Henri Rozal looked out through the limousine’s windows. It had begun to rain over the sad plain. In the sky, black clouds fled, chased by the stronger wind, colliding with one another, sometimes striped by lightning. In a brief brightness, he saw, very high, head on to the tempest, the fantastic bird that was carrying a tragic young hero, whose thoughts, and tenacious and imbecilic love, were doubtless going to a bad place in celebration of a faithless woman.
XII. A Duel in an Automobile
In the somewhat tragic night the automobile moved on, a bizarre monster whose large luminous eyes searched the darkness to discover the road along which its squat mass was racing.
For long minutes, neither Rozal nor the banker unclenched his teeth. Rigid in the depths of the limousine, they remained mute and impassive, their gazes seemingly lost in the darkness into which the landscape melted. To the right and the left, vertiginously, the poplars and telegraph poles succeeded one another. From time to time they went over a gutter, provoking a brutal jolt, shaking them and tearing them, momentarily, from the trains of thought that they were each following.
The banker was thinking: He’s brutally strong. To have managed that difficult affair, clandestinely, and to remain calm like this, in front of me, who knows everything!
Rozal was asking himself: Why has he come? How has he found something out? A stabbing anxiety was tormenting him. Knowing that the man in question had permitted himself to intervene in his private affairs exasperated him, caused him a veritable sensation of malaise, as if his love were soiled by it.
Finally, Nasenberg asked: “Will you be seeing Nelly Mackay soon?”
“Never!” That was said firmly, without hesitation, in a tone that permitted no ambiguity.
“What?” said the banker.
“I said: Never.”
This time, Nasenberg emitted a little mocking and tremulous laugh, which did not serve to hide a growing anger. “No, my lad,” he sneered, “not with me. I’ve played a straight game, because I thought you were honest and worthy of an understanding—but if you expect to act alone, to shut me out, with an objective that I divine all too clearly…no, my boy, no. Nasenberg isn’t a man to let himself be cheated!”
Coldly, shrugging his shoulders, Rozal replied: “Let’s avoid a painful argument, please. Everything you say prolongs a misunderstanding whose nature I deduce. I therefore tell you, quit clearly, that I do not want to marry Miss Nelly Mackay.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love her!”
Momentarily nonplussed, the banker tried to understand. To the extent that the gloom permitted, he scrutinized the engineer’s face.
“You love her! Well, is that’s an obstacle? On the contrary, it seems to me...”
“You couldn’t understand.”
“Because I’m too stupid.”
“Because you have no heart.”
“Rather say, straight out, that I’m a villain! All the same, my dear boy, you astonish me somewhat! Would you care to tell me, if you please, who drew Nelly Mackay, the American heiress, to your attention?”
“Not you.”
“Not me? Oh, very well! Now I see your game. It’s quite simple. By denying that I put this affair into your hands, you think you can get out of the obligation of paying me a five per cent commission on the dowry. And you think you’ll get away with it? My poor friend, your marriage isn’t made yet. It will be, if I permit it—if I permit it, you hear—and if it is, I’ll have my commission. I can feel it!”
“Enough!”
Rozal had seized the banker’s arm, and squeezed it so forcefully that he drew a cry of pain from his traveling companion.
“Ow! Have you gone mad?”
“I don’t want you to speak to me anymore about the contract that you had me sign by stealth.”
“By stealth? And the 20,000 francs I gave you—was that by stealth too? But that’s over, my lad, and you won’t receive another sou so long as you’re rebellious. Meanwhile, there are invoices still to pay, this month…and the expenses of the factory, the workers…and the cash-box is empty again. So?”
Henri Rozal was having difficulty controlling himself. He had resolved not to furnish any explanation concerning Nelly Mackay, being ashamed, now that he was in love with her, of the contract that had signed unawares. But he sensed that, whether he liked it or not, he would have to explain himself to Nasenberg.
