Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  On hearing Gerald’s name, M. de Macreuse’s face darkened ominously, and it was in a tone of positive hatred that he exclaimed:

  “That man insulted me before everybody not very long ago. I will have my revenge, you may be sure of that.”

  “My dear boy, did you never hear the Roman proverb, ‘Vengeance should be eaten cold.’ It is a true one. My advice to you is to remember — and wait. Haven’t you a good deal of influence over his mother already?”

  “Yes,” replied Célestin, “and the longer I think about it, the more convinced I am that it is to Madame de Senneterre that I ought to apply in this matter. I have had convincing proof of the interest she takes in me more than once; and the confidence I now show in her will please her, I am sure. I will consult with her, too, I think, as to the best means of establishing friendly relations between her and Mlle. de Beaumesnil. That will be a comparatively easy matter, I think.”

  “In that case, you had better see the duchess as soon as possible,” replied the abbé.

  “It is only half past twelve,” said Célestin, glancing at the clock, “and Madame de Senneterre is generally at home to her intimate friends from one to two o’clock. I will go there at once.”

  “On your way you had better consider well if any inconveniences are likely to result from these overtures on your part. I can see only advantages.”

  “It is the same with me. Nevertheless, I will think the matter over. As for the rest, that is decided, you know. To-morrow morning at nine o’clock, a little to the left of the altar, in the Chapel of the Virgin, in the Church of St. Thomas d’Aquin, remember.”

  “That is understood,” answered the abbé. “I will go and inform Mlle. Helena of our arrangements. She will be at the chapel with Mlle. de Beaumesnil to-morrow morning at nine o’clock. I can vouch for that. Now go at once to Madame de Senneterre’s. You have no time to lose.”

  So, after an affectionate leave-taking, Célestin hastened to the Hôtel de Senneterre.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE REFUSAL.

  ON THE MORNING of the same day on which the foregoing conversation between Abbé Ledoux and M. de Macreuse took place, Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre, having received an important letter, went out at ten o’clock, as usual. On her return, at half past eleven, she immediately asked for her son Gerald; but that young gentleman’s valet reported to madame’s maid that M. le duc had not slept at home the night before.

  About noon there came another and very peremptory message from the duchess, but her son had not yet returned. At last, about half past twelve, Gerald entered his mother’s room, and was about to embrace her with affectionate gaiety, when the duchess, pushing him away, said, reproachfully:

  “This is the third time I have sent for you, my son.”

  “I have but just returned home, and here I am! What do you wish, my dear mother?”

  “You have but just returned home at this hour? What scandalous behaviour!”

  “What scandalous behaviour?”

  “Listen to me, my son: there are some things I will not discuss; but do not mistake my aversion to speaking of them for either tolerance or blindness.”

  “My dear mother,” said Gerald, firmly, but deferentially, “you have always found me, and you will always find me, the most affectionate and respectful of sons; and it is hardly necessary for me to add that my name, which is also yours, shall be always and everywhere honoured and worthy of honour. But what else can you expect? I am twenty-four, and I live and amuse myself like a man of twenty-four.”

  “But, Gerald, you know that the life you are leading has troubled me very much for a long time, both on your account and my own. You shun society, though your name and talents entitle you to a distinguished place in its ranks, and you keep very bad company.”

  “Well, so far as women are concerned, I am forced to say that what you call bad company is the best, in my opinion. Come, come, mother, don’t be angry! You know I’m still a soldier, so far as plain speaking is concerned. I consequently admit that I have a slight weakness for pretty girls in the lower walks of life. So far as men are concerned, I have friends of whom any man might be proud; but one of the dearest among them is a former soldier in my regiment. If you knew him, mother, you would have a better opinion of me,” added Gerald, smiling, “for you judge a man by his friends, you know.”

  “Is there anybody in the world but you who chooses his intimate friends from among common soldiers?” exclaimed the duchess, shrugging her shoulders disdainfully.

