Lisbeth raised her young cousin to her feet, and kissed her demonstratively.
‘My dear Hortense, don’t give way,’ she whispered.
The Baroness embraced her Cousin Bette with the rapture of a woman who sees herself avenged. Gathered round the father of the family, they spoke no word to him, and he was sensitive enough to know what the silence meant. The clear signs of a formidable anger appeared on his brow and spread over his face: all the veins swelled, his eyes became suffused with blood, bis colour grew blotched. Adeline rushed to throw herself on her knees before him, and took his hands.
‘My dear, my dear, I beg of you!…’
‘I am hateful to you!’ said the Baron. It was the voice of his conscience crying.
We are all conscious of our own secret wrong-doing; and we nearly always imagine that our victims feel the hatred that the desire to strike back may well inspire in them. And so, in spite of all that hypocrisy can do, our words or our looks give us away when we are faced with some unforeseen ordeal, as once the criminal confessed in the hands of the torturer.
‘Our children,’ he said, as if in an effort to retract his confession, ‘end by becoming our enemies.’
‘Father…’ said Victorin.
‘Do you interrupt your father?’ thundered the Baron, staring at his son.
‘Father, listen,’ Victorin said, firmly and flatly, in the tone of a puritan Deputy. ‘I know the respect that is due to you too well ever to fail in it, and you will certainly always find in me a most submissive and obedient son.’
Anyone who attends the sittings of the two Chambers will recognize the platitudes of parliamentary debate in these cumbrous phrases employed to soothe irritation and gain time.
‘We are far from being your enemies,’ Victorin continued. ‘I have strained my good relations with my father-in-law, Monsieur Crevel, by paying sixty thousand francs to redeem Vauvinet’s bills of exchange; and that money is certainly in Madame Marneffe’s hands. Oh! I’m not in the least blaming you, Father,’ he added, as the Baron made an impatient gesture. ‘All I want to do is to add my voice to Cousin Lisbeth’s, and point out to you that although my devotion to you, Father, is blind, and indeed without limit, my dear Father, our financial resources, unfortunately, are limited.’
‘Money!’ said the furious old man, sinking into a chair, overwhelmed by this answer. ‘And this is my son!… Monsieur, your money shall be returned to you,’ he said, rising. He strode to the door.
‘Hector!’
The cry made the Baron stop, and he abruptly turned a face down which tears were pouring to his wife, who flung her arms round him with the vehemence of despair.
‘Don’t go away like this… don’t leave us in anger. I have said nothing!’
At that heartrending cry, the children threw themselves at their father’s feet.
‘We all love you,’ said Hortense.
Lisbeth, motionless as a statue, watched the group, a contemptuous smile on her lips. At that moment Marshal Hulot arrived, and they heard his voice in the hall. The family realized the importance of concealment, and the scene rapidly dissolved. The two young people rose, and they all made an effort to cover their emotion.
Meanwhile at the door an altercation was taking place between Mariette and a soldier, who was so insistent that finally the cook came to the drawing-room.
‘Monsieur, a regimental quartermaster, back from Algeria, says he has to speak to you.’
‘Tell him to wait.’
‘Monsieur,’ Mariette added, in a low voice, ‘he said to tell you privately that it’s something to do with Monsieur Fischer, your uncle.’
The Baron started, for he thought that this must mean the arrival of funds he had secretly asked for, two months before, in order to redeem his bills of exchange. He left his family and hurried to the hall. There he saw an Alsatian face.
‘Am I sbeaking to Mennesir the Paron Hilotte?…’
‘Yes.’
‘Himself?’
‘Himself.’
The quartermaster, who had been fumbling in the lining of his cap during this exchange, drew out a letter which the Baron hastily tore open, and read as follows:
Dear Nephew,
Far from being able to send you the hundred thousand francs that you ask me for, I find my position here no longer tenable unless you take vigorous action to save me. We have the Public Prosecutor at our heels, talking morality and babbling about our duty as trustees. Impossible to shut the fellow’s mouth – he’s a civilian! If the Ministry of War lets the black-coats bite its fingers, I am done for. I can trust the bearer of this. Try to get him promoted, for he has done us good service. Don’t leave me to the crows!
