And with that they both turned and left the room without further word. I have to confess that their conversation frightened me no end. And yet my eldest brother seemed convinced by my story about going to the theatre, and I felt that I had sufficiently pulled the wool over his eyes that he would let matters lie. Be that as it may, even if they had carried things further, short of locking me up in my room, nothing could have prevented me from keeping our next rendezvous. It had become absolutely essential for me to clear the air with Monsieur de *** and neither all the king’s horses nor all the king’s men could have kept me from going.
As for my father, nothing had changed: he still worshiped the ground I walked on, had not the slightest inkling of my misdeeds, and did nothing to restrict the freedom he had granted me. How cruel it is to deceive such good and decent parents, and how deep the remorse that emanates from such deceit, strewing thorns upon the pleasures one buys at the expense of this kind of betrayal. May this example of how cruel passion can too easily lead us to disaster teach those who may find themselves in a similar situation from making the same mistake, and may the suffering I have known, as punishment for my criminal pleasures, keep them from venturing beyond the edge of the precipice, if ever they hear of my terrible tale.
The fatal day finally dawned. With Julie beside me, I slipped out of the house as usual. Dropping her off at my aunt’s, I quickly made my way by cab to Berceil’s house. Stepping down from the cab, I found the house couched in darkness and strangely silent, which at first alarmed me greatly. Not a familiar face anywhere; the only person there was an elderly lady whom I had never set eyes on before and who, to my great misfortune, I was to see in the future all too often. She told me to remain in the room where I was and that Monsieur de whom she named, would be with me shortly. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of utter cold, and collapsed into a chair without having the strength to respond. Scarcely was I seated when both my brothers appeared out of nowhere, pistol in hand.
“You wretched creature,” my eldest brother shouted, “so this is how you lie to us! If you put up the slightest resistance, if you utter so much as one word, you’re as good as dead. Come with us, we’re about to teach you what happens to those who betray both their family, which you have dishonored, and the lover to whom they have given themselves.”
As he spoke these last words, I lost consciousness, and when I came to I found myself in the back of a carriage, which appeared to be traveling at a very fast pace. In the carriage with me were my two brothers and the old woman I have already mentioned. My legs were tied, and both my hands tightly bound with a handkerchief.
My tears, which till that point I had held in check by the depth of my despair, now started to flow freely and for an hour I was in such a state that, no matter how guilty I may have been, it would have softened the hearts of anyone except those two unfeeling brutes who held me in their sway They did not say a word to me throughout the course of our journey, and I emulated their silence, allowing myself to be engulfed in my sorrow.
At eleven o’clock the following morning we arrived at a château that belonged to my eldest brother, situated in a deep wood somewhere between Coucy and Noyon.4 The carriage entered the courtyard, and I was ordered to remain in it until the servants and horses were safely out of the way At that point, my eldest brother came to fetch me.
“Follow me,” he said brusquely, after having untied my hands and feet. Shaking from head to toe, I obeyed.
Good God, how can I describe to you how frightened I was when I saw the terrible place that was to serve as my place of detention. It was a low-ceilinged room, dark and dank, lighted only by a tiny window that looked down onto a large moat filled with water. The room, I noted, was barred on all sides.
“Here is where you are going to live, Mademoiselle,” both my brothers said. “This is the kind of living quarters a daughter who dishonors her family deserves. Your food will be in proportion to the rest of your treatment. Here is what you will be given,” they went on, producing for me to see a piece of dry bread of the kind given to animals, “and since on the one hand we don’t want your suffering to be too long and drawn out, and on the other we want to take whatever precautions are necessary to make sure you never leave here, these two women”—and they gestured toward the old woman who had accompanied us in the carriage and another one, who could have passed for her double, whom we had seen when we arrived at the château—”these two women have been instructed to bleed you in both arms three times a week, in keeping with the number of times you went to visit Monsieur de *** at Berceil’s house. Little by little this regime will, or so we sincerely hope, lead you to your grave, and we shall rest easy in our minds only when we have been informed that the family is rid of a monster such as yourself.”
With these words, they ordered the women to seize me and, in the presence of these two scoundrels—I hope you will excuse my resorting to such a term, Monsieur— they had me bled in both arms, only putting a stop to this cruel operation when they saw I had lost consciousness. When I came to my senses, I saw them congratulating each other on their barbaric work, and as if they expressly wanted to make me bear all the slings of outrageous fortune simultaneously, as if they took special pleasure in breaking my heart at the same time as they were spilling my blood, the eldest brother pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to me.
“Here, Mademoiselle, read this and learn who is responsible for all your troubles.”
With trembling fingers I tore open the envelope; my eyes were scarcely strong enough for me to make out the fatal handwriting: it was my lover’s! It was he who had betrayed me! Here is what that cruel letter said; the words are still etched in blood in my heart.