  “I think so, my dear mother, though it isn’t everybody who has a chance to select his friends on the battle-field.”

  “But I am not talking of your relations with men, my son, I am reproaching you for compromising yourself as you do with those common girls.”

  “But they are so amusing.”

  “My son!”

  “Pardon me, my dear mother,” said Gerald, kissing his mother in spite of her strenuous efforts to prevent it. “I was wrong, yes, I was wrong. The truth is, though, — but, oh, dear! what shall I say? I don’t want to horrify you again — but really, mother, vestal virgins are not to my taste, and you surely wouldn’t like to see me carrying ruin and desolation into happy households, would you, mother?” he continued, in half tragic tones. “Besides, the truth is, — for virtue’s sake, perhaps, — I like girls of the people better. The sanctity of marriage isn’t outraged, you see, and then, as I said before, they’re infinitely more amusing.”

  “You will excuse me from expressing any opinion on your choice of mistresses,” retorted the duchess, angrily; “but it is certainly my duty to censure in the severest manner the strange frivolity of your conduct. You do not realise how you are injuring yourself.”

  “In what way?”

  “Do you suppose that if the question of a marriage was broached—”

  “A marriage?” cried Gerald; “but I’ve no intention of marrying, not the slightest.”

  “You will do me the favour to listen to me, I hope.”

  “I am listening.”

  “You know Madame de Mirecourt?”

  “Yes; but fortunately she is married, so you can’t offer me to her. I’m glad of it, for she’s the worst plotter and schemer on earth.”

  “Possibly she is, but she is an intimate friend of Madame de la Rochaiguë, who is also one of my friends.”

  “How long since, may I ask? Haven’t I often heard you say that that woman was the very personification of meanness?”

  “That is neither here nor there,” said the duchess, hastily interrupting him, “Madame de la Rochaiguë has now for a ward Mlle. de Beaumesnil, the richest heiress in France.”

  “Who is now in Italy.”

  “Who is now in Paris.”

  “She has returned?”

  “Yes, last evening; and this morning, at ten o’clock, I had a long and very satisfactory interview with Madame de Rochaiguë at Madame de Mirecourt’s house. I have been devoting my time and attention to a certain matter for nearly a month, but knowing your habitual levity, I would not say a word about it to you. Fortunately, everything has been kept such a close secret between Madame de la Rochaiguë, Madame de Mirecourt, and myself, that we are very hopeful—”

  “Hopeful of what?”

  “Why, of bringing about a marriage between Mlle. de Beaumesnil and yourself.”

  “A marriage!” cried Gerald, bounding out of his chair.

  “Yes, a marriage — with the richest heiress in France,” replied Madame de Senneterre.

  Then, without making any effort to conceal her uneasiness, she continued:

  “If it were not for your conduct, we should have every chance in our favour, though suitors and rivals will soon be pouring in on every side. There will be a hard struggle for the prize, and Heaven knows even the truth will be terribly damaging to you. Ah, if with your name, your talents, and your face you were a model of virtue and propriety like that excellent M. de Macreuse, for example—”


  “But are you really thinking seriously of this marriage, mother?” asked Gerald, more and more astonished.

  “Am I thinking of it seriously? You ask me that?”

  “My dear mother, I am infinitely grateful to you for your kind intentions, but I repeat that I have no desire to marry.”

  “What is that you say?”

  “I say, my dear mother, that I have no intention of marrying anybody.”

  “Mon Dieu! he is mad!” cried Madame de Senneterre. “He refuses the richest heiress in France!”

  “Listen, mother,” said Gerald, gravely, but tenderly; “I am an honest man, and being such, I confess that I love pleasure above all things, consequently I should make a detestable husband, even for the richest heiress in France.”

  “A colossal fortune — an unheard-of fortune!” faltered Madame de Senneterre, stupefied by this refusal on the part of her son. “An income of over three million francs! Think of it!”

