Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Believe me, madame, I shall at all times be most proud and happy to receive the smallest proof of your confidence. Yet permit me to say, as regards the interest you speak of, that I am perfectly aware it originated as much in sincere pity as from the constant importunities of Countess Sarah Macgregor, who had her own reasons for seeking to injure you. And I also know equally well that you long hesitated ere you could make up your mind to take the step you now so much regret.”

  Clémence looked at the prince with surprise.

  “You seem astonished. Well, that you may not fancy I dabble in witchcraft, some of these days I will tell you all about it,” said Rodolph, smiling. “But your husband is perfectly tranquillised, is he not?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Clémence, looking down in much confusion; “and it is most painful to me to hear him asking my pardon for having ever suspected me, and then eulogising my modest silence respecting my good deeds.”

  “Nay, do not chide an illusion which renders him so happy. On the contrary, endeavour to maintain the innocent deception. Were it not forbidden to treat your late adventure lightly, and had not you, madame, been so much involved in it, I would say that a woman never appears more charming in the eyes of her husband than when she has some fault to conceal. It is inconceivable how many little cajoleries, and what winning smiles, are employed to ease a troubled conscience. When I was young,” added Rodolph, smiling, “I always, in spite of myself, mistrusted any unusual marks of tenderness. And, by the same rule, I can say of myself, that I never felt more disposed to appear in an amiable light than when I was conscious of requiring forgiveness. So, directly I perceived a more than ordinary anxiety to please and gratify me, I was very sure (judging by my own conduct) to ascribe it to some little peccadillo that needed overlooking and pardoning.”

  The light tone with which Rodolph continued to discuss an affair which might have been attended with circumstances so fearful, at first excited Madame d’Harville’s wonder; but she quickly perceived that the prince, beneath his outward appearance of trifling, sought to conceal, or at least lessen, the importance of the service he had rendered her. And, profoundly touched with his delicacy, she said:

  “I comprehend your generous meaning, my lord; and you are fully at liberty to jest and forget as much as you like the peril from which you have preserved me. But that which I have to relate to you is of so grave, so serious, and mournful a nature, is so closely connected with the events of this morning, and your advice may so greatly benefit me, that I beseech you to remember that to you I owe both my honour and my life: yes, my lord, my life! My husband was armed; and he has owned, in the excess of his repentance, that it was his intention to have killed me, had his suspicions proved correct.”

  “Great God!” exclaimed Rodolph with emotion.

  “And he would have been justified in so doing,” rejoined Madame d’Harville, bitterly.

  “I beseech you, madame,” said Rodolph, — and this time he spoke with deep seriousness,— “I beseech you to be assured I am incapable of being careless or indifferent to any matter in which you are concerned. If I seemed but now to jest, it was but to make you think less of a circumstance which has already occasioned you so much pain. But now, madame, you may command my most solemn attention. Since you honour me by saying my advice may be useful, I listen most anxiously and eagerly.”

  “You can, indeed, counsel me most beneficially, my lord. But, before I explain to you my reasons for seeking your aid, I must say a few words concerning a period of which you are ignorant, — I mean the years which preceded my marriage with M. d’Harville.”

  Rodolph bowed, and Clémence continued:

  “At sixteen years of age I lost my mother (and here a tear stole down the fair cheek of Madame d’Harville). I cannot attempt to describe how much I adored that beloved parent. Imagine, my lord, the very personification of all earthly goodness. Her fondness for me was excessive, and appeared her only consolation amid the many bitter sorrows she had to endure. Caring but little for what is styled the world, with delicate health, and a natural predilection for sedentary occupation, her great delight had been in attending solely to my education, and her ample store of solid and varied knowledge well fitted her for the task. Conceive, my lord, her astonishment and mine when, in my sixteenth year, my dear preceptress considered my education nearly completed, my father — making the feeble health of my mother a pretext — announced to us that a young and accomplished widow, whose misfortunes rendered her justly interesting, would henceforth be charged with finishing what my dear parent had begun. My mother at first resolutely refused obedience to my father’s command, while I in vain besought him not to interpose a stranger’s authority between myself and my beloved mother. He was inexorable alike to our tears and prayers, and Madame Roland, who stated herself to be the widow of a colonel who had died in India, came to take up her abode with us, in the character of governess to myself.”

  “What! the same Madame Roland your father married almost immediately after the death of your mother?”

  “The same, my lord.”

  “Was she, then, very beautiful?”

  “Tolerably so, — nothing more.”

  “Clever, — witty, perhaps?”