When he did not reply, lost in thought, the banker adopted a more cordial, almost gentle and persuasive, tone and tried to mollify him, to envelop him gently in bonds of steel—or rather, with words.
“Come on, don’t make yourself out to be worse than you really are. Don’t act thus with me—who, as I’ve already given you sufficient proof, only wishes you well. Come on, my dear Henri, between ourselves…it’s not very chic, what you did! You’re on the rocks, ruined; I offer to save you by marrying you to an extraordinarily rich young woman…and then you double-cross me by getting in ahead of the introduction I promised to make. You seduce Miss Nelly, without my suspecting a thing. You’d probably have married her without telling me, if circumstances of which you’re unaware hasn’t been opposed to the accomplishment of any such event without my being informed. All that, why? To cheat me out of a miserable little commission. But I have that money on a string, you see! Only, you’ve cost me dear for a long time; it’s only fair, I think, if you bring off a nice bit of business, that I should have compensation! Anything else would be dishonest and ungrateful. I don’t want you to be struggling in poverty forever; I want you, with all my heart, to cross the Atlantic by air, when the opportunity arises. But damn it, if I don’t do this, how shall I be reimbursed for all that I’ve lost?”
Henri Rozal took the banker’s hands, pleadingly. “I swear to you that you’ll be paid! For ten days I’ve been working relentlessly; my invention has made enormous progress; I’m within sight of the goal, and thus a fortune—but let’s both renounce Miss Nelly’s millions.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“This is the simple truth: the other week, by chance, at the home of an American painter, to which Turner had taken me, I met a beautiful young woman who spoke to me. I didn’t know her name—but, having heard mine mentioned by someone, and thus learned that I had the intention of crossing the Atlantic in an airplane, she came over to me, boldly, to tell me about her admiration for my project. It’s quite banal, as you see...”
“And that young woman was Miss Nelly?”
“Yes, I found that out a short time afterwards.”
“And when you knew who she was,” the banker sniggered, “you immediately discovered this great love for her?”
Henri Rozal growled: “No, Monsieur. It was before then that my sentiment was born, when I sensed the communion of ideas that was pushing us toward one another...”
“The thunderbolt!”
“Yes. So you understand now?”
“What? Your sincerity? I believe what you’ve told me—and I think, moreover, that everything is fine as it is.”
“I can no longer marry Miss Nelly. Without knowing it, I had made a contract with you, the tenor of which is odious to me and humiliating for her. Without love, such a marriage might have been possible—but I love her. I’m madly in love with her! I’m no longer myself. I don’t know what I’m becoming, what I think. The woman I love is like a sacred icon in my heart—and you want that sentiment, pure as it is, to be soiled by the abject bargain to which I consented?”
“Imbecile.”
That was said so simply, and Henri Rozal felt the justice of the epithet so deeply, that he was not annoyed. In a low voice, he said: “Perhaps I’m an idiot. But what do you expect? Not being in the same profession, we don’t see things in the same way. You live in a world of money, in an atmosphere of money. All your actions, all your thoughts, your very sensations, are directed toward the money that will flow therefrom. If you love, it’s for money. If you hate, it’s still for money. Then, of course, you p
ass for a strong man of a superior type. I’m certain that in making me sign that contract, you didn’t believe for a moment that you were doing anything dubious with regard to the young woman whose moral direction chanced to be at your discretion.”
“That’s exactly right—and the proof is that I wouldn’t have married her to just anyone.”
“Thanks! But I see things differently—probably because I spend half my life in the clouds, literally, and the other half in the dream that haunts me, a scientific ideal.”
“From higher up! One ought to have foreseen that aviators would be poets.”
“Mock, mock! Confess, all the same, that you were vexed just now, at the aerodrome, when you had your feet in the mud while I was flying above the clouds, under the open sky! Didn’t you feel slightly diminished?”
“No. I know that the proud individuals who think themselves birds always come back down to the Earth where humans battle and flounder. They sometimes fall, ridiculously...”