The letter was a bombshell. There the Baron saw the earliest signs of the internal strife between civil and military authorities that, today, still bedevils the administration of Algeria. He realized that he must at once endeavour to find some way to deal with the threatening situation that suddenly faced him. He told the soldier to return on the following day; and when he had dismissed him, with handsome assurances of promotion, went back to the drawing-room.
‘Good morning and good-bye, Brother!’ he said to the Marshal. ‘Good-bye, children. Good-bye, my dear Adeline – And what will you do now, Lisbeth?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’ll go and keep house for the Marshal. I must follow my appointed course in life, helping one member of the family or another.’
‘Don’t leave Valérie until I have seen you again,’ Hulot whispered to his cousin. ‘Good-bye, Hortense, my rebellious little girl. Try to be calm and sensible. Serious matters have come up unexpectedly that I must attend to; we’ll take up the question of your reconciliation later. Meantime give some thought to it, my good little pet.’ And he kissed her.
He left his wife and children, so manifestly worried that they were filled with the gravest apprehensions.
‘Lisbeth,’ said the Baroness, ‘we must find out what can be worrying Hector. I have never seen him in such a state before. Stay with that woman for two or three more days. He tells her everything, so if you do we may learn what has had such an effect on him, so suddenly. Don’t worry: we’ll arrange your marriage with the Marshal, for the marriage is certainly necessary.’
‘I’ll never forget your courage this morning,’ said Hortense, kissing Lisbeth.
‘You have avenged our poor mother,’ said Victorin.
The Marshal watched with some curiosity the demonstrations of affection lavished upon Lisbeth, who went off to describe the scene to Valérie.
This sketch gives innocent souls some faint idea of the various havocs that the Madame Marneffes of this world may wreak in families, and by what means they can strike at poor virtuous wives, apparently so far beyond their reach. If we consider how such evils may affect the highest level of society, that about the throne, we realize the price paid for kings’ mistresses, and can estimate the debt of gratitude a nation owes its sovereigns who set an example in moral conduct and proper family life.
*
In Paris, every Ministry is like a small town from which the women have been banished, but with no less gossip, slander, and blackening of reputations than if there were a feminine population. After three years, Monsieur Marneffe’s position had been, one may say, exposed, set in the light of day, and in the various offices people were asking, ‘Will Monsieur Marneffe succeed Monsieur Coquet?’ exactly as they used to ask in the Chamber not so long ago, ‘Will the Bill for the Royal Allowance to the Duc de Nemours be passed?’ Every move in the Personnel Department was watched. Nothing in Baron Hulot’s department escaped scrutiny. The wily Councillor of State had strategically won over the man who would suffer by Marneffe’s promotion, an efficient worker, telling him that if he could help in Marneffe’s promotion he would certainly succeed him, and pointing out that Marneffe was a dying man. This clerk was now intriguing in Marneffe’s interest.
As Hulot walked through his outer office, full of people waiting to see him,
he caught sight of Marneffe’s pallid face in a corner, and Marneffe was the first man summoned.
‘Have you something to ask me, my dear fellow?’ said the Baron, concealing his uneasiness.
‘Monsieur le Directeur, I’m being made a mock of in the Department, because we’ve just heard that the personnel chief went on sick leave this morning and he’s to be away for a month. Waiting for a month – everyone knows what that’s as good as; and it’s quite bad enough for me to be a drum beaten on one side, but if you beat me on both sides at once, Monsieur le Directeur, the drum may burst.’
‘My dear Marneffe, it takes a great deal of patience to achieve one’s ends. You cannot be made head clerk, if you ever are, for at least two months. A time when I’m going to be obliged to consolidate my own position is not a suitable moment to ask for a promotion likely to cause some scandal.’
