The moment when wild beasts seize their food is always the most critical, and that moment had now arrived for these three hungry tigers. Cerizet would sometimes say to Theodose, with that revolutionary glance which twice in this century sovereigns have had to meet: —
“I have made you king, and here am I still nothing! for it is nothing not to be all.”
A reaction of envy was rushing its avalanche through Cerizet. Dutocq was at the mercy of his copying clerk. Theodose would gladly have burned his copartners could he have burned their papers in the same conflagration. All three studied each other too carefully, in order to conceal their own thoughts, not to be in turn divined. Theodose lived a life of three hells as he thought of what lay below the cards, then of his own game, and then of his future. His speech to Thuillier was a cry of despair; he threw his lead into the waters of the old bourgeois and found there nothing more than twenty-five thousand francs.
“And,” he said to himself as he went to his own room, “possibly nothing at all a month hence.”
He new felt the deepest hatred to the Thuilliers. But Thuillier himself he held by a harpoon stuck into the depths of the man’s vanity; namely, by the projected work, entitled “Taxation and the Sinking Fund,” for which he intended to rearrange the ideas of the Saint-Simonian “Globe,” giving them a systematic form, and coloring them with his fervid Southern diction. Thuillier’s bureaucratic knowledge of the subject would be of use to him here. Theodose therefore clung to this rope, resolving to do battle, on so poor a base of operations, with the vanity of a fool, which, according to individual character, is either granite or sand. On reflection, Theodose was inclined to be content with the prospect.
On the evening before the right of redemption expired, Claparon and Cerizet proceeded to manipulate the notary in the following manner. Cerizet, to whom Claparon had revealed the password and the notary’s retreat, went out to this hiding-place to say to the latter: —
“One of my friends, Claparon, whom you know, has asked me to come and see you; he will expect you to-morrow, in the evening, you know where. He has the paper you expect from him, which he will exchange with you for the ten thousand agreed upon; but I must be present, for five thousand of that sum belong to me; and I warn you, my dear monsieur, that the name in the counter-deed is in blank.”
“I shall be there,” replied the ex-notary.
The poor devil waited the whole night in agonies of mind that can well be imagined, for safety or inevitable ruin were in the balance. At sunrise he saw approaching him, instead of Claparon, a bailiff of the Court of commerce, who produced a judgment against him in regular form, and informed him that he must go with him to Clichy.
Cerizet had made an arrangement with one of the creditors of the luckless notary, pledging himself to deliver up the debtor on payment to himself of half the debt. Out of the ten thousand francs promised to Claparon, the victim of this trap was obliged, in order to obtain his liberty, to pay six thousand down, the amount of his debt.
On receiving his share of this extortion Cerizet said to himself: “There’s three thousand to make Cerizet clear out.”
Cerizet then returned to the notary and said: “Claparon is a scoundrel, monsieur; he has received fifteen thousand francs from the proposed purchaser of your house, who will now, of course, become the owner. Threaten to reveal his hiding-place to his creditors, and to have him sued for fraudulent bankruptcy, and he’ll give you half.”
In his wrath the notary wrote a fulminating letter to Claparon. Claparon, alarmed, feared an arrest, and Cerizet offered to get him a passport.
“You have played me many a trick, Claparon,” he said, “but listen to me now, and you can judge of my kindness. I possess, as my whole means, three thousand francs; I’ll give them to you; start for America, and make your fortune there, as I’m trying to make mine here.”
That evening Claparon, carefully disguised by Cerizet, left for Havre by the diligence. Cerizet remained master of the fifteen thousand francs to be paid to Claparon, and he awaited Theodose with the payment thereof tranquilly.
“The limit for bidding-in is passed,” thought Theodose, as he went to find Dutocq and ask him to bring Cerizet to his office. “Suppose I were now to make an effort to get rid of my leech?”
“You can’t settle this affair anywhere but at Cerizet’s, because Claparon must be present, and he is hiding there,” said Dutocq.
