“And he ate meat?”
My uncle looked vexed, as if I had said something very uncalled for, and then added:
“Don’t joke, Gaston; such things are out of place at times. He has shown me more devotion than many a relation would have done, and I expect to have his convictions respected.”
This rather upset me, but I answered, nevertheless: “Very well, uncle; and what did you do after breakfast?”
“We played a game of bezique, and then he repeated his breviary while I read a little book which he happened to have in his pocket, and which was not by any means badly written.”
“A religious book, uncle?”
“Yes, and no, or, rather—no. It is the history of their missions in Central Africa, and is rather a book of travels and adventures. What these men have done is very grand.”
I began to feel that matters were going badly, so I got up. “Well, good-by, uncle,” I said, “I see you are going to give up Freemasonry for religion; you are a renegade.”
He was still rather confused, and stammered:
“Well, but religion is a sort of Freemasonry.”
“When is your Jesuit coming back?” I asked.
“I don’t—I don’t know exactly; tomorrow, perhaps; but it is not certain.”
I went out, altogether overwhelmed.
My joke turned out very badly for me! My uncle became thoroughly converted, and if that had been all I should not have cared so much. Clerical or Freemason, to me it is all the same; six of one and half a dozen of the other; but the worst of it is that he has just made his will—yes, made his will—and he has disinherited me in favor of that rascally Jesuit!
THE BARONESS
“Come with me,” said my friend Boisrene, “you will see some very interesting bric-a-brac and works of art there.”
He conducted me to the first floor of an elegant house in one of the big streets of Paris. We were welcomed by a very pleasing man, with excellent manners, who led us from room to room, showing us rare things, the price of which he mentioned carelessly. Large sums, ten, twenty, thirty, fifty thousand francs, dropped from his lips with such grace and ease that one could not doubt that this gentleman-merchant had millions shut up in his safe.
I had known him by reputation for a long time Very bright, clever, intelligent, he acted as intermediary in all sorts of transactions. He kept in touch with all the richest art amateurs in Paris, and even of Europe and America, knowing their tastes and preferences; he apprised them by letter, or by wire if they lived in a distant city, as soon as he knew of some work of art which might suit them.
Men of the best society had had recourse to him in times of difficulty, either to find money for gambling, or to pay off a debt, or to sell a picture, a family jewel, or a tapestry.
It was said that he never refused his services when he saw a chance of gain.
Boisrene seemed very intimate with this strange merchant. They must have worked together in many a deal. I observed the man with great interest.
He was tall, thin, bald, and very elegant. His soft, insinuating voice had a peculiar, tempting charm which seemed to give the objects a special value. When he held anything in his hands, he turned it round and round, looking at it with such skill, refinement, and sympathy that the object seemed immediately to be beautiful and transformed by his look and touch. And its value increased in one’s estimation, after the object had passed from the showcase into his hands.
“And your Crucifix,” said Boisrene, “that beautiful Renaissance Crucifix which you showed me last year?”
The man smiled and answered:
“It has been sold, and in a very peculiar manner. There is a real Parisian story for you! Would you like to hear it?”
“With pleasure.”
“Do you know the Baroness Samoris?”
“Yes and no. I have seen her once, but I know what she is!”
“You know—everything?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind telling me, so that I can see whether you are not mistaken?”
“Certainly. Mme. Samoris is a woman of the world who has a daughter, without anyone having known her husband. At any rate, she is received in a certain tolerant, or blind society. She goes to church and devoutly partakes of Communion, so that everyone may know it, and she never compromises herself. She expects her daughter to marry well. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but I will complete your information. She is a woman who makes herself respected by her admirers in spite of everything. That is a rare quality, for in this manner she can get what she wishes from a man. The man whom she has chosen without his suspecting it courts her for a long time, longs for her timidly, wins her with astonishment and possesses her with consideration. He does not notice that he is paying, she is so tactful; and she maintains her relations on such a footing of reserve and dignity that he would slap the first man who dared doubt her in the least. And all this in the best of faith.
“Several times I have been able to render little services to this woman. She has no secrets from me.
“Toward the beginning of January she came to me in order to borrow thirty thousand francs. Naturally, I did not lend them to her; but, as I wished to oblige her, I told her to explain her situation to me completely, so that I might see whether there was not something I could do for her.
“She told me her troubles in such cautious language that she could not have spoken more delicately of her child’s first communion. I finally managed to understand that times were hard, and that she was penniless.
“The commercial crisis, political unrest, rumors of war, had made money scarce even in the hands of her clients. And then, of course, she was very particular.
“She would associate only with a man in the best of society, who could strengthen her reputation as well as help her financially. A reveller, no matter how rich, would have compromised her forever, and would have made the marriage of her daughter quite doubtful.
“She had to maintain her household expenses and continue to entertain, in order not to lose the opportunity of finding, among her numerous visitors, the discreet and distinguished friend for whom she was waiting, and whom she would choose.