I was foolish enough to fall in love with your sister, Monsieur, and had the audacity to dishonor her. I was on the verge of making amends, I had every intention of going and throwing myself at your father’s feet, confessing my guilt, and asking for his daughters hand. I was certain my own father would consent to the match, and I also felt that by my own birth and background I was full worthy of becoming a member of your family. But lo and behold, just as I had resolved to take this step, my eyes, my very own eyes, convinced me that I was dealing with nothing more than a whore, a woman who under the pretense of meeting me, motivated by the purest and most respectable of feelings, was using that cover to satisfy the unspeakable lusts of the most dissolute men. Therefore, do not expect me to make any further amends, for I owe you nothing. All I owe you is this: know that I shall never speak to her again and that I shall henceforth think of her only with the utmost hatred and the most profound contempt. I enclose with this letter the address of the house where your sister was wont to consummate her debauchery, so that you can verify that what I say is true.
No sooner had I finished reading these fateful words than I sank into the most terrible state of depression… “No,” I said to myself, tearing my hair, “no, you heartless creature, you never loved me. If ever you had the slightest feeling for me, would you have let me be tried and sentenced without a hearing? Would you have believed me guilty of such a crime when it was you I adored?… O you false-hearted friend, to think that it was by your hand I was betrayed, by that same hand I was thrust into the arms of my torturers, whose intent is to kill me a little every day… to die without your ever knowing the truth … to die despised by the man I adore, the man whom I have never willingly offended, I who have been naught but the dupe and victim of other’s wicked schemes … Oh, no, all this is too cruel, it is more than I can bear!” And throwing myself at my brothers’ feet, I implored them to either hear my side of the story or put an end to this slow agony of daily bleeding and do away with me then and there.
They agreed to hear me out, and I told them the full story, sparing no detail, but they wanted me out of the way and not only did not believe a word I said but treated me all the more cruelly. After having then cursed me all the more roundly and having warned the two women that they were to carry out their order t
o the letter, under threat of death, they left me, remarking coldly that they hoped never to lay eyes on me again.
As soon as they had departed, my two jailers left with me my ration of bread and water and locked the door to my cell. But at least I was now alone and could give full vent to my despair, which somehow made me feel a trifle better. My first instinct, given my state of total despair, was to remove my bandages and let myself bleed to death. But the terrible notion that I would die without ever having been vindicated in the eyes of my lover struck me as so unacceptable that I could not bring myself to take that fatal step. A moment’s peace brought a ray of hope … Hope, that comforting feeling that springs eternal in the midst of our deepest sorrows, that divine present with which Nature has endowed us to counterbalance or soften them … “No,” I said to myself, “I refuse to die until I have seen him again, that is the goal I shall set for myself, I won’t rest until I have achieved it.
If after he hears my side of the story he still thinks me guilty, than I shall be ready and willing to die, for I cannot conceive of a life without him, without his love.”
Having made this decision, I resolved to do everything in my power to escape from these odious surroundings. For the next four days this resolution gave me a certain comfort, at which point my two jailers reappeared to bring me more bread and water and at the same time deprive me of the little strength I had left. Once again they bled me in both arms and left me prostrate on my bed. On the eighth day they reappeared and since I cast myself at their feet and asked them to spare me, they compromised by bleeding me from only one arm.
Two months went by in this manner, during which I was bled alternately in one arm or the other every four days. My strength of character worked in my favor, as did my relative youth. My unshakable desire to escape from this untenable situation, and the amount of bread I consumed to compensate for my exhaustion and enable me to carry out my resolutions, all that nursed me back to relative health, and by the beginning of the third month I managed to create a passage through the wall of my room, worm my way through the hole into a neighboring room that was unlocked, and, finally, escape from the château. I did my best to rejoin the road to Paris on foot when my strength gave out completely and I collapsed in the forest, where you found me and so generously came to my aid.
For that I am eternally grateful, Monsieur, and I beseech you to help me further by returning me to my father’s care. For I have no doubt that he has been told a pack of lies, but I also know that he would never be so cruel as to condemn me without giving me a proper hearing. I shall prove to him that, though I was indeed weak, I am not as guilty as it might appear based on my brothers’ false reports. And thanks to you, Monsieur, not only will you have brought back to life a poor wretched creature who will be ever grateful to you as long as she lives, but you will also have restored to a family the honor of which it presently believes it has been unjustly deprived.
*******
“Mademoiselle,” said the Count de Luxeuil, after having listened attentively to Emilie’s every word, “it is difficult to see you and hear you without caring deeply about your fate. This said, while there is no doubt you are not as guilty as people might be led to believe, your behavior has been less than exemplary, which I’m sure you yourself are the first to admit.”