Accordingly, Theodose went, between seven and eight o’clock, to the den of the “banker of the poor,” whom Dutocq had notified of his coming. Cerizet received him in the horrible kitchen where miseries and sorrows were chopped and cooked, as we have seen already. The pair then walked up and down, precisely like two animals in a cage, while mutually playing the following scene: —
“Have you brought the fifteen thousand francs?”
“No, but I have them at home.”
“Why not have them in your pocket?” asked Cerizet, sharply.
“I’ll tell you,” replied Theodose, who, as he walked from the rue Saint-Dominique to the Estrapade, had decided on his course of action.
The Provencal, writhing upon the gridiron on which his partners held him, became suddenly possessed with a good idea, which flashed from the body of the live coal under him. Peril has gleams of light. He resolved to rely on the power of frankness, which affects all men, even swindlers. Every one is grateful to an adversary who bares himself to the waist in a duel.
“Well!” said Cerizet, “now the humbug begins.”
The words seemed to come wholly through the hole in his nose with horrible intonations.
“You have put me in a magnificent position, and I shall never forget the service you have done me, my friend,” began Theodose, with emotion.
“Oh, that’s how you take it, is it?” said Cerizet.
“Listen to me; you don’t understand my intentions.”
“Yes, I do!” replied the lender by “the little week.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You intend not to give up those fifteen thousand francs.”
Theodose shrugged his shoulders and looked fixedly at Cerizet, who, struck by the two motions, kept silence.
“Would you live in my position, knowing yourself within range of a cannon loaded with grape-shot, without feeling a strong desire to get out of it? Now listen to me carefully. You are doing a dangerous business, and you would be glad enough to have some solid protection in the very heart of the magistracy of Paris. If I can continue my present course, I shall be substitute attorney-general, possibly attorney-general, in three years. I offer you to-day the offices of a devoted friendship, which will serve you hereafter most assuredly, if only to replace you in a honorable position. Here are my conditions — ”
“Conditions!” exclaimed Cerizet.
“In ten minutes I will bring you twenty-five thousand francs if you return to me all the notes which you have against me.”
“But Dutocq? and Claparon?” said Cerizet.
“Leave them in the lurch!” replied Theodose, with his lips at Cerizet’s ear.
“That’s a pretty thing to say!” cried Cerizet. “And so you have invented this little game of hocus-pocus because you hold in your fingers fifteen thousand francs that don’t belong to you!”
“But I’ve added ten thousand francs to them. Besides, you and I know each other.”
“If you are able to get ten thousand francs out of your bourgeois you can surely get fifteen,” said Cerizet. “For thirty thousand I’m your man. Frankness for frankness, you know.”
“You ask the impossible,” replied Theodose. “At this very moment, if you had to do with Claparon instead of with me, your fifteen thousand would be lost, for Thuillier is to-day the owner of that house.”
“I’ll speak to Claparon,” said Cerizet, pretending to go and consult him, and mounting the stairs to the bedroom, from which Claparon had only just departed on his road to Havre.
The two adversaries had been speaking, w
e should here remark, in a manner not to be overheard; and every time that Theodose raised his voice Cerizet would make a gesture, intimating that Claparon, from above, might be listening. The five minutes during which Theodose heard what seemed to be the murmuring of two voices were torture to him, for he had staked his very life upon the issue. Cerizet at last came down, with a smile upon his lips, his eyes sparkling with infernal mischief, his whole frame quivering in his joy, a Lucifer of gaiety!
“I know nothing, so it seems!” he cried, shaking his shoulders, “but Claparon knows a great deal; he has worked with the big-wig bankers, and when I told what you wanted he began to laugh, and said, ‘I thought as much!’ You will have to bring me the twenty-five thousand you offer me to-morrow morning, my lad; and as much more before you can recover your notes.”
