Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  Soon I beheld Du Pluvier, very much at his ease in THE DEPARTURE. my Albanian costume, rush down to the beach, followed by the old Cypriote and the two dwarfs, who were indulging in a thousand capers.

  Doubtless the new saltan was inviting his odalisks to return to their seraglio.

  But unfortunately the odalisks were not very obedient, and the sultan was not very persuasive, for after some exchange of words, with the old Cypriote as an interpreter, all the women fell like so many furies on Du Pluvier, who was lost to sight amid their raised and threatening arms.

  I never saw the end of this entertaining sight, for the vessel rounded a promontory which completely hid the palace from our sight.

  Half an hour afterwards the captain said to me:

  “I would like to know the meaning of that thick smoke that is going up from the upper part of Khios, in the direction of the villa you lived in.”

  Noémi’s threat to burn the palace if I abandoned her flashed through my mind.

  Had these furious maidens carried her project to its execution? What had become of Du Pluvier? Had he perished in the flames entwined in the arms of his slaves? I could not answer the question, and we very soon were out of sight of the island, and in a terrible state of anxiety as to the fate of poor Du Pluvier.

  THE PRINCESSE DE FERSEN

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE ALEXINA.

  SUCH WERE THE impressions left upon me by a year’s sojourn in the island of Khios, such the motives of my abrupt departure for Prance on board the Russian frigate Alexina.

  Having introduced in its proper place this fragment of my journal of former days, I resume my narrative.

  I find myself in a state of mind eminently suitable to take up this narrative and follow up the incidents, be they gay or sad, pathetic or tragic.

  The last and violent emotions that I have felt since my journey to the East, up to this moment when I am writing these lines, have so worn out my heart, I find myself so indifferent to the future and the past, that I can relate this new episode of my life with the most profound detachment, as if it in no way concerned me.

  The reading of these pages, dated from the island of Khios, and written in the East three years ago, has still further increased my indifference to all that relates to myself.

  When I once again return to calmness and reason, I find myself so unquiet, so restless, so frenzied, so little made for the happiness which fate seemed to bestow on me (perhaps for the very reason that I never would profit by it), that I judge myself with an extreme and perhaps unjust severity.

  From the point of view in which I have placed myself, having but little self-esteem, being prejudiced against ARTHUR. myself, deficient in pride and self-conceit, I exaggerate still more my defects, and the absence of vanity in my character often prevents my esteeming at their full value some truly generous actions of which I might be justly proud.

  Hence, I believe if these pages were ever made known (which never can happen, as I shall take good care to prevent it), they would give a very poor opinion of my character.

  And yet, would many have acted as I have?

  If formerly I attributed to Hélène the most hateful duplicity, have I not in my despair attempted everything, done everything, to repair my fault? Had she been willing to accept my hand, would I not have given up to her my fortune? And later, when I became aware that Frank was poor, did I not come to his assistance as delicately as I could?

  If I have been unjustly cruel towards Marguerite, at least I had for a long time courageously defended her against the calumnies of the world, even before I was known to her.

  And that duel, — that fierce duel of which she has ever been ignorant? (Here some lines were erased in the “Journal of an Unknown.” The narrative of this duel not being found in the episode of Madame de Pënàfiel, and Arthur again alluding to it at the time of the pirate’s fight against the yacht, it is probable that this omission was the result of an involuntary or premeditated forgetfulness. — Note by the Author, E. S.)

  If, led astray by an attack of incurable frenzy, I outrageously insulted Falmouth, had I not saved his life at the risk of mine?

  The good I have done certainly does not acquit me of the evil imputed to me, but is it not dreadful to think that all that was worthy and noble in my conduct will ever vanish under the flood of bitterness and hate to which my distrust gave birth?

  But after all, what matter is the past now to me!

  These lines are written that I may once more see the events of my life roll by before my eyes; that they may shorten the long and weary hours of solitude in which I live at present at Serval, in the old and gloomy ancestral castle so long abandoned by me.

  We therefore left the island of Khios in perfect ignorance as to the fate of Du Pluvier.

  Although we entered the equinox, the crossing was fine, though frequently delayed by contrary winds.

  The Russian sailors appeared to me quite different from the English. These are submissive to the hardships of the most despotic military discipline; they are, by nature and custom, full of deference for the officers belonging to the highest aristocracy, officers of whom they are above all proud, just as negroes pride themselves in belonging to a white master rather than to a mulatto. Everything in them, however, reveals that unconquerable national pride, that insolent British arrogance, which renders the English sailor one of the best sailors in the world, because he is always driven or sustained by an exaggerated sentiment of his own value, and by his profound faith in the superiority of his own country over all other maritime nations.

  Now, however deluded they may be, fanaticism and faith always work prodigies.

  The Russian sailors, on the contrary, displayed a passive, almost religious, obedience, a blind resignation, a mechanical submission to the will of their superiors, in whom they almost appeared to acknowledge a nature superior to their own. One felt, indeed, that a word, a sign, from these officers might elevate the resignation and intrepid devotion of the Russian sailors, even to the heroism of personal self-sacrifice.