‘If you get the sack, I’ll never be head clerk,’ said Monsieur Marneffe coldly. ‘If you send my name forward, it won’t make any difference to you one way or the other.’
’You think I ought to sacrifice myself for you?’ inquired the Baron.
‘If you do not, I shall be much surprised.’
‘You are much too Marneffe altogether, Monsieur Marneffe I’ said the Baron, rising and motioning the clerk to the door.
‘I wish you good morning, Monsieur le Baron,’ Marneffe replied meekly.
‘What an impudent blackguard!’ the Baton said to himself.
‘That’s as good as a summons to pay within twenty-four hours under pain of distraint.’
Two hours later, as the Baron was finishing giving instructions to Claude Vignon, whom he was sending to the Ministry of Justice to get information about the judicial authorities in whose jurisdiction Johann Fischer’s work lay, Reine opened the door of the Director’s office and came in to give him a note, to which she asked for an answer.
‘How could she send Reine!’ the Baron said to himself. ‘Valérie is mad; she’s compromising us all, as well as compromising that abominable Marneffe’s appointment!’
He dismissed the Minister’s private secretary, and read as follows:
Ah, my dear, what a scene I’ve just had to endure! If you have given me three years of happiness, I’ve certainly had to pay for it! He came in from his office in a state of fury that made my blood run cold. I knew that he was an ugly man, but I’ve now seen him look a monster. The four teeth that are all that he owns fairly chattered with rage, and he threatened me with his odious company if I continued to receive you. My poor darling, alas I our door will be shut to you from now on. You can see my tears – they’re falling all over the paper, it’s quite drenched in them! Can you read this, dearest Hector? Oh! not to see you any more, to have to give you up – when I hold a little of your life, as I believe I have always held your heart – it will mean my death I Think of our little Hector, and don’t desert me; but don’t damage your reputation for Marneffe’s sake, don’t give way to his threats I Ah! I love you as I have never loved anyone before! I have been counting all the sacrifices you have made for your Valérie – she does not and never will forget them. You are, and you will always be, my only real husband. Don’t give another thought to the twelve hundred francs a year that I asked you to give the dear little Hector who is to be born in a few months’ time… I don’t want to cost you any more. Indeed, my money will always be yours.
Ah! if you loved me as much as I love you, my Hector, you would retire now; we should both leave our families behind, and our worries, and all the hatred that surrounds us, and we should go away to live, with Lisbeth, in some delightful place, in Brittany or wherever you liked. We would see nobody there, and we should be happy, far away from all these people. Your pension and the little that I have in my own name would be enough for us. You are sometimes jealous now, are you? Well, you would see your Valérie with no one in her mind but her Hector, and you would never have to use your big gruff voice, as you did the other day. There will always be only one child for me – ours; you may be very sure of that, my darling old soldier. No, you really cannot imagine what I feel like, for you don’t know how he has treated me, and the scurrilous language he spat out all over your Valérie — the words would stain the paper. A woman like me, Montcornet’s daughter, ought never in her whole life to have had to listen to a single one of them. Oh! I would have liked you to be there, so that I could have punished him by letting him see how utterly I adore you! My father would have run his sword through the wretch; but I can only do what a woman can – that is, love you madly! And so indeed, my darling, in my present distressed state, it is impossible for me to give up seeing you. Yes! I must see you, in secret, every day. We women are made like that. I cannot help feeling as my own your resentment against Mameffe. I beg you, if you love me, do not make him head clerk – let him end his days as a deputy head clerk! Just now I’m still beside myself, I can still hear his abuse ringing in my ears. Bette, who wanted to leave me, has taken pity on me; she is to stay for a few days.