“Why?” asked Theodose, feeling his spinal column liquidizing as if the discharge of some inward electric fluid had melted it.
“The house is ours.”
“How?”
“Claparon has bit it in under the name of one of his creditors, a little toad named Sauvaignou. Desroches, the lawyer, has taken the case, and you’ll get a notice to-morrow. This affair will oblige Claparon, Dutocq, and me to raise funds. What would become of me without Claparon! So I forgive him — yes, I forgave him, and though you may not believe it, my dear friend, I actually kissed him! Change your terms.”
The last three words were horrible to hear, especially when illustrated by the face of the speaker, who amused himself by playing a scene from the “Legataire,” all the while studying attentively the Provencal’s character.
“Oh, Cerizet!” cried Theodose; “I, who wished to do you so much good!”
“Don’t you see, my dear fellow,” returned Cerizet, “that between you and me there ought to be this, — ” and he struck his heart, — ”of which you have none. As soon as you thought you had a lever on us, you have tried to knock us over. I saved you from the horrors of starvation and vermin! You’ll die like the idiot you are. We put you on the high-road to fortune; we gave you a fine social skin and a position in which you could grasp the future — and look what you do! Now I know you! and from this time forth, we shall go armed.”
“Then it is war between us!” exclaimed Theodose.
“You fired first,” returned Cerizet.
“If you pull me down, farewell to your hopes and plans; if you don’t pull me down, you have in me an enemy.”
“That’s just what I said yesterday to Dutocq; but, how can we help it? We are forced to choose between two alternatives — we must go according to circumstances. I’m a good-natured fellow myself,” he added, after a pause; “bring me your twenty-five thousand francs to-morrow morning and Thuillier shall keep the house. We’ll continue to help you at both ends, but you’ll have to pay up, my boy. After what has just happened that’s pretty kind, isn’t it?”
And Cerizet patted Theodose on the shoulder, with a cynicism that seemed to brand him more than the iron of the galleys.
“Well, give me till to-morrow at mid-day,” replied the Provencal, “for there’ll be, as you said, some manipulation to do.”
“I’ll try to keep Claparon quiet; he’s in such a hurry, that man!”
“To-morrow then,” said Theodose, in the tone of a man who decides his course.
“Good-night, friend,” said Cerizet, in his nasal tone, which degraded the finest word in the language. “There’s one who has got a mouthful to suck!” thought Cerizet, as he watched Theodose going down the street with the step of a dazed man.
When la Peyrade reached the rue des Postes he went with rapid strides to Madame Colleville’s house, exciting himself as he walked along, and talking aloud. The fire of his roused passions and the sort of inward conflagration of which many Parisians are conscious (for such situations abound in Paris) brought him finally to a pitch of frenzy and eloquence which found expression, as he turned into the rue des Deux-Eglises, in the words: —
“I will kill him!”
“There’s a fellow who is not content!” said a passing workman, and the jesting words calmed the incandescent madness to which Theodose was a prey.
As he left Cerizet’s the idea came to him to go to Flavie and tell her all. Southern natures are born thus — strong until certain passions arise, and then collapsed. He entered Flavie’s room; she was alone, and when she saw Theodose she fancied her last hour had come.
“What is the matter?” she cried.
“I — I — ” he said. “Do you love me, Flavie?”
“Oh! how can you doubt it?”
“Do you love me absolutely? — if I were criminal, even?”
“Has he murdered some one?” she thought, replying to his question by a nod.
Theodose, thankful to seize even this branch of willow, drew a chair beside Flavie’s sofa, and there gave way to sobs that might have touched the oldest judge, while torrents of tears began to flow from his eyes.
Flavie rose and left the room to say to her maid: “I am not at home to any one.” Then she closed all doors and returned to Theodose, moved to the utmost pitch of maternal solicitude. She found him stretched out, his head thrown back, and weeping. He had taken out his handkerchief, and when Flavie tried to move it from his face it was heavy with tears.