“Or nobly! You’ll never fall like that.”
The banker spoke curtly. “My dear Rozal, next Saturday I’m hosting a grand soirée at my house in the Rue Spontini. You’ll be there, and I’ll introduce you—officially, this time—to Miss Nelly Mackay.”
“I won’t go.”
“You’d be making a mistake. In a few days, you’ll need to start paying out again, and your creditors are out of patience.”
“Threats? Let’s end this conversation, please. A man with a heart would already have understood. You have no delicacy.”
“Fortunately—otherwise, we’d both be behaving stupidly. You’re in love with Miss Nelly. She’s in love with you....”
Rozal started, with a sharp intake of breath. “She told you that?” He stared anxiously at the banker, whose features were illuminated now, for the automobile was going through Suresnes at top speed.
Nasenberg smiled. “Yes, she told me that. You see, I’m being straight with you. And if you want, I can still help you.”
Rozal reflected, then pronounced, dully and wearily: “Give me back the paper.”
“What?”
“Give me back the paper I signed. Then, if no trace survives of that odious bargain, I ask for no greater happiness that than of marrying Miss Nelly.”
“And my commission?”
“I’ll pay you anyway.”
Nasenberg stared at Rozal. Is he sincere? he thought. Does he intend to double-cross me? In spite of all his perspicacity, he could not discern the aviator’s true sentiments, disconcerting as they were. In truth, he was suspicious. He retained, deep down the conviction that Rozal was a cheat who had contrived the affair without him, and he thought: It’s definitely necessary to keep an eye on this fellow!
Aloud, he replied: “All that, my lad, is claptrap. Business is business, no? I have my contract; I’ll keep it, since it’s my only guarantee.”
“You don’t trust anyone, then?”
“I never ask myself that question. You’re in violation of what, to me, is a principle.”
“Very well, I won’t marry her. I’ve no reason to grant you the trust that you refuse me. That document in your hands is all my honor and all my happiness, which you possess.”
The other burst out laughing. “Oh! I understand now! I see that you’ve thought of everything. You fear that I’ll blackmail you, afterwards? Well, I can’t get annoyed by that injurious assumption; I’ve got used to your extravagances. But Nasenberg, my lad, is an honest man; what’s agreed is agreed, and when it’s written down, one can be tranquil.”
Rozal had been making an effort to contain himself for some time. He had a desire to grab the throat of the man who was coolly debating with him about his love. For a second a Barsacian thought crossed his mind. What if he had the paper in his pocket?
He looked at the banker in such a way that the other shivered. Nevertheless, in control of himself, he jeered: “Oh, if you suddenly became rich, you’d pay a great deal for it, wouldn’t you—our contract?”
That remark caused three or four tumultuous thoughts to collide in Rozal’s skull.
“If I wanted to buy the document back, now… soon… how much would you want for it?”
“You’re joking. After the marriage, it’s worth a million and a half. Before, it’s 150,000, less a year’s discount. You see, I’m loyal and kind. But if you want to buy it, you’ll need to hurry.”
“Why?”
“As I don’t have any faith in your presumptuous projects, I’m going to try to marry Miss Nelly to someone else.”
At that moment, the automobile came to a halt at the exit from the Bois, in order to allow a large road-laying machine to pass by. Nasenberg saw his companion go pale.
As if talking to himself, Rozal said: “I have to succeed! I have to…!”
The banker did not hear the rest, but he divined the admirable and desperate effort that the man would make to save his love. Tee hee, he said to himself. In these conditions, I’d like it even better if he realize his invention—that would double the profit.
Rozal, however, had tapped on the front glass.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to get out.”
“Here? Why? The automobile will take you...”
“I need to go, right away. You disgust me.”
“So be it! Nevertheless, don’t forget what I said.”
Rozal made no reply, and leapt on to the road. Nasenberg called him back.
“And remember that I’m expecting you at my soirée, on Saturday.”