My poor dear, I don’t know yet what I should do. I can only think of flight. I have always adored the country, Brittany, Languedoc, anywhere you like, provided I can be free to love you there. Poor pet, how I pity you, forced to return to your old Adeline, that urn of tears; because, as he must have told you, the monster, he has made up his mind to watch me day and night. He even spoke of the police I Do not come here! I know that he is capable of anything, now that he is using me as a counter in the basest kind of bargaining. I only wish that I could give you back all I owe to your generosity. Oh, my dearest Hector, I may have flirted, and seemed frivolous to you, but you do not know your Valérie; she loved teasing you, but prizes you above anyone in the world. You can’t be prevented from going to see your cousin. I’ll plan with her some means by which we can talk. My kind dear, do write a little note to reassure me, since I can’t have your dear presence.… (Oh! I would give a hand to have you with me on our sofa.) A letter will work a charm for me; write me something with your whole noble soul in it. I shall give you back the letter, for we must be careful. I should not know where to hide it; he rummages everywhere. But do write, to reassure your Valérie, your wife, the mother of your child. Imagine my having to write to you, after seeing you every day! As I say to Lisbeth, ‘I did not know how lucky I was’. A thousand kisses, my pet. Keep all your love for
Your VALÉRIE
‘And tears on it!’ said Hector to himself, as he finished reading this letter. ‘Tears blotting her name!– How is she?’ he asked Reine.
‘Madame is in bed; she had frightening hysterics,’ replied Reine. ‘Her nervous attack twisted Madame up in knots like a piece of string. It took her after writing. Oh! it was because of the way she cried.… We heard Monsieur’s voice on the stairs.’
The Baron in his distress wrote the following letter, on his official notepaper with its printed heading:
Don’t worry, my angel; he shall die a deputy head clerk! Your idea is excellent; we will go away, and live far from Paris and be happy with our little Hector. I shall retire, and can find a good position as director of some Railway Company. Ah, my dear love, your letter makes me feel young again! Yes, I shall begin life again, and I’ll make a fortune, you’ll see, for our little child. Reading your letter, a thousand times more ardent than the letters of La Nouvelle Heloise, I saw a miracle happen!I had not imagined that my love for you could increase. This evening at Lisbeth’s you shall see your
HECTOR (yours for life!)
Reine went off with this reply, the first letter that the Baron had written to his ‘dear love’! Such emotions as these counterbalanced the heavy news of disaster grumbling like thunder on the horizon. At this moment, indeed, the Baron, certain of his ability to ward off the blows aimed at his uncle, Johann Fischer, was only concerned about the deficit.
One of the peculiar traits of the Bonapartist character is its belief in the power of the sword, its conviction of the superr iority of the military to the civil authority. Hulot d
id not care a straw for the Public Prosecutor in Algeria, where the Ministry of War ruled. A man is conditioned by his past. How could the officers of the Imperial Guard forget having seen the Mayors of the fair cities of the Empire, and the Emperor’s Prefects, lesser emperors themselves, come to pay homage to the Imperial Guard at the frontiers of the Departments it was passing through, and in fact accord it sovereign honours?
At half past four, the Baron went straight to Madame Marneffe’s. His heart was beating like a young man’s as he walked upstairs, his brain repeating the questions,’Shall I see her? Shall I not see her?’ How should he remember that morning’s scene, and his family in tears, kneeling at his feet? Did not Valérie’s letter, placed in a thin note-case to be kept always over his heart, prove that he was more greatly loved than the most attractive of young men? When he had rung, the unlucky Baron heard the dragging slippers and execrable coughing of the invalid Marneffe. Marneffe opened the door, only to strike an attitude, and motion Hulot down the stairs, with a gesture identical with Hulot’s own when he had shown Marneffe his office door.
‘You are much too Hulot altogether, Monsieur Hulot!’ he said.
The Baron attempted to pass him. Marneffe drew a pistol from his pocket, and cocked it.
‘Monsieur le Conseiller d’État, when a man is as vile as you think me – for you think me extremely vile, don’t you – he would be the most incompetent kind of criminal if he did not collect all the proceeds of his sold honour. You ask for war. You shall have it: war to the hilt, with no quarter given. Don’t come back here again, and don’t try to pass me. I have given notice to the police of my situation with regard to you.’
Cousin Bette Page 31
