by Eugène Sue
In spite of a feeble resistance, Sophie Dutertre was docile and obedient to the advice and pretty attentions of her friend. Soon, half recumbent on an easy chair, in a languishing attitude, she consented that the marquise should give the finishing touch to the living picture. Finally Madeleine arranged a few curls of the rich brown hair around the neck of dazzling whiteness, lifted the sleeves so as to show the dimpled elbows, opened somewhat the neck of the gown, notwithstanding the chaste scruples of Sophie, and draped the skirt with provoking premeditation, so as to reveal the neatest ankle and prettiest little foot in the world.
It must be said that Sophie was charming, — emotion, hope, expectation, and a vague disquietude, colouring her sweet and attractive face, animated her appearance, and gave a bewitching expression to her features.
Antonine, struck with the wonderful metamorphosis, exclaimed, innocently, clapping her little hands:
“Why, Sophie, I did not know you were as pretty as that!”
“Nor did Sophie know it,” replied Madeleine, shrugging her shoulders, “I have exhumed so many attractions.”
Just then Madame Dutertre’s servant, having knocked at the door, entered, and said to her mistress:
“Monsieur desires to speak to madame. He is in the shop, and wishes to know if madame is at home.”
“He knows you are here,” whispered Sophie to Madeleine, with a sigh.
“Make him come up,” replied the marquise, softly.
“Tell M. Dutertre that I am at home,” said Sophie to the servant, who went out.
Madeleine, addressing her friend in a voice full of emotion, as she extended her arms to her, said:
“And now, good-bye, Sophie; tell your husband that he is delivered from M. Pascal.”
“You are going already?” said Sophie, with sadness; “when shall I see you again?”
“I do not know, — some day, perhaps. But I hear your husband’s step. I leave you.”
Then she added, smiling:
“Only I would like to hide behind that curtain and enjoy your triumph.”
And making a sign to Antonine to accompany her, she retired behind the curtain which separated the room from the next chamber, just as M. Dutertre entered. For some moments the eyes of Charles wandered as if he were looking for some one he expected to meet; he had not discovered the change in Sophie, who said to him:
“Charles, we are saved, here is the non-suit of M. Pascal.”
“Great God! can it be true?” cried Dutertre, looking over the paper his wife had just delivered to him; then, raising his eyes, he beheld Sophie in her bewitching, coquettish toilet. After a short silence produced by surprise and admiration, he exclaimed:
“Sophie! what do I see? This toilet so charming, so new! Is it to celebrate our day of deliverance?”
“Charles,” replied Sophie, smiling and blushing by turns, “this toilet is not new; some years ago, if you remember, you admired me in it.”
“If I remember!” cried Dutertre, feeling a thousand tender memories awaken in his mind. “Ah, it was the beautiful time of our ardent love, and this happy time is born again, it exists. I see you again as in the past; your beauty shines in my eyes with a new brilliancy. I do not know what this enchantment is; but this elegance, this grace, this coquetry, your blushes and the sweet perfume of the iris we used to love so much, — all transport me and intoxicate me! Never, no, never, have I seen you more beautiful!” added Dutertre, in a passionate voice, as he kissed Sophie’s little hands. “Oh, yes, it is you, it is you, I have found you again, adored mistress of my first love!”
“Now, little girl, I think it is altogether proper that we should retire,” whispered Madeleine to Antonine, unable to keep from laughing.
And both, stealing away on tiptoe, left the parlour, the door of which the marquise discreetly closed, and went into the study of M. Dutertre, which opened into the garden.
“Just now, Madeleine,” said Antonine to the marquise, “you did not let me finish what I came to tell you.”
“Very well, speak, my child.”
“Count Frantz is here.”
“He here!” said the marquise, starting with a feeling of sudden disappointment. “And why and how is Count Frantz here?”
“Knowing from me that you would be here this morning,” said Antonine, “he has come to thank you for all your kindness to us. He is waiting in the garden, — wait, — there he is!” With these words the young girl pointed to Frantz, who was seated on a bench in the garden.