  “She was a clever dissembler, — a skilful manœuvrer; her talent went no higher. She might be about five and twenty years of age, with extremely light hair and nearly white eyelashes; her eyes were large, round, and a clear blue; the expression of her countenance was humble and gentle; and while her outward manner was attentive, even to servility, her real disposition was as perfidious as it was unfeeling.”

  “And what were her acquirements?”

  “Positively none at all, my lord; and I cannot conceive how my father, who until then had been so completely a slave to the dictates of worldly propriety, did not reflect that the utter incapacity of this woman must shamefully proclaim the real cause of her being in the house. My mother earnestly pointed out to him the extreme ignorance of Madame Roland; he, however, merely replied, in a tone which admitted of no further argument, that, competent or otherwise, the young and interesting widow should retain the situation in his establishment in which he had placed her. This I heard subsequently. From that instant my poor mother comprehended the whole affair, over which she deeply grieved; regretting less, I fancy, her husband’s infidelity than the domestic unhappiness which would result from so indecorous a liaison, the account of which she feared might reach my ears.”

  “But, even so far as his foolish passion was concerned, it seems to me that your father acted very unwisely in introducing this woman into his house.”

  “And you would be still more at a loss to understand his conduct if you had but known the extreme formality and circumspection of his character. Nothing could ever have induced him thus to trample under foot all the established rules of society but the unbounded influence of Madame Roland, — an influence she exercised with so much the more certainty as she veiled her designs under the mask of the most passionate love for him.”

  “But what was your father’s age then?”

  “About sixty.”

  “And he really credited the professions of love made by so much younger a woman?”

  “My father had been in his time one of the most fashionable and admired men of the day. And Madame Roland, either following the suggestions of her own artful mind or urged on by the counsels of others, who could countenance much more—”

  “Counsel such a person!”

  “I will tell you, my lord. Imagining that a man whose reputation for gallantry had always stood high in the world would, as he advanced in years, be more easily delighted than another by being flattered upon his personal advantages, and more credulously receive such compliments as served to recall those days most soothing to his vanity to remember, well, my lord, incredible as it may appear, this woman began to flatter my poor misguided father upon the graceful tournure of his features and the inimitable elegance of his shape. And he in his si
xtieth year! Strange as you may consider it, spite of the excellent sense with which my father was endowed, he fell blindly into the snare, coarse and vulgar as it was. Such was — such still is, I doubt not — the secret of the unbounded influence this woman obtained over him. And really, my lord, spite of my present disinclination for mirth, I can scarcely restrain a smile at the recollection of having frequently, before my marriage, heard Madame Roland assert and maintain that what she styled real maturity was the finest portion of a person’s existence, and that this maturity never began until about the fifty-fifth or sixtieth year of one’s age.”

  “I suppose that happened to be your father’s age?”

  “Precisely so, my lord! Then, and then only, according to Madame Roland, had the understanding, combined with experience, attained their full development; then only could a man, occupying a distinguished position in the world, enjoy the consideration to which he was entitled; at that period only were the tout ensemble of his countenance, and the exquisite grace of his manners, in their highest perfection; the physiognomy offering at this delightful epoch of a man’s life a heavenly mixture of winning serenity and gentle gravity. Then the slight tinge of melancholy, caused by the many recollections of the past deceit experience is fain to look back upon, completes the irresistible charm of real maturity; unappreciable (Madame Roland hastily added) except by women with head and heart sufficiently good to despise the youthful frivolity of a poor, inexperienced forty years, when the character and countenance can scarcely be called formed, and when good taste turns away from the boyish folly of such an immature season of life, and seeks the fine, majestic features impressed with the sublime and poetic expression resulting from a sixty years’ study of the vast book of human existence.”

  Rodolph could not restrain smiling at the powerful irony with which Madame d’Harville sketched the portrait of her mother-in-law.

  “There is one thing,” said he to the marquise, “for which I cannot forgive ridiculous people.”

  “What is that, my lord?”

  “The being also wicked; which prevents our being able to laugh at them as much as they deserve.”

  “They probably calculate upon that available advantage,” replied Clémence.

  “Indeed, it is very probable, though equally lamentable, for, if it were not for the recollection of all the pain Madame Roland has occasioned you, I could be highly diverted with her system of real maturity as opposed to the insipidity of mere boys of only forty years of age, who, according to her assertion, would be scarcely out of their leading-strings, as our grandfathers and grandmothers would say.”

  “What principally excited my aversion for her was the shamefulness of her conduct towards my dear mother, and the unfortunately over-zealous part she took in my marriage,” said the marquise, after a moment’s pause.