  Strange difference between the character of these two people and that of the French, — of the French, sometimes strictly obedient, but never respectful, gaily obeying superiors, of whom they make fun, or bravely dying for causes which they revile!

  I was led to these various reflections by observing the calm customs, almost cloister-like, prevailing on board the Russian frigate, which, after a few days, caused a very strange reaction upon us passengers.

  Nothing, in fact, was more singular than the appearance of this vessel; it was silence amidst the solitude of the waters. Except the orders of the officers, not a word was ever heard. Mute and attentive, the crew answered to the orders of the officers only by the noise of the manœuvres, which were executed with mechanical precision.

  At sundown, the chaplain read prayers, all the sailors humbly kneeling, after which they descended into the forecastle.

  But everywhere and always, an inexorable silence. If they were whipped for some fault, never a cry; if they rested from their labours, never a song.

  The captain and his lieutenant, at whose table M. and Madame Fersen, as well as I, sat, were well bred men, and excellent sailors, but their minds were not remarkably cultivated.

  M. de Fersen read almost incessantly from a collection of French dramatic works.

  Madame de Fersen and I, therefore, were left almost isolated in the midst of this little colony; neither men, things, nor events could distract us from our individual preoccupations.

  In the midst of this profound calm, this seclusion, this silence, the slightest fancies became firmly impressed on the frame of so simple a life; in a word, if one may so express it, never was canvas more evenly prepared to receive the impressions of the painter, however varied, however eccentric, they might be.

  At noon we assembled for breakfast, followed by a walk on deck; then M. de Fersen returned to the reading of his beloved plays, and the officers to their nautical observati
ons.

  Madame de Fersen usually occupied the saloon of the frigate; thus every day I chatted with her with scarcely any interruption from two o’clock until the approach of the dinner-hour caused her to withdraw and make a fresh, and always charming, toilet.

  After dinner, when the weather permitted, coffee was served on deck. Once more we took a walk, and about nine o’clock we again assembled in the saloon.

  Madame de Fersen was an excellent musician, and would often seat herself at the piano, to the great delight of the prince, who then begged her to accompany him in some vaudeville airs, which he sang remarkably well. At other times, one of the officers of the frigate, who had a pleasant voice, sang some quaint and very agreeable Russian songs.

  With music and conversation, in which M. de Fersen took an active part, and which he enlivened with sparkling and refined gaiety, the evening passed agreeably until eleven o’clock, at which hour tea was served, after which each one retired as he felt disposed.

  It may be seen that, apart from the limit of the walks, we led the life of a château, the most intimate and the most secluded.

  On the third day after our departure from Khios, an incident occurred, very slight, apparently, but which had, which was bound to have, a very strange influence on my destiny.

  Madame de Fersen had a little daughter called Irene, towards whom she displayed a fondness almost approaching idolatry. It was impossible to dream of anything more perfect, more ideal, than this child.

  She was of a severe and stately beauty. Many mothers would have preferred for their daughters a more childish and smiling face. I must acknowledge I myself could not avoid, at times, a feeling of sadness, while gazing on this adorable countenance, expressive of an indefinable melancholy, incomprehensible at so tender an age.

  Irene’s brow was broad, her complexion bore a healthy pallor, and her rounded cheeks denoted robust health. Her dark brown hair, very abundant, fine, and silky, curled naturally about her neck; her large eyes, of a liquid and velvety black, had a remarkably deep look, more especially when, with that faculty natural to children, she would gaze at you fixedly, without lowering the dark fringes of her eyelids. Her nose was slender and beautiful, her mouth small and coral red, and her lower lip slightly pouting and disdainful, if disdain had not seemed incompatible with her youth. Her form, her hands, and her feet were of a rare perfection.

  Irene, by a touching superstition of her mother’s, after a long illness, had been dedicated to wear only white; the almost religious simplicity of this garb gave marked individuality to her appearance.

  As I have already stated, it was the third day of our departure from Khios.

  Irene, who until then had appeared to observe me with a kind of restless mistrust, and who by degrees had become more friendly, came resolutely towards me and said, with childish solemnity:

  “Look at me, that I may see whether I am going to love you.”

  Then after having fixed upon me one of those long, piercing glances of which I have spoken, and which compelled me to lower my eyes, Irene continued:

  “Yes, I shall love you very much.” And after a renewed silence, she turned to Madame de Fersen, saying:

  “Yes, my dear mother, I shall love him very much. I shall love him as I loved Ivan!”

  In saying these words, her childish face assumed such a fascinating expression of gravity that I could not avoid smiling.

  But my astonishment was great when I saw Madame de Fersen look with amazement, first at Irene, and then at me, as if she attached a great importance to what her little girl had just said to me.

  “Although I have nothing now to envy the happy Ivan, this is a declaration, madame, which I much fear will be forgotten ten years hence,” said I to the princess.

  “Forgotten! Irene forgets nothing. See her tears at the remembrance of Ivan.”

  In fact two large pearls were rolling down the child’s cheeks, while she continued to fix upon me a glance at once sweet, sad, and questioning.

  “But who, then, was Ivan?”

