a penny."
He spoke with increasing animation as the multitude of diverse thoughtspassed each other tumultuously in his brain. And he was not playing apart. He was speaking in all good faith.
"But--then--" stammered Jenny.
"What? Are you free? Just so--"
She hardly knew whether to rejoice or mourn.
"Yes," he continued, "I give you back your liberty."
Jenny made a gesture which Hector misunderstood.
"Oh! be quiet," he added quickly, "I sha'n't leave you thus; I would notdesert you in a state of need. This furniture is yours, and I haveprovided for you besides. Here in my pocket are five hundred napoleons;it is my all; I have brought it to give to you."
He passed the money over to her on a plate, laughingly, imitating therestaurant waiters. She pushed it back with a shudder.
"Oh, well," said he, "that's a good sign, my dear; very good, very good.I've always thought and said that you were a good girl--in fact, toogood; you needed correcting."
She did, indeed, have a good heart; for instead of taking Hector'sbank-notes and turning him out of doors, she tried to comfort andconsole him. Since he had confessed to her that he was penniless, sheceased to hate him, and even commenced to love him. Hector, homeless,was no longer the dreaded man who paid to be master, the millionnairewho, by a caprice, had raised her from the gutter. He was no longer theexecrated tyrant. Ruined, he descended from his pedestal, he became aman like others, to be preferred to others, as a handsome and gallantyouth. Then Jenny mistook the last artifice of a discarded vanity for agenerous impulse of the heart, and was deeply touched by this splendidlast gift.
"You are not as poor as you say," she said, "for you still have so largea sum."
"But, dear child, I have several times given as much for diamonds whichyou envied."
She reflected a moment, then as if an idea had struck her, exclaimed:
"That's true enough; but I can spend, oh, a great deal less, and yet bejust as happy. Once, before I knew you, when I was young (she was nownineteen), ten thousand francs seemed to me to be one of those fabuloussums which were talked about, but which few men ever saw in one pile,and fewer still held in their hands."
She tried to slip the money into the count's pocket; but he preventedit.
"Come, take it back, keep it--"
"What shall I do with it?"
"I don't know, but wouldn't this money bring in more? Couldn't youspeculate on the Bourse, bet at the races, play at Baden, or something?I've heard of people that are now rich as kings, who commenced withnothing, and hadn't your talents either. Why don't you do as they did?"
She spoke excitedly, as a woman does who is anxious to persuade. Helooked at her, astonished to find her so sensitive, so disinterested.
"You will, won't you?" she insisted, "now, won't you?"
"You are a good girl," said he, charmed with her, "but you must takethis money. I give it to you, don't be worried about anything."
"But you--have you still any money? What have you?"
"I have yet--"
He stopped, searched his pockets, and counted the money in his purse.
"Faith, here's three hundred and forty francs--more than I need. I mustgive some napoleons to your servants before I go."
"And what for Heaven's sake will become of you?"
He sat back in his chair, negligently stroked his handsome beard, andsaid:
"I am going to blow my brains out."
"Oh!"
Hector thought that she doubted what he said. He took his pistols out ofhis pockets, showed them to her, and went on:
"You see these toys? Well, when I leave you, I shall go somewhere--nomatter where--put the muzzle to my temple, thus, press the trigger--andall will be over!"
She gazed at him, her eyes dilated with terror, pale, breathing hard andfast. But at the same time, she admired him. She marvelled at so muchcourage, at this calm, this careless railing tone. What superb disdainof life! To exhaust his fortune and then kill himself, without a cry, atear, or a regret, seemed to her an act of heroism unheard of,unexampled. It seemed to her that a new, unknown, beautiful, radiant manstood before her. She loved him as she had never loved before!
"No!" she cried, "no! It shall not be!"
And rising suddenly, she rushed to him and seized him by the arm.
"You will not kill yourself, will you? Promise me, swear it to me. Itisn't possible, you would not! I love you--I couldn't bear you before.Oh, I did not know you, but now--come, we will be happy. You, who havelived with millions don't know how much ten thousand francs are--but Iknow. We can live a long time on that, and very well, too. Then, if weare obliged to sell the useless things--the horses, carriages, mydiamonds, my green cashmere, we can have three or four times that sum.Thirty thousand francs--it's a fortune! Think how many happy days--"
The Count de Tremorel shook his head, smilingly. He was ravished; hisvanity was flattered by the heat of the passion which beamed from thepoor girl's eyes. How he was beloved! How he would be regretted! What ahero the world was about to lose!
"For we will not stay here," Jenny went on, "we will go and concealourselves far from Paris, in a little cottage. Why, on the other side ofBelleville you can get a place surrounded by gardens for a thousandfrancs a year. How well off we should be there! You would never leaveme, for I should be jealous--oh, so jealous! We wouldn't have anyservants, and you should see that I know how to keep house."
Hector said nothing.
"While the money lasts," continued Jenny, "we'll laugh away the days.When it's all gone, if you are still decided, you will killyourself--that is, we will kill ourselves together. But not with apistol--No! We'll light a pan of charcoal, sleep in one another's arms,and that will be the end. They say one doesn't suffer that way at all."
This idea drew Hector from his torpor, and awoke in him a recollecti
onwhich ruffled all his vanity.
Three or four days before, he had read in a paper the account of thesuicide of a cook, who, in a fit of love and despair, had bravelysuffocated himself in his garret. Before dying he had written a mosttouching letter to his faithless love. The idea of killing himself likea cook made him shudder. He saw the possibility of the horriblecomparison. How ridiculous! And the Count de Tremorel had a wholesomefear of ridicule. To suffocate himself, at Belleville, with a grisette,how dreadful! He almost rudely pushed Jenny's arms away, and repulsedher.
"Enough of that sort of thing," said he, in his careless tone. "What yousay, child, is all very pretty, but utterly absurd. A man of my namedies, and doesn't choke." And taking the bank-notes from his pocket,where Jenny had slipped them, he threw them on the table.
"Now, good-by."
He would have gone, but Jenny, red and with glistening eyes, barred thedoor with her body.
"You shall not go!" she cried, "I won't have you; you are mine--for Ilove you; if you take one step, I will scream."
The count shrugged his shoulders.
"But we must end all this!"
"You sha'n't go!"
"Well, then, I'll blow my brains out here." And taking out one of hispistols, he held it to his forehead, adding, "If you call out and don'tlet me pass, I shall fire." He meant the threat for earnest.
But Jenny did not call out; she could not; she uttered a deep groan andfainted.
"At last!" muttered Hector, replacing the pistol in his pocket.
He went out, not taking time to lift her from the floor where she hadfallen, and shut the door. Then he called the servants into thevestibule, gave them ten napoleons to divide among them, and hastenedaway.