  Rodolph looked at her with much surprise.

  “Nay, my lord,” said Clémence, in a firm, though gentle tone, “I well remember that M. d’Harville is your friend and my husband. I know perfectly the grave importance of the words I have just uttered: hereafter you yourself shall admit the justice of them. But to return to Madame Roland, who was now, spite of her acknowledged incapacity, established as my instructress: my mother had a long and most painful altercation with my father on the subject, which drew down on us his extreme displeasure, and from that period my mother and myself remained secluded in our apartments, while Madame Roland, in quality of my governess, directed the whole household, and almost publicly did the honours of the mansion.”

  “What must your mother have suffered!”

  “She did, indeed, my lord; but her sorrow was less for herself than me, whose future destiny might be so deeply affected by the introduction of this woman. Her health, always delicate, became daily weaker, and she fell seriously ill. It chanced, most unfortunately, that our family doctor, M. Sorbier, in whom she had the highest confidence, died about this period, to my mother’s extreme regret. Madame Roland immediately urged my father to place my mother’s case in the hands of an Italian doctor, a particular friend of her own, and whom she described as possessing a more than ordinary skill in the treatment of diseases. Thanks to her importunities, my father, who had himself consulted him in trifling maladies, and found no cause to be dissatisfied, proposed him to my mother, who, alas, raised no objection. And this man it was who attended upon her during her last illness.”

  Tears filled the eyes of Madame d’Harville as she uttered these words.

  “I am ashamed to confess my weakness, my lord,” added she; “but, for the simple reason of this doctor having been appointed at the suggestion of Madame Roland, he inspired me (and at that time without any cause) with the most involuntary repugnance, and it was with the most painful misgivings I saw him established in my mother’s confidence. Still, as regarded his knowledge of his profession, Doctor Polidori—”

  “What do I hear?” exclaimed Rodolph.

  “Are you indisposed, my lord?” inquired Clémence, struck with the sudden expression the prince’s countenance had assumed.

  “No, no!” said Rodolph, as though unconscious of the presence of Madame d’Harville, “no, I must be mistaken. Five or six years must have elapsed since all this occurred, while I am informed that it is not more than two years since Polidori came to Paris, and then under a feigned name. He it was I saw yesterday, — I am sure of it, — the quack dentist Bradamanti and Polidori are one and the same. Still, ’tis singular; two doctors of the same name, — what a strange rencontre!”

  We must remind the reader that Polidori was a doctor of some eminence when he undertook the education of Rodolph.

  “Madame,” said Rodolph, turning to Madame d’Harville, whose astonishment at his preoccupation still increased, “we will, if you please, compare notes as to this Italian. What age was he?”

  “About fifty.”

  “And his appearance, — his countenance?”

  “Most sinister. Never shall I forget his clear, piercing, green eye, and his nose curved like the bill of an eagle.”

  “’Tis he,— ’tis he himself!” exclaimed Rodolph. “And do you think, madame, that the Doctor Polidori you were describing is still in Paris?”

  “That I cannot tell you, my lord. He quitted Paris about a year after my father’s marriage. A lady of my acquaintance, who at this period also employed the Italian as her medical adviser — this lady, Madame de Lucenay—”

  “The Duchess de Lucenay?” interrupted Rodolph.

  “Yes, my lord. But why this surprise?”

  “Permit me to be silent on that subject. But, at the time of which you speak, what did Madame de Lucenay tell you of this man?”

  “She said that he travelled much after quitting Paris, and that she often received from him very clever and amusing letters, descriptive of the various places he visited. Now I recollect that, about a month ago, happening to ask Madame de Lucenay whether she had heard lately from M. Polidori, she replied, with an embarrassed manner, ‘that nothing had been heard of or concerning him for some time; that no one knew what had become of him; and that by many he was supposed to be dead.’”

  “Strange, indeed,” said Rodolph, recalling the recent visit of Madame de Lucenay to the charlatan Bradamanti.

  “You know this man, then, my lord?”

  “Unfortunately for myself, I do; but let me beseech you to continue your recital; hereafter I will give you an insight into the history of this Polidori.”

  “Do you mean the doctor?”

  “Say, rather, the wretch stained with the most atrocious crimes.”

  “Crimes!” cried Madame d’Harville, in alarm; “can it be possible, the man whom Madame Roland so highly extolled, and into whose hands my poor mother was delivered, was guilty of crimes? Alas, my dear parent lingered but a very short time after she passed into his care! Ah, my lord, my presentiments have not deceived me!”

  “Your presentiments?”