Scornfully, Rozal said: “I’ll never set foot in your house again.”
“Saturday! The soiree, my dear boy, begins at ten o’clock.”
Momentarily, the banker considered the engineer’s silhouette, fleeing rapidly into a side road. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and said, tranquilly, to the chauffeur: “Home!”
XIII. In Golden Claws
Nasenberg’s house lit up the Rue Spontini with the glare of its illuminated windows. Inside, there was a party going on, also attested by a long file of limousines and open-topped cars that stretched all the way to the Rue Victor Hugo.
Any evening on which the banker received guests constituted an occasion in Paris. Nasenberg prided himself, with good reason, one counting among his guests the most considerable men in letters, the arts, finance, politics industry, commerce, and even those from the world of diplomacy. Not that he was imposing by virtue of exceptional gifts or his social situation—but he was affiliated to so many affairs, involved in so many schemes, that each of these personalities had encountered him at least once, at a turning-point in life when he had, invariably, been useful to them.
Thus, one can affirm that all the movement of the capital is connected, attached by numerous and various threads to a nucleus where the same powers lie in wait. Parisian life is a gigantic web, organized in such a fashion that a project cannot succeed, once it has assumed any importance, if it does not obtain the aid, complicity or neutrality of a few individuals—always the same ones—around whom the network is extended. This is so true that stubbornly inexplicable facts suddenly become clear to someone who finds, by chance or by determination, among his adversaries the conductive wore that reveals the mysterious and spontaneous organization to him.
One day, the Marquis de Carcavello was utterly astonished to learn that someone else had been sent to Athens instead of him as French Ambassador. He had every qualification, being rich and the bearer of a great name; diplomacy could have had no better recruit. He would never have learned the real cause of his grace if unexpected events had not put him on the track. Six months before, one of his friends, the possessor of a considerable fortune, had been on the point of entrusting a large amount of capital to Nasenberg to finance a Pyrenean railway project; he had been dissuaded by the Marquis de Carcavello, because the latter deemed that the banker was still “a German swindler, in spite of his naturalization.” Now, the marquis never succeeded again anything would have been agree
able to him. The mistress of a powerful minister was an actress in a theater whose back was Nasenberg; she asked her lover to hobble the diplomat’s career, and it was done.
On another occasion, arrogant noblemen who had always disdained the man of finance, and who owed considerable sums to a money-lender, learned that all the obligations in their name had passed into the hands of Nasenberg. He never pursued the proud aristocrats, but they were well aware of his indifference, which seemed to them to conceal terrible designs, and from then on they were humiliated, polite and amenable.
All that happened without words and without actions; nothing the banker did could provide grounds for rancor—but when too many men found him in their path, at an unexpected tuning, it was understood that he was a force that it was necessary to reckon with. From then on, as Nasenberg pretended, overtly, to have nothing but kind intentions toward everyone, it was discovered that he was a philanthropist, a friend of the arts, sports, and social life. He was at every celebration; his nose had many friends and an infinite number of solicitors.
That evening, perhaps because he had also advertised the presence at his soirée of Miss Nelly Mackay, the American heiress, his guests had flocked in great numbers. He came and went among them casually, very proud, deep down, and glad to be able to astonish the heiress with a prestige whose bases the young woman could not have any inkling.
Nevertheless, he seemed preoccupied.
When he perceived Henri Rozal, however—for whom, secretly, the party was being held—with his friend Georges Turner, he could not help smiling with triumph and pleasure. Ha ha! He said to himself. Nothing can withstand my power. The golden calf always wins! He clasped the newcomers’ hands very cordially, and immediately, making a small gesture to Turner, drew Rozal away into a magnificent hothouse adjoining the hall.
“Well,” he said, “You’re more reasonable now?”
Dully, the engineer replied: “I didn’t want to come—and now that I’m here I have a strong desire to leave. Turner virtually dragged me.”
The Human Arrow Page 10