by Eugène Sue
It was all so fresh and simple and new to me, that the bright coloured yellaks and embroidered fezzes of the Grecian girls seemed horribly crude and vulgar, and their gold and silver made me think of the tinsel dresses of rope-dancers.
I know not whether to rejoice or be alarmed at what has happened.
I have been seized with a sudden disgust at the life I have been leading here for the last year.
When I compare my gross pleasures and solitary reveries to the conversation I have just had with that young, beautiful, and intelligent woman, to such an exchanging of pleasant and clever thoughts, to the necessity of disguising whatever would be a shock to refined feelings; when I compare my indolent life of a satrap, who gives orders and is obeyed, to the charming necessity of pleasing, to that choice language and manner that a woman like Madame de Fersen imposes on you, even though you are but a mere acquaintance.
When I compare the present with the past, I am astonished that I could have lived so long in such a way.
I have, however, lived for eighteen happy months at Khios. If the future shows itself under a more seductive form, I must not condemn the happy days that I may live to regret.
I am terribly perplexed. What shall I do?
If I remain here regretfully, if my future life in Khios becomes wearisome, it were better to leave the island at once. M. de Fersen has kindly invited me to go with him back to France.
I know not what to do. I must wait; besides, Du Pluvier is to breakfast with me to-morrow. I will make him talk about Madame de Fersen.
CHAPTER XI.
THE DEPARTURE.
ON BOARD THE FRIGATE ALEXINA.
October, 18 — .
IT is all over. I have left the island.
Yesterday morning On Pluvier came to breakfast with me.
He seemed singularly preoccupied.
“My friend,” said he, “you live here the life of a veritable pasha, — a sybarite, a true odalisk. On my word of honour, it is charming; neither I nor the princess can understand it.”
“How so?”
“Parbleu! She and the prince make wild suppositions as to the reasons which prompted you to lead such a life. The princess particularly seems puzzled; but as I know nothing, I can tell her nothing.”
“My dear Du Pluvier, tell me, have you seen much of M. and Madame de Fersen during your sojourn in Constantinople?”
“Very often, nearly every day; the Russian embassy was one of the most agreeable houses of the Christian quarter. Little comedies were given there twice a week, and my duties prevented my skipping a single rehearsal.”
“Your duties?”
“Yes, I was under-prompter, — our first secretary was naturally prompter-in-chief.”
“Oh, without doubt. But what was said of Madame de Fersen at Constantinople?”
“A proud woman, — a second Joan d’Arc. She ruled the embassy with a rod of steel, — she did everything. They say she even carried on a direct correspondence with the Czar, and during that time the excellent prince was acting one of Potiers rôles. In such a capacity he is perfection personified! I have seen him act ‘Les Frères Féroces,’ and thought I should die with laughter!”
“And did Madame de Fersen also act?”
“Not a bit of it; she had other things to do, ma foi! Believe me or not, just as you wish, but I have never heard a single evil word said against her.”
“No doubt she was entirely taken up with politics?”
“She thought of nothing else; which fact did not prevent her from being gay and agreeable, as you noticed, no doubt. But as to her heart, — it is a protocol lacking a signature.”
“Always witty,” said I to Du Pluvier, who was laughing at his own joke. “But what makes you think Madame de Fersen so cold-hearted?”
“Parbleu! the complaints of those whom she has repulsed; firstly, Villeblanche, our first secretary, the prompter-in-chief. You remember Villeblanche? Well, he wasted his time like all the others, and if any one could have succeeded, most assuredly that man was Villeblanche.”
“Who is Villeblanche?”
“Villeblanche is — well, just Villeblanche, le beau Villeblanche — Parbleu! of course you know Villeblanche, you know him well.”
“But I don’t know him at all, I tell you.”
“Is it possible you are not acquainted With le beau Villeblanche? The soul of our diplomatic corps! A fellow of many resources, to whom the foreign office owes the invention of double seals called ‘à la Villeblanche.’ How does it happen that you have never met him?”
“It is a great pity, but some persons are very ignorant.”
“It was at the Congress of Verona that Villeblanche’s diplomatic career was assured, for then it was that he rendered the government such a service as only he could render.”
“But I thought that France’s greatest man, who war entrusted to represent her at that congress, was the only one to whom the treaty was due?”
“Who? Châteaubriand?”
“Yes, Châteaubriand.”
“I do not wish to lessen his glory, but if it was he who did the thinking, it was Villeblanche who accomplished the work, and Châteaubriand, with all his genius, could never have done what Villeblanche did; after all, one should judge according to actions, not according to words.”
“Besides which?”
“In truth, I cannot understand how it happens that you do not know. It is universal, it is European! Well, know then that, during the congress, Villeblanche, entrusted with the most important despatches, travelled first from Verona to Paris, from Paris to Madrid, where he stayed one hour; then from Madrid he came back to Paris, and left there immediately for St. Petersburg. Nor is this all. From St. Petersburg he returned to Verona, and left there like a flash of lightning for Madrid by way of Paris. This is a mere nothing. From Madrid he again returned to Verona by way of Paris, and finally he returned to Paris, passing through Vienna and Berlin on his way. How is that, my friend?”