  “Oh, yes! I was telling you just now of the inv
incible antipathy I felt for this man from the circumstance of his having been introduced among us by Madame Roland; but I did not tell you all, my lord.”

  “How so?”

  “I was fearful lest the bitterness of my own griefs should make me guilty of injustice towards an innocent person; but now, my lord, you shall know everything. My mother had lain dangerously ill about five days; I had always watched beside her, night as well as day. One evening, that I felt much oppressed with confinement and fatigue, I went to breathe the fresh air on the terrace of the garden: after remaining about a quarter of an hour, I was returning by a long and obscure gallery; by a faint light which streamed from the apartment of Madame Roland I saw M. Polidori quit the room, accompanied by the mistress of the chamber. Being in the shadow, they did not perceive me; Madame Roland spoke some words to the doctor, but in so low a tone I could not catch them; the doctor’s answer was given in a louder key, and consisted only of these words: ‘The day after to-morrow;’ and, when Madame Roland seemed to urge him, still in so low a voice as to prevent the words reaching me, he replied, with singular emphasis, ‘The day after to-morrow, I tell you, — the day after to-morrow.’”

  “What could those words mean?”

  “What did they mean? Alas, alas, my lord, it was on the Wednesday evening I heard M. Polidori say ‘The day after to-morrow;’ on the Friday my mother was a corpse!”

  “Horrible, indeed!”

  “After this mournful event I was consigned to the care of a relation, who, forgetful of the afflicted state of my mind, as well as tender age, told me, without reserve or consideration of the consequences, what powerful reasons there were for my hating Madame Roland, and fully enlightened me as to the ambitious projects entertained by this woman: full well I could then imagine all my poor mother must have endured. I thought my heart would break the first time I again saw my father, which was upon the occasion of his coming to fetch me from the house of my relation to take me into Normandy, where we were to pass the first months of our mourning. During the journey he informed me, without the least embarrassment, and as though it had been the most natural thing in the world, that, out of regard for himself and me, madame had kindly consented to take the command of the establishment, and to act as my guide and friend. On arriving at Aubiers (so was my father’s estate called), the first object we beheld was Madame Roland, who had established herself here on the very day of my mother’s death. Spite of her modest, gentle manner, her countenance betrayed an ill-disguised triumph; never shall I forget the look, at once ironical and spiteful, she cast on me as I descended from the carriage; it seemed to say, ‘I am mistress here,— ’tis you who are the intruder.’ A fresh grief awaited me; whether from an inexcusable want of proper judgment or unpardonable assurance, this woman occupied the apartment which had been my mother’s: in my just indignation I loudly complained to my father of this unpleasant forgetfulness of my rights as well as wishes. He reprimanded me severely for making any remonstrance on the subject, adding that it was needless for me either to feel or express surprise on the subject, as it was his desire I should habituate myself to consider Madame Roland in every respect as a second mother, and show her a corresponding deference. I replied that it would be a profanation to that sacred name to act as he commanded; and, to his extreme wrath, I never allowed any opportunity to escape by which I could evince my deeply rooted aversion to Madame Roland. At times my father’s rage knew no bounds, and bitterly would he reproach me in the presence of that woman for the coldness and ingratitude of my conduct towards an angel, as he styled her, sent by heaven for our consolation and happiness. ‘Let me entreat of you to speak for yourself alone,’ said I, one day, quite wearied with the hypocritical conduct of Madame Roland and my father’s blind infatuation. The harshness and unreasonableness of his conduct became at last quite unendurable; while Madame Roland, with the honeyed words of feigned affection, would artfully intercede for me, because she well knew by so doing she should only increase the storm she had raised. ‘You must make some allowances for Clémence,’ she would say; ‘the sorrow she experiences for the excellent parent we all deplore is so natural, and even praiseworthy, that you should respect her just grief, and pity her for her unfounded suspicions.’ ‘You hear her! you hear her!’ would my father exclaim, pointing with mingled triumph and admiration to the accomplished hypocrite; ‘what angelic goodness! what enchanting nobleness and generosity! Instantly entreat her pardon for the unworthiness of your conduct.’ ‘Never!’ I used to reply; ‘the spirit of my angel mother, who now beholds me, would be pained to witness such a degradation in her child;’ and, bursting with grief and mortification, I would fly to my own chamber, leaving my father to dry the tears, and calm the ruffled feelings of the woman I despised and hated. You will, I hope, excuse me, my lord, for dwelling so long and so minutely on all my early troubles, but it is only by so doing I can accurately describe to you the sort of life I led at that period.”