“I showed her that my thirty thousand francs would have but little likelihood of returning to me; for, after spending them all, she would have to find at least sixty thousand more, in a lump, to pay me back.
“She seemed very disheartened when she heard this. I did not know just what to do, when an idea, a really fine idea, struck me.
“I had just bought this Renaissance Crucifix which I showed you, an admirable piece of workmanship, one of the finest of its land that I have ever seen.
“‘My dear friend,’ I said to her, ‘I am going to send you that piece of ivory. You will invent some ingenious, touching, poetic story, anything that you wish, to explain your desire for parting with it. It is, of course, a family heirloom left you by your father.
“‘I myself will send you amateurs, or will bring them to you. The rest concerns you. Before they come I will drop you a line about their position, both social and financial. This Crucifix is worth fifty thousand francs; but I will let it go for thirty thousand. The difference will belong to you.’
“She considered the matter seriously for several minutes, and then answered: ‘Yes, it is, perhaps, a good idea. I thank you very much.’
“The next day I sent her my Crucifix, and the same evening the Baron de Saint-Hospital.
“For three months I sent her my best clients, from a business point of view. But I heard nothing more from her.
“One day I received a visit from a foreigner who spoke very little French. I decided to introduce him personally to the baroness, in order to see how she was getting along.
“A footman in black livery received us and ushered us into a quiet little parlor, furnished with taste, where we waited for several minutes. She appeared, charming as usual, extended her hand to me and invited us to be seated; and when I had explaine
d the reason of my visit, she rang.
“The footman appeared.
“‘See if Mlle. Isabelle can let us go into her oratory.’ The young girl herself brought the answer. She was about fifteen years of age, modest and good to look upon in the sweet freshness of her youth. She wished to conduct us herself to her chapel.
“It was a kind of religious boudoir where a silver lamp was burning before the Crucifix, my Crucifix, on a background of black velvet. The setting was charming and very clever. The child crossed herself and then said:
“‘Look, gentlemen. Isn’t it beautiful?’
“I took the object, examined it and declared it to be remarkable. The foreigner also examined it, but he seemed much more interested in the two women than in the crucifix.
“A delicate odor of incense, flowers and perfume pervaded the whole house. One felt at home there. This really was a comfortable home, where one would have liked to linger.
“When we had returned to the parlor I delicately broached the subject of the price. Mme. Samoris, lowering her eyes, asked fifty thousand francs.
“Then she added: ‘If you wish to see it again, monsieur, I very seldom go out before three o’clock; and I can be found at home every day.’
“In the street the stranger asked me for some details about the baroness, whom he had found charming. But I did not hear anything more from either of them.
“Three months passed by.
“One morning, hardly two weeks ago, she came here at about lunch time, and, placing a roll of bills in my hand, said: ‘My dear, you are an angel! Here are fifty thousand francs; I am buying your crucifix, and I am paying twenty thousand francs more for it than the price agreed upon, on condition that you always—always send your clients to me—for it is sill for sale.’”
MOTHER AND SON
A party of men were chatting in the smoking room after dinner. We were talking of unexpected legacies, strange inheritances. Then M. le Brument, who was sometimes called “the illustrious judge” and at other times “the illustrious lawyer,” went and stood with his back to the fire.
“I have,” said he, “to search for an heir who disappeared under peculiarly distressing circumstances. It is one of those simple and terrible dramas of ordinary life, a thing which possibly happens every day, and which is nevertheless one of the most dreadful things I know. Here are the facts:
“Nearly six months ago I was called to the bedside of a dying woman. She said to me:
“‘Monsieur, I want to intrust to you the most delicate, the most difficult, and the most wearisome mission that can be conceived. Be good enough to notice my will, which is there on the table. A sum of five thousand francs is left to you as a fee if you do not succeed, and of a hundred thousand francs if you do succeed. I want you to find my son after my death.’
“She asked me to assist her to sit up in bed, in order that she might talk with greater ease, for her voice, broken and gasping, was whistling in her throat.
“It was a very wealthy establishment. The luxurious apartment, of an elegant simplicity, was upholstered with materials as thick as walls, with a soft inviting surface.
“The dying woman continued:
“‘You are the first to hear my horrible story. I will try to have strength enough to finish it. You must know all, in order that you, whom I know to be a kind-hearted man as well as a man of the world, may have a sincere desire to aid me with all your power.
“‘Listen to me:
“‘Before my marriage, I loved a young man, whose suit was rejected by my family because he was not rich enough. Not long afterward, I married a man of great wealth. I married him through ignorance, through obedience, through indifference, as young girls do marry.
“‘I had a child, a boy. My husband died in the course of a few years.
“‘He whom I had loved had married, in his turn. When he saw that I was a widow, he was crushed by grief at knowing he was not free. He came to see me; he wept and sobbed so bitterly, that it was enough to break my heart. He came to see me at first as a friend. Perhaps I ought not to have received him. What could I do? I was alone, so sad, so solitary, so hopeless! And I loved him still. What sufferings we women have sometimes to endure!