“But your diplomat’s book of services must be a regular posting book,” said I.
“And to think,” said Du Pluvier, with admiration, “to think that Villeblanche has never stopped in any European capital except just the time that was necessary to deliver and receive his despatches, — and yet, whenever he got down from his carriage he was charming, as well dressed as though he had just been taken out of a box! That is what not one of his colleagues can ever understand,” added Du Pluvier, with a mysterious air. “For two months to live in a travelling carriage without getting out of one’s harness, — it is wearisome, fatiguing to the last degree, while this devilish Villeblanche always managed to look fresh as a rose. It is stupefying! Besides, it has made him no end of enemies, jealous, perhaps, for they now talk of sending him as minister to some German court.”
“I am quite of your opinion; Châteaubriand, with all his genius, could never have done all that, but, fortunately for our diplomacy, there are numerous Villeblanches. By the way, how could Madame de Fersen remain insensible to such merits? She was doubtless afraid that, from mere habit, the handsome diplomat would ask her to go too far!”
I only permitted myself this piece of pleasantry out of a feeling of hospitality, and I was rewarded for the sacrifice by hearing Du Pluvier break out in such a fit of laughing that the dogs barked and the parrots began their screaming.
When all was quiet again, he continued, “Yes, my dear Arthur, Madame de Fersen resisted Villeblanche and all the fine flowers of foreign diplomacy in Constantinople. That is sufficient, is it not, alas! to show that her virtue is not to be corrupted?” he added, with a deep sigh.
“Wherefore such a sigh?”
“It is because Madame de Fersen’s virtue is like all the other colossal virtues that I have been shipwrecked on since ever I came into the world. It is frightful to think how virtuous women can be!” said Du Pluvier, in a very discouraged way. “And yet, to hear some fellows talk, you would suppose one only had to choose.”
“
Admitting,” said I to Du Pluvier, to console him a little, “admitting that those fellows are not liars, but simply indiscreet, is it not better to do like you, and inspire a woman with an exalted idea of her duty, to make her fond of her husband, no matter how ugly or disagreeable he may be, than to inspire her with the guilty desire of disturbing the peace of her family? For, my dear friend, your rôle is much superior to that of a seducer, it being so much more difficult to do good than to do evil.”
“You are quite right; I tell myself so frequently,” said Du Pluvier; “it is much more moral, but I swear it becomes tiresome at last. I entered the diplomatic corps in order to be successful in society. Well, it has done nothing of the kind.”
“I have felt just the same way, seeing, with horror, that people were growing more and more high-principled; and wishing to respect social laws, I sought a more primitive place, and established myself here, where certain principles and social laws are no more spoken of than in Otahiti.”
“That is what I thought,” said Du Pluvier, with a meditative air. “Since seeing you so well established, I have had an idea. I said to myself, ‘What am I to do in the future? If I return to Paris, I certainly will not find things any more amusing than formerly. I am as free as air. There is that dear Arthur, living all alone on his island like Robinson Crusoe. A companion is always agreeable, even necessary, for one might fall ill. Very well, then, as I am so fond of this dear Arthur, let me show my friendship for him. If he is Robinson, let me become his Friday. Stay with him six months, — a year, — ten years, — or as long as he remains on his island, and live there, pardieu! like a pair of sultans.’ There, my friend, these are the results of my last night’s reflections. What do you think of them? You see the night brings counsel. I will become your Friday!”
I was terrified, for I had never dreamed of such a thing as this.
I said nothing, though, for fear of making things worse by contradicting him. I pretended at first to be charmed with his plan, then I began to throw every kind of difficulty in his way.
I spoke of a threatened raid by the Turks, — he feared nothing, for he knew I was brave as a lion.
I exaggerated the expenses of my establishment that he wished to share, — he had just come into a large inheritance from an uncle at Saintonge.
He pressed me so hard that I had to avow my passion for solitude, saying that it had now become a perfect monomania, and that sometimes, for whole weeks and months, I could scarcely endure the sight of any one, — he said he would vanish like a sprite (what a sprite!) until my fit of loneliness was over.
At last, as a final argument, I said it would be impossible for me, from certain reasons, to give him a lodging in the Garina Palace, — he said he could easily find some villa in the neighbourhood, having decided to live in Turkish fashion, and never to leave me.
The situation was becoming extremely serious.
Du Pluvier, like all obstinate and narrow-minded persons, might persist in doing as he said, and then my sojourn on the island would be unbearable.
This thought, added to the singular revulsion of feeling that Madame de Fersen had produced in me, made me seriously think of abandoning Khios.
Perhaps, had it not been for this strange caprice of Du Pluvier’s, I might have hesitated to take this step. Perhaps I might have struggled against this desire of reëntering society.
But, placed between the alternatives of returning to France with Madame de Fersen, who was charming, or of remaining in Khios with my slaves, that were beginning to be hateful to me, and sharing my solitude with Du Pluvier, I had no hesitation in leaving the island.
I have always come to grave decisions with promptness.
As Du Pluvier continued to insist, I told him that I had not yet given him my real reason for declining his offer, but that, since he forced me to it, I must tell him that I was obliged to return to France.