  “But I love pleasure and my liberty more!”

  “What you say is abominable!” cried Madame de Senneterre, almost beside herself. “Why, you are an idiot, and worse than an idiot!”

  “But, my dear mother, I love independence, and gay suppers and good times, generally, — in short, the life of a bachelor. I still have six years of such joyous existence before me, and I wouldn’t sacrifice them for all the money in the world; besides,” added Gerald, more seriously, “I really couldn’t be mean enough to make a poor girl I had married for her money as miserable as she was ridiculous. Besides, mother, you know very well that I absolutely refused to buy a substitute to go and be killed in my stead, so you can not wonder that I refuse to sell myself for any woman’s millions.”

  “But, my son—”

  “My dear mother, it is just this. Your M. de Macreuse, — and if you really have any regard for him, don’t hold him up to me again as a model, or I shall break all the canes I possess over his back, — your M. de Macreuse, who is so devout, would probably not have the same scruples that I, a mere pagan, have. But such as I am, such I shall remain, and love you even more than ever, my dear mother,” added Gerald, kissing the hand of the duchess respectfully.

  There are strange coincidences in this life of ours.

  Gerald had scarcely uttered M. de Macreuse’s name before a servant rapped at the door, and, on being told to enter, announced that M. de Macreuse wished to see the duchess in regard to a very important matter.

  “Did you tell him that I was at home?” asked Madame de Senneterre.

  “Madame la duchesse gave no order to the contrary.”

  “Very well, — ask M. de Macreuse to wait a moment.”

  Then turning to her son, she said, no longer with severity, but with deep sadness:

  “Your incomprehensible refusal grieves and disappoints me more than I can express, so I beg and implore that you will remain here. I will return almost immediately. Ah, my son, my dear son, you can not imagine the terrible chagrin you are causing me.”

  “Pray, mother, do not say that,” pleaded Gerald, touched by his mother’s grief. “You know how much I love you.”

  “You are always saying that, Gerald. I wish I could believe it.”

  “Then send that brute of a Macreuse away, and let me try to convince you that my conduct is at least loyal and honest. What, you insist upon going?” he added, seeing his mother moving towards the door.

  “M. de Macreuse is waiting for me,” replied the duchess.

  “Then let me send him word to take himself off. There is no necessity of bothering with him.”

  But as M. de Senneterre started towards the bell with the evident intention of giving the order, his mother checked him by saying:

  “Really, Gerald, another of my great annoyances is the intense aversion — I will not say jealousy — you seem to entertain for a worthy young man whose exemplary life, modesty, and piety ought to be an example to you. Ah, would to Heaven that you had his principles and virtues! If that were the case, you would not prefer low company and a life of dissipation to a brilliant marriage which would assure your happiness and mine.”

  With this parting thrust Madame de Senneterre went to join M. de Macreuse, leaving her son alone, but not without making him promise that he would wait for her return.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  PRESUMPTION AND INDIGNATION.

  WHEN THE DUCHESS returned to her son, her cheeks were flushed, and intense indignation was depicted on her visage.

  “Who ever would have believed it? Did any one ever hear of such audacity?” she exclaimed, on entering the room.

  “What is the matter, mother?”

  “M. de Macreuse is a scoundrel, — a vile scoundrel!” cried Madame de Senneterre, in a tempest of wrath.

  Gerald could not help bursting into a hearty laugh, despite his mother’s agitation; then, regretting this unseemly hilarity, he said:

  “Forgive me, mother, but this revulsion of feeling is so sudden and so very remarkable! But tell me, has this man failed in respect to you?” demanded Gerald, very seriously, this time.

  “Such a person as he is never forgets his manners,” answered the duchess, spitefully.

  “Then what is the meaning of this anger? You were swearing by your M. de Macreuse a minute ago!”