Madeleine threw a long and last look on her blond archangel, nor could she restrain the tears which rose to her eyes; then, kissing Antonine on the brow, she said, in a slightly altered voice:
“Good-bye, my child.”
“Why, Madeleine,” exclaimed the young girl, astounded at so abrupt a departure, “will you go away without wishing to see Frantz? Why, that is impossible — but you will—”
The marquise put her finger on her lips as a sign to Antonine to keep silence; then walking away, turning her eyes only once to that side of the garden, she disappeared.
Two hours after, the Marquise de Miranda quit Paris, leaving this note for the archduke:
“Monseigneur: — I am going to wait for you in Vienna; come and complete your capture of me.
“Madeleine.”
THE END
Gluttony
Anonymous 1899 translation, published by Francis A. Niccolls
In Christianity, gluttony is held as a sin as it withholds food from the needy. In the third instalment of the series, Sister Prudence is the Mother Superior of the convent of St Rosalie and in conjunction with the Abbé Ledoux, she has a plan to entice Dolores Salcedo, the wealthy niece of the Canon of Alcantara, into her religious house, to take the veil, so that when she inherits her expected fortune from her uncle, it will pass to the order and her convent. Sister Prudence justifies her manipulative plan by claiming she will be saving Dolores from a cruel world and putting the money to good works. Ever one to take the moral high ground, the mother superior also is disgusted to hear that the canon is a well known glutton. Of course, the Canon knows that his passion for food is one of the seven deadly sins, but still he ‘eats with voluptuousness and remorse comes only when he is no longer hungry.’
However, on a recent sea voyage to Paris, the sea is very stormy and the Canon loses his appetite, becoming listless and eating very little. In addition, Dolores has captured the heart of the Captain of the ship and he has asked for her hand in marriage, but rather than accept this, the Canon angrily tells her he would put her in a convent before he gave the union his blessing. Then suddenly, in an apparent change of heart, Dolores acquiesces and agrees to enter holy orders. The Captain will not be deterred – with an accomplice, he hatches a daring plan to rescue his beloved from the convent. Meanwhile, the Abbé is languishing in his bed, suffering from psycho-symptomatic ailments, but still sound enough of mind to plot and plan…
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER I.
TOWARD THE END of the month of October, 18 — , the following conversation occurred in the convent of St. Rosalie, between the mother superior, whose name was Sister Prudence, and a certain Abbé Ledoux, whom perhaps the readers of these recitals will remember.
The abbé had just entered the private parlour of Sister Prudence, a woman about fifty years old, with a pale and serious face and a sharp, penetrating eye.
“Well, dear abbé,” said she, “what news from Dom Diégo? When will he arrive?”
“The canon has arrived, my dear sister.”
“With his ni
ece?”
“With his niece.”
“God be praised! Now, my dear abbé, let us pray Heaven to bless our plans.”
“Without doubt, my dear sister, we will pray, but, above all, let us play a sure game, for it will not be easy to win.”
“What do you say?”
“The truth. This truth I have learned only this morning, and here it is; give me, I pray you, all your attention.”
“I am listening, my dear brother.”
“Moreover, that we may better agree, and clearly understand our position, let us first settle the condition of things in our minds. Two months ago, Rev. Father Benoit, who is engaged in foreign missions, and at present is in Cadiz, wrote to me recommending to my especial consideration Lord Dom Diégo, Canon of Alcantara, who was to sail from Cadiz to France with his niece, Dolores Salcedo.”
“Very well, my brother.”
“Father Benoit added that he was sufficiently acquainted with the character and disposition of Dolores Salcedo to feel sure that she could be easily persuaded to take the veil, a resolution which would have the approval of her uncle, Dom Diégo.”
“And, as she is the only heir of the rich canon, the house which she will enter will be greatly benefited by the fortune she inherits.”
“Exactly so, my dear sister. Naturally, I have thought of our convent of Ste. Rosalie for Senora Dolores, and I have spoken to you of these intentions.”