“Leave your beautiful palace, — those adorable women, — that light your pipe, and pour out your wine, — who dance for you as though you were at the Opéra, — real houris! It is impossible!”
“Unfortunately, my dear Du Pluvier, there are some confessions that are hard to make even to a friend, but to tell the truth, I have sustained losses, and my diminished fortune obliges me to return to France, and live less like a sultan.”
“Really, really, my dear count,” said Du Pluvier, who seemed sincerely grieved, “you can’t tell how sad that makes me. But what are you going to do with all this establishment?”
“I am going to free the women, the birds, the dogs, and the dwarfs, pay an indemnity to the Marquis Justiniani, and sell all the furniture in Khios.”
“You have decided to do that?”
“Quite decided.”
“Positively?”
“Yes, yes, yes, — a hundred times yes.”
“Then, my dear Arthur, you will not reproach me if I profit by your decision?”
“How can that be? What do you mean?”
“This is my scheme. The life you are living in this earthly paradise has turned my head. Will you sell me all of these treasures, — palace, women, dogs, dwarfs, and parrots?”
I thought that he was joking, and looked at him incredulously.
“Is it a bargain? You will lose less than in selling everything piecemeal,” said he, with a resolute air. “But what do you ask for the slaves and the furniture?”
“It is useless for you to ask the price of the slaves, for I will only leave them with you on condition that when you leave the island you will set them free.”
“But how do you expect to get back to France?”
“I shall ask M. de Fersen to allow me to take your place on the frigate.”
“But the ship is to sail to-day.”
“What difference does that make? If you are quite decided, I can leave to-day.”
“I am perfectly decided. Shake hands, my dear Arthur; I only need the time it will take me to go on board and get my baggage.”
“Then it is agreed.”
And Du Pluvier left me.
This sudden resolution of his did not greatly astonish me. Du Pluvier was one of those essentially imitative natures, who, never having any ideas of their own, are always ready to appropriate those of others, and disport in them, whether suitable or not. Like those persons who wear a costume without stopping to see if it fits them, Du Pluvier had doubtless been struck by the eccentricity of my existence, and thought himself very original in adopting it.
No doubt the passengers on the frigate had spoken of my strange conduct, and had either praised, blamed, or exaggerated the singular disposition of a man of the world that could bring him to desire to lead such a life; but, as they probably had, in spite of blame or praise, thought it was quite out of the ordinary course, Du Pluvier thought he would distinguish himself from the vulgar by taking my place. Perhaps the idea of such a sensual life was seductive.
I got ready to leave the island. For a moment I admit that I was vaguely sad; I was leaving the certain for the uncertain. This material existence that I was beginning to despise had its disenchantments; but nothing is perfect in this world. The most ideal and spiritualised life, is it not also sometimes a disappointment?
But how could I hesitate when I thought of living with Du Pluvier?
Before leaving, I wished to assure myself of the future welfare of my slaves. I sent for them, and presented them each with eight hundred francs, which was a considerable sum for them; but they received it with perfect indifference.
Then I sent for the renegade of Khios, who attended to the affairs of the Marquis Justiniani, and told him that I left Du Pluvier in my stead as tenant of the palace and master of the slaves. I warned him to say no word about it until the frigate had weighed anchor.
Du Pluvier returned in ecstasy. He begged me to leave him my Albanian costumes, as he wished to install himself immediately, and had not time to buy himself a costume.
I consented and even helped him to dress. He was pe
rfectly ridiculous thus rigged up.
He asked me, then, to present him to the slave girls as their future master.
I took care to do nothing of the kind, being conceited enough to believe that there would be another revolt among the good creatures, if they thought I was about to abandon them.
I told them, on the contrary, that I was going again on board the ship as I had several times gone before, and that they must try and amuse my friend during my absence.
Noémi looked at Du Pluvier with a deceitful smile, Daphné looked disgusted, and Anathasia began to pout.
Having my misgivings on the future harmony in which the girls were to live with Du Pluvier, I shook his hand, and, quite overcome by my feelings, left the palace.
The ship’s boat was waiting at the wharf, and I was soon on board.
M. de Fersen was very gracious and obliging to me, and the Russian captain granted me my passage with the greatest hospitality.
Two hours after leaving the palace we were under way.
Du Pluvier’s decision was the subject of our pleasantries for quite a long time.
After tacking a few times, we arrived opposite the Carina Palace, which was half-way up the hillside; a portion of the park extended down to the waterside.
With a field-glass I gazed sadly on this beautiful spot, that I was about to leave for ever, when a strange sight attracted my attention.
No doubt the renegade had told of my departure, and they had seen the frigate sailing away, for I saw the slaves rush suddenly down the bank, and over the lawn, and assemble on the beach, where they stretched out their arms towards the frigate in attitudes of despair.
Then, seeing that the ship was going farther and farther away, Noémi tore off her fez in a rage, threw it on the ground, and stamped on it with both feet; soon her thick black hair was flying in the wind. She looked like a beautiful fury.
Daphné, who perhaps had not yet given up all hope, waved her silken scarf by way of a signal.
Anathasia, the blonde, was kneeling on the beach.