“‘I had only him in the world, my parents being dead. He came frequently; he spent whole evenings with me. I should not have let him come so often, seeing that he was married. But I had not enough will-power to prevent him from coming.
“‘How can I tell it?—he became my lover. How did this come about? Can I explain it? Can any one explain such things? Do you think it could be otherwise when two human beings are drawn to each other by the irresistible force of mutual affection? Do you believe, monsieur, that it is always in our power to resist, that we can keep up the struggle forever, and refuse to yield to the prayers, the supplications, the tears, the frenzied words, the appeals on bended knees, the transports of passion, with which we are pursued by the man we adore, whom we want to gratify even in his slightest wishes, whom we desire to crown with every possible happiness, and whom, if we are to be guided by a worldly code of honor, we must drive to despair? What strength would it not require? What a renunciation of happiness? what self-denial? and even what virtuous selfishness?
“‘In short, monsieur, I was his mistress; and I was happy. I became—and this was my greatest weakness and my greatest piece of cowardice—I became his wife’s friend.
“‘We brought up my son together; we made a man of him, a thorough man, intelligent, full of sense and resolution, of large and generous ideas. The boy reached the age of seventeen.
“‘He, the young man, was fond of my—my lover, almost as fond of him as I was myself, for he had been equally cherished and cared for by both of us. He used to call him his ‘dear friend,’ and respected him immensely, having never received from him anything but wise counsels and an example of integrity, honor, and probity. He looked upon him as an old loyal and devoted comrade of his mother, as a sort of moral father, guardian, protector—how am I to describe it?
“‘Perhaps the reason why he never asked any questions was that he had been accustomed from his earliest years to see this man in my house, at my side, and at his side, always concerned about us both.
“‘One evening the three of us were to dine together—this was my chief amusement—and I waited for the two men, asking myself which of them would be the first to arrive. The door opened; it was my old friend. I went toward him, with outstretched arms; and he pressed my lips in a long, delicious kiss.
“‘All of a sudden, a slight sound, a faint rustling, that mysterious sensation which indicates the presence of another person, made us start and turn round abruptly. Jean, my son, stood there, livid, staring at us.
“‘There was a moment of atrocious confusion. I drew back, holding out my hand toward my son as if in supplication; but I could not see him. He had gone.
“‘We remained facing each other—my lover and I—crushed, unable to utter a word. I sank into an armchair, and I felt a desire, a vague, powerful desire, to flee, to go out into the night, and to disappear forever. Then convulsive sobs rose in my throat, and I wept, shaken with spasms, my heart breaking, all my nerves writhing with the horrible sensation of an irreparable, misfortune, and with that dreadful sense of shame which, in such moments as this, fills a mother’s heart.
“‘He looked at me in a terrified manner, not venturing to approach, to speak to me, or to touch me, for fear of the boy’s return. At last he said:
“‘I am going to follow him—to talk to him—to explain matters to him. In short, I must see him and let him know—”
“‘And he hurried away.
“‘I waited—waited in a distracted frame of mind, trembling at the least sound, starting with fear and with some unutterably strange and intolerable emotion at every slight crackling of the fire in the grate.
“‘I waited an hour, two hours, feeling my heart swell with a dread I had never before experienced, such anguish that I wo
uld not wish the greatest criminal to endure ten minutes of such misery. Where was my son? What was he doing?
“‘About midnight, a messenger brought me a note from my lover. I still know its contents by heart:
“‘Has your son returned? I did not find him. I am down here. I do not want to go up at this hour.”
“‘I wrote in pencil on the same slip of paper:
“‘Jean has not returned. You must find him.”
“‘And I remained all night in the armchair, waiting for him.
“‘I felt as if I were going mad. I longed to run wildly about, to roll on the ground. And yet I did not even stir, but kept waiting hour after hour. What was going to happen? I tried to imagine, to guess. But I could form no conception, in spite of my efforts, in spite of the tortures of my soul!
“‘And now I feared that they might meet. What would they do in that case? What would my son do? My mind was torn with fearful doubts, with terrible suppositions.
“‘You can understand my feelings, can you not, monsieur? “‘My chambermaid, who knew nothing, who understood nothing, came into the room every moment, believing, naturally, that I had lost my reason. I sent her away with a word or a movement of the hand. She went for the doctor, who found me in the throes of a nervous attack.
“‘I was put to bed. I had brain fever.
“‘When I regained consciousness, after a long illness, I saw beside my bed my—lover—alone.
“‘I exclaimed:
“‘My son? Where is my son?
“‘He made no reply. I stammered:
“‘Dead—dead. Has he committed suicide?
“‘No, no, I swear it. But we have not found him in spite of all my efforts.
“‘Then, becoming suddenly exasperated and even indignant—for women are subject to such outbursts of unaccountable and unreasoning anger—I said:
“‘I forbid you to come near me or to see me again unless you find him. Go away!
“He did go away.
The Guy De Maupassant Megapack: 144 Novels and Short Stories Page 66