  “Don’t call him my M. de Macreuse, if you please,” cried Madame de Senneterre, interrupting her son, impetuously. “Do you know the object of his visit? He came to ask me to say all I could in his praise, — in his praise, indeed!”

  “But to whom, and for what purpose?”

  “Did any one ever hear of such audacity!”

  “But tell me his object in making this request, mother.”

  “His object! Why, the man wants to marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil!”

  “He!”

  “Did any one ever hear of such presumption?”

  “Macreuse?”

  “A mere nobody! A common vagrant!” cried the duchess. “Really, it is hard to imagine who could have had the audacity to introduce a creature like that into our circle.”

  “But how did he happen to reveal his projects to you?”

  “Because I have always treated him with consideration, I suppose; because, like so many other fools I took him up, without knowing why, until the fellow thought he had a right to come and say to me that, by reason of the friendly interest I had always taken in him, and the eulogiums I had lavished upon him, he really felt it his duty to confide to me, under the pledge of secrecy, his intentions with regard to Mlle. de Beaumesnil; not doubting, he had the audacity to remark that I would say a few words in his favour to that young lady, adding that he would trust to — to my friendly interest. I do believe he had the impudence to say — to find an opportunity to do him this favour at the earliest possible moment. Really, effrontery is no name for assurance like his!”

  “But really, my dear mother, you must confess that it is your own fault. Haven’t I heard you praise and flatter this Macreuse in the most outrageous manner, again and again?”

  “Praise him — flatter him!” exclaimed Madame de Senneterre, naïvely. “Did I suppose then that he would have the impudence to take it into his head to marry the richest heiress in France, or to think of such a thing as competing with my son? Besides, with all his boasted shrewdness, the man is nothing more or less than a fool to apply to me for assistance in his schemes! He will be surprised when he finds out how I will serve his interests. His pretensions are ridiculous, positively ridiculous! He is an adventurer, a scoundrel! He hasn’t even a name, and looks like a sacristan who has just been to dine with his parish priest. He is a hypocrite, a pedant, and a most unmitigated bore, with all his pretended virtues. Besides, he hasn’t the slightest chance, for, from what Madame de la Rochaiguë tells me, Mlle. de Beaumesnil would be delighted to become a duchess. Quite a woman of the world, though so young, she has a full appreciation of all the pleasures and advantages which a large fortune combined with a high social position gives, and it certainly i
s not a plebeian like M. de Macreuse who can give her this high social position.”

  “And what reply did you make to his request?”

  “Enraged at his audacity, I was on the point of telling him that his pretensions were as absurd as they were insolent, and of forbidding him to ever set foot in my house again; but I reflected that I might be able to circumvent him most successfully by pretending that I was willing to assist him, so I promised that I would speak of him, as he deserved — and I certainly shall not fail to do so. Oh, I will urge his claims in an effectual manner, I’ll vouch for that.”

  “Do you know, my dear mother, that it is not at all unlikely that Macreuse will attain his end?”

  “He marry Mlle. de Beaumesnil, he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nonsense! Are you, too, mad?”

  “Don’t deceive yourself, mother. The coterie that sustains him is all-powerful. He has on his side, — I don’t mind telling you now you detest him so thoroughly, — he has on his side all the women who have become bigots, because they are old, all the young women who are prudes, because they are ugly, all the male devotees, because they make capital out of their religion, and all the serious-minded men, because they are so stupid; so you see the name of his supporters is legion.”

  “But with my social standing, my opinion will have some weight, I think,” retorted the duchess.

  “But you have been one of his warmest champions and admirers up to the present time, and no one will be able to explain your sudden change of feeling, or, rather, every one will be able to explain it; and, instead of injuring Macreuse, the war you wage against him will aid him. The fellow is an unmitigated scoundrel and arrant hypocrite. You have no idea with whom you have to deal, my dear mother.”

  “Really, you take this very calmly — with truly heroic self-abnegation, I might say,” exclaimed the duchess, bitterly.