  Madame de Fersen’s features darkened, and she answered me, with a sigh: “Ivan was one of our relatives who died quite young,” — she hesitated a moment, “died a violent and frightful death two years ago. Irene had become so attached to him that I was almost jealous. I can hardly tell you of the incredible grief of this child when she no longer saw Ivan, for whom she asked incessantly. She was then four years old, and so deep was her sorrow that she fell seriously ill, and came nigh unto death. At this time it was that I dedicated her to the wearing of white, and implored God to spare her to me. But what astonishes me exceedingly, is that, for the past two years, you are the only person to whom Irene has said that she would love him.”

  Irene, who had listened to her mother with all attention, now took my hand, and, with an almost inspired air, she raised to heaven her eyes still wet with tears, and said:

  “Yes, I shall love him like Ivan, for soon he will go up there, like Ivan.”

  “Irene, my child, what are you saying? Ah, pardon her, monsieur!” cried Madame de Fersen, almost with terror, looking at me with an imploring glance.

  “Were I even to purchase it with the same end as poor Ivan,” said I, smiling, “allow me, madame, the enjoyment of so touching an affection.”

  I am neither weak nor superstitious, but I can hardly describe the strange impression produced upon me by this childish speech which I will explain presently. There is no half-way. Such incidents are either of the utmost absurdity, or they act powerfully on certain minds.

  By a happy chance, M. de Fersen came in at this moment to beg his wife to accompany him in a vaudeville song, and thus a strange scene came to an end.

  I noticed that Madame de Fersen did not mention to her husband the strange declaration that Irene had made me.

  That day, after dinner, the princess complained of a bad headache, and retired to her room.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE PRINCESSE DE FERSEN.

  THE NEXT MORNING Madame de Fersen did not appear at breakfast. She was not well, the prince said, and had spent a restless night. Then, abruptly, to my great astonishment, he spoke to me most freely and confidentially, regarding the character, the mind, the habits of his wife, and the life led by her, perhaps to warn me of the futility of my aspirations, in the event of my having dreamed of paying my court to Madame de Fersen. I can in no other way explain his incomprehensible whim in entering upon such details with me.

  The following is the substance of what I learned from M. de Fersen about his wife.

  Mlle. Catherine Metriska, daughter of Count Metriska, governor of one of the Asiatic provinces of the Russian Empire, was seventeen years of age when she married M. de Fersen. She possessed a naturally fine mind, and a highly cultivated education developed an intellect precociously mature. At the time of the marriage, the prince was ambassador at Vienna.

  At first he feared for the inexperience of his wife, burdened at so early an age with all the responsibilities devolving upon the ambassadress of so great a power at a court so austere, so solemn, and so imposing in its etiquette as the Austrian court. But Madame de Fersen, wonderfully gifted, satisfied every demand of her position, thanks to the exquisite tact, to the delicate shading, to the perfect balance, she was able to bring in so difficult an intercourse.

  “Quite young, full of grace and wit,” said the prince, “you may well imagine that Madame de Fersen was at once surrounded by the cream of foreigners arriving at the court of Vienna.

  “A husband should no more speak of his wife’s virtue, than a man should boast of the nobility of his race,” added the prince smiling, “yet I can say I believe, nay, I know, that Caesar’s wife has never been suspected, though Cæsar was fifty years of age. I had married less perhaps for love, though Catherine was charming, than because there are certain embassies which are not entrusted to bachelors, and because in my position I wished to have near me a frank and disinterested person, upon whom I could try the effect of cer
tain combinations, something, save the ferocity of the combination,” said the prince, laughing, “as some Roman patricians tried the effect of certain poisons on their slaves. Experience has proved to me that extreme purity was often harder to be deceived than extreme craft, just as children almost always guess intuitively the snares set for them. Hence, when I see Catherine countenancing certain projects, certain ideas, skilfully disguised it is true, in order that her nature, sensitive, delicate, and generous, may not be shocked, I have no fear later in putting forth this idea, that I may irritate the susceptibility of my dear colleagues, whose conscience is usually tolerably tough.

  “Little by little,” continued the prince, “Madame de Fersen became interested in politics, for, to continue my experiences, I entrusted to her, under various aspects, many of the questions that I must solve. Do not believe, however, that her policy was dry and selfish. No; an exalted love of humanity was her sole impulse. When she spoke of European nations, she spoke as of beloved sisters, not her country’s rivals. You may think me in my dotage in speaking thus seriously of what seems to you, doubtless, the dreams of a young and romantic woman; but, you cannot tell of what service has been to me that turn of mind which makes her so wonderfully enthusiastic for universal peace and happiness. Wisdom consists, does it not, in holding to the middle way at an equal distance from all extremes. When, therefore, I have an important decision to make, the generous and conciliatory policy of Madame de Fersen marks one boundary, while, on the other hand, our traditional selfish and cunning policy gives me the other limit. I may then, without difficulty, choose a wise and prudent middle course between these two extremes.

  “I reaped another advantage from this mental tendency of Madame de Fersen: that of being able to affirm that Caesar’s wife has never been suspected, for when the powers of love and devotion in a woman’s heart find a brilliant scope through her intelligence, she does not seek other employment for them, more especially when her feminine vanity is flattered by the influence thus acquired.