“I have adopted them, my dear brother, because, having some experience with young girls, I feel almost sure that I can, by persuasion, guard this innocent dove from the snares of a seductive and corrupt world, and decide her to take the veil in our house. I shall be doing two good works: save a young girl, and turn to the good of the poor riches which, in other hands, would be used for evil; I cannot hesitate.”
“Without doubt; but, now, my dear sister, the inconvenient thing is, that this innocent dove has a lover.”
“What do you tell me, my brother? What horror! But then, our plans.”
“I have just warned you that we must play a sure game.”
“And how have you learned this shocking thing, my dear brother?”
“By the majordomo of Dom Diégo, a modest servant who keeps me informed of everything he can learn about the canon and his niece.”
“These instructions are indispensable, my brother, because they enable us to act with intelligence and security. But what ideas has this majordomo given you concerning this unfortunate love, my dear brother?”
“Hear, now, how things have happened. The canon and his niece embarked at Cadiz, on a three-master coming from the Indies, and sailing for Bordeaux. Really, now, how many strange fatalities do occur!”
“What fatalities?”
“In the first place, the name of this vessel on which they embarked was named Gastronome.”
“Why, what a singular name for a vessel!”
“Less singular than it appears at first, my dear sister, because this vessel, after having carried to the Indies the best unfermented wines of Bordeaux and the south, hams from Bayonne, smoked tongues from Troyes, pastry from Amiens and Strasbourg, tunnies and olives from Marseilles, cheese from Switzerland, preserved fruits from Touraine and Montpellier, etc., came back by the Cape of Good Hope with a cargo of wines from Constance, pepper, cinnamon, cloves, tea, salted meats of Hachar, and other comestibles of the Indies. She was to add to her cargo by taking on at Cadiz a large quantity of Spanish wine, and afterward return to Bordeaux.”
“Good God, my brother! what a quantity of wine and food! It is enough to make one shudder. I understand now why the vessel was named the Gastronome.”
“And you understand at the same time, my sister, why I spoke to you of strange fatalities, and why the Canon Dom Diégo preferred to embark on the Gastronome, rather than on any other vessel, without any regard to her destination.”
“Please explain yourself, my brother.”
“As for that, I ought first to inform you that I myself was in ignorance before my secret conference with the majordomo on the subject of the canon; the fact is, he is a fabulous, unheard-of glutton.”
“Oh, my brother, what a horrible sin!”
“Horrible sin it may be, but do not abuse this sin too much, my dear sister, for, thanks to it, we may perhaps be able to compass our praiseworthy end and win our game.”
“And how is that, my brother?”
“I am going to tell you. The canon is an ideal glutton. All his faculties, all his thoughts, are concentrated upon one sole pleasure, — the table; and it seems that at Madrid and at Cadiz his table was absolutely marvellous, because now I remember that my physician, Doctor Gasterini—”
“An abominable atheist! a Sardanapalus!” exclaimed Sister Prudence, interrupting Abbé Ledoux, and raising both hands to heaven. “I have never understood why you receive the medical attentions of such a miscreant!”
“I will tell you that some day, my dear sister, but, believe me, I know what I am doing. Besides, notwithstanding his great age, Doctor Gasterini is still the first physician in Paris, as he is the first glutton in the world; but, as I was saying to you, my sister, I now remember having heard him speak of a Spanish canon’s table, — a table which, according to one of the doctor’s correspondents in Madrid, was truly remarkable. At that time I was far from suspecting that it was Dom Diégo who was the subject of their correspondence. However, the poor man is a fool, — a man of small ability, and influenced by all those absurd Southern superstitions. So, upon the authority of the majordomo, it will be easy to make this gluttonous canon see the devil in flesh and bones!”
“One moment, my brother. I am not altogether displeased with the canon’s foolish superstition.”
“Nor I, my sister; on the contrary, it suits me exactly. That is not all. The canon, thanks to his religion, is not deceived about the grossness of his ruling passion. He knows that gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. He believes that his sin will send him to hell, yet he has not the courage to resist it; he eats with voluptuousness, and remorse comes only when he is no longer hungry.”