“But what is the matter?” she asked; “what ails you?”
Nature, more impressive than art, served Theodose well; no longer was he playing a part; he was himself; this nervous crisis and these tears were the winding up of his preceding scenes of acted comedy.
“You are a child,” she said, in a gentle voice, stroking his hair softly.
“I have but you, you only, in all the world!” he replied, kissing her hands with a sort of passion; “and if you are true to me, if you are mine, as the body belongs to the soul and the soul to the body, then — ” he added, recovering himself with infinite grace, “Then I can have courage.”
He rose, and walked about the room.
“Yes, I will struggle; I will recover my strength, like Antaeus, from a fall; I will strangle with my own hands the serpents that entwine me, that kiss with serpent kisses, that slaver my cheeks, that suck my blood, my honor! Oh, misery! oh, poverty! Oh, how great are they who can stand erect and carry high their heads! I had better have let myself die of hunger, there, on my wretched pallet, three and a half years ago! A coffin is a softer bed to lie in than the life I lead! It is eighteen months that I have fed on bourgeois! and now, at the moment of attaining an honest, fortunate life, a magnificent future, at the moment when I was about to sit down to the social banquet, the executioner strikes me on the shoulder! Yes, the monster! he struck me there, on my shoulder, and said to me: ‘Pay thy dues to the devil, or die!’ And shall I not crush them? Shall I not force my arm down their throats to their very entrails? Yes, yes, I will, I will! See, Flavie, my eyes are dry now. Ha, ha! now I laugh; I feel my strength come back to me; power is mine! Oh! say that you love me; say it again! At this moment it sounds like the word ‘Pardon’ to the man condemned to death!”
“You are terrible, my friend!” cried Flavie. “Oh! you are killing me.”
She understood nothing of all this, but she fell upon the sofa, exhausted by the spectacle. Theodose flung himself at her feet.
“Forgive me! forgive me!” he said.
“But what is the matter? what is it?” she asked again.
“They are trying to destroy me. Oh! promise to give me Celeste, and you shall see what a glorious life I will make you share. If you hesitate — very good; that is saying you will be wholly mine, and I will have you!”
He made so rapid a movement that Flavie, terrified, rose and moved away.
“Oh! my saint!” he cried, “at thy feet I fall — a miracle! God is for me, surely! A flash of light has come to me — an idea — suddenly! Oh, thanks, my good angel, my grand Saint-Theodose! thou hast saved me!”
Flavie could not help admiring that chameleon being; one knee on the floor, his hands
crossed on his breast, and his eyes raised to heaven in religious ecstasy, he recited a prayer; he was a fervent Catholic; he reverently crossed himself. It was fine; like the vision of Saint-Jerome.
“Adieu!” he said, with a melancholy look and a moving tone of voice.
“Oh!” cried Flavie, “leave me this handkerchief.”
Theodose rushed away like one possessed, sprang into the street, and darted towards the Thuilliers’, but turned, saw Flavie at her window, and made her a little sign of triumph.
“What a man!” she thought to herself.
“Dear, good friend,” he said to Thuillier, in a calm and gentle, almost caressing voice, “we have fallen into the hands of atrocious scoundrels. But I mean to read them a lesson.”
“What has happened?” asked Brigitte.
“They want twenty-five thousand francs, and, in order to get the better of us, the notary, or his accomplices, have determined to bid in the property. Thuillier, put five thousand francs in your pocket and come with me; I will secure that house to you. I am making myself implacable enemies!” he cried; “they are seeking to destroy me morally. But all I ask is that you will disregard their infamous calumnies and feel no change of heart to me. After all, what is it? If I succeed, you will only have paid one hundred and twenty-five thousand francs for the house instead of one hundred and twenty.”
“Provided the same thing doesn’t happen again,” said Brigitte, uneasily, her eyes dilating under the effect of a violent suspicion.
Works of Honore De Balzac Page 812