“Oh, Monsieur …”
“Hear me out, Mademoiselle, listen to the person who, perhaps more than anyone else in the world, has your best interests at heart. Your lover’s behavior was unquestionably ignoble. Not only is it unjust, for he was honor-bound to see you and hear from your own lips a full explanation, but it is also cruel. If a man reaches a point when he decides he no longer wants to see a woman with whom he’s involved, he has the right to drop her. But one does not denounce her to her own family, one does not dishonor her, one does not shamelessly turn her over to those intent on bringing about her ruin, nor does one incite them to take their revenge … In other words, I find the behavior of the man you purport to love totally reprehensible. But your brothers’ behavior is far more atrocious from every viewpoint: only butchers and torturers would behave so unspeakably. Misdeeds such as yours do not deserve such punishment. Chains have never served any useful purpose. In cases such as yours silence is the best remedy; but one does not bleed the guilty of their precious blood nor deprive them of their freedom. Such odious means dishonor far more those who impose them than those who are the victims; they deserve that person’s hatred, they have stirred up a hornet’s nest for no good reason and have done nothing to repair the presumed offense.5 No matter how much we cherish a sister’s virtue, her life has to be far more precious in our eyes. Honor can be repaired, but blood, once shed, can never be restored. So outrageous is their conduct that if one were to lodge a complaint against them with the authorities, they would doubtless be punished to the full extent of the law. But to resort to such means would debase us, bring us down to their level; what is more, it would only broadcast to the world at large what should better be kept under wraps. Therefore, we should by no means resort to such lowly tactics.
“I intend therefore to act in a totally different manner in order to serve your best interests, Mademoiselle, but I can only do so under the following conditions: first, that you provide me in writing your father’s address, that of your aunt and of the Berceil woman, as well as the address of the place to which she took you; second, that you tell me clearly and candidly the name of the man you love. I shall go so far as to say that unless you divulge his name to me, it will be completely impossible to serve you in any way.”
Emilie, confused and upset by the count’s demands, nonetheless complied with his first request, and furnished him with the address of all three parties.
“Do you still require me to give you the name of my seducer?” she said, blushing.
“Absolutely, Mademoiselle,” he responded. “Unless you do, there is nothing I can do to help.”
“In that case his name is … the Marquis de Luxeuil …”
“The Marquis de Luxeuil!” the count cried out, scarcely able to conceal his emotions at the mention of his son’s name. “You mean to tell me that that young rapscallion was capable of stooping so low!” Then, collecting himself, he said: “He will make amends, Mademoiselle, of that you may be sure. Take my word, you will have your revenge. Adieu.”
The extraordinary state of agitation that her final revelation had aroused in the count came as a complete surprise to poor Emilie, who was afraid she had committed some major indiscretion. And yet she found the count’s words as he left her reassuring, and though she failed to understand how all these various elements fit into the picture or were somehow linked one to the other, she decided, since she had no way of figuring things out for herself, to patiently await the results of whatever steps her benefactor was taking. Meanwhile, the care for her health and welfare being lavished on her while the count was presumably setting things aright set her mind at rest and convinced her that people were indeed working in her best interests, that they had her happiness uppermost in their minds.
She had every reason to be even more convinced when, four days after the revelations she had made, the count came into her room leading the Marquis de Luxeuil by the hand.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “I bring you in one and the same person both he who is responsible for your misfortunes and he who intends to make amends for them by begging you on bended knee to accept his offer for your hand.”
With the words, the marquis cast himself at the feet of the woman he adored, but the surprise was too much for Emilie, who, still not strong enough to cope with such emotions, fainted dead away into the arms of her chambermaid. They administered to her, however, and she quickly regained her senses to find herself in her lover’s arms.
“What a cruel man you are!” she began, a torrent of tears coursing down her cheeks, “what pain and suffering you caused the woman you said you loved! How could you ever think her capable of the infamous acts you dared suspect she ha
d committed? Loving you as she did, Emilie may well have been guilty of her own weakness and a victim of the nefarious schemes of other people, but she would never have been unfaithful to you.”
“O you whom I adore,” the marquis cried out, “please, I beg of you to forgive my unpardonable jealousy, which I realize was based on false appearances. We all know now how unfounded they were, but in all fairness, didn’t these fateful appearances indeed point a finger of guilt at you?”
“You should have had a higher opinion of me, Luxeuil, and if so you would not for a moment have believed that I could ever betray you. You should have heeded less your momentary despair and listened more to the feelings I flattered myself that I had inspired in you. May this example be a lesson to my sex, may it remember that it is almost always because we tend to love too much, because we yield too quickly, that we lose our lover’s respect… O, Luxeuil, you would have esteemed me more if I had fallen in love with you less quickly. You made me pay for my weakness, and the very thing that should have cemented your love was what made you suspicious of mine.”
“Let both of you put all that behind you,” the count interrupted. “Luxeuil, your behavior is inexcusable, and if you hadn’t offered to make immediate amends, if I had not sensed that your intentions were as honorable as they were sincere, I would never have set eyes on you again. All of which reminds me of that song sung by our ancient troubadours:
The Mystified Magistrate Page 12