“Instead of remorse, he ought to have indigestion, unhappy man!” said Sister Prudence. “That, perhaps, might cure him.”
“True, my sister, but that is not the case. However, the canon’s life is passed in enjoying and regretting that he has enjoyed; sometimes remorse, aided by superstition, leads him to expect some sudden and terrible punishment from heaven, but when appetite returns remorse is forgotten, and thus has it been a long time with the canon.”
“After all, my brother, I think him far less culpable than this Sardanapalus, your Doctor Gasterini, who impudently indulges his appetite without compunction. The canon is, at least, conscious of his sin, and that is something.”
“Since the character of the canon is now understood, you will not be astonished that, finding himself at Cadiz, and learning that a ship named the Gastronome was about to sail for France, Dom Diégo seized the opportunity to embark on a vessel so happily named, so as to be able, on his arrival at Bordeaux, to purchase several tons of the choicest wines.”
“Certainly. I understand that, my dear brother.”
“Well, then, Dom Diégo embarked with his niece on board the Gastronome. It is impossible to imagine — so the majordomo told me — the quantity of stores, provisions, and refreshments of all sorts with which the canon encumbered the deck of this vessel, — obstructions invariably forbidden by all rules of navigation, — but the commander of this ship, a certain Captain Horace, miscreant that he is, had only too good reason for ignoring discipline and making himself agreeable to the canon.”
“And this reason, my brother?”
“Fascinated by the beauty of the niece, when Dom Diégo came with her to stipulate the terms of his passage, this contemptible captain, suddenly enamoured of Dolores Salcedo, and expecting to profit by opportunities the voyage would offer, granted all that Dom Diégo demanded, in the hope of seeing him embark with his niece.”
“What villainy on the part of this captain, my brother!”
“Fortunately, Heaven has punished him for it, and that can save us. Well, the canon and his niece embarked on board the Gastronome, laden with all that could tempt or satisfy appetite. Just as they left port a terrible tempest arose, and the safety of the vessel required everything to be thrown into the sea, not only the canon’s provisions, but cages of birds and beasts taken aboard for the sustenance of the passengers. This squall, which drove the vessel far from the coast of Bordeaux, lasted so long and with such fury that almost the entire voyage it was impossible to do any cooking, and passengers, sailors, and officers were reduced to the fare of dry biscuit and salt meat.”
“Oh, the unhappy canon! what became of him?”
“He became furious, my sister, because this passage actually cost him his appetite.”
“Ah, my brother, the finger of Providence was there!”
“In a word, whether by reason of the terror caused by the tempest, or a long deprivation of choice food, or whether the detestable nourishment he was compelled to take impaired his health, the canon, since he disembarked from the Gastronome, has completely lost his appetite. The little that he eats to sustain him, the majordomo tells me, is insipid and unpalatable, no matter how well prepared it may be; and more, he is tormented by the idea or superstition that Heaven has justly punished him for his inordinate indulgence. And, as Captain Horace is in his eyes the chief instrument of Heaven’s anger, the canon has taken an unconquerable dislike to the miscreant, not forgetting, too, that all his luxuries were thrown into the sea by order of the captain. In vain has the captain tried to make him comprehend that his own salvation, as well as that of many others, depended on this sacrifice; Dom Diégo remains inflexible in his hatred. Well, my dear sister, would you believe that, notwithstanding that, the captain, upon his arrival at Bordeaux, had the audacity to ask of Dom Diégo the hand of his niece in marriage, assuming that this unhappy young girl was in love with him. You appreciate the fact, my sister, that two lovers do not remember bad cheer or terrible tempests, and that this miscreant has bewildered the innocent creature. I need not tell you of the fury of Dom Diégo at this insolent proposal from the captain, whom he regards as his mortal enemy, as the bad spirit sent to him by the anger of Heaven. So the canon has informed Dolores that, as a punishment for having dared to fall in love with such a scoundrel, he would put her in a convent upon his arrival in Paris, and that she should there take the veil.”