The Cross of Berny Part 17

At a little distance the two lovers watched--not with their eyes but with their nostrils and ears, and their sharp growl was like the breath of the khamsin pa.s.sing through the branches of the euphorbium and the nopal. The two monsters gradually reached the paroxysm of amorous rage; they flattened their ears, sharpened their claws, twisted their tails like flexible steel, and emitted sparks of fire from eyes and skin.

During this prelude the tigress stretched herself out with stoical indifference, pretending to take no interest in the scene--as if she were the only animal of her race in the desert. At intervals she would gaze with delight at the reflected image of her grace and beauty in the river Caveri.

A roar that seemed to burst from the breast of a giant crushed beneath a rock, echoed through the solitude. One of the tigers described an immense circle in the air and then fell upon the neck of his rival. The two tawny enemies stood up on their hind legs, clenching each other like two wrestlers, body to body, muzzle to muzzle, teeth to teeth, and uttering shrill, rattling cries that cut through the air like the clashing of steel blades. Ordinary huntsmen would have fired upon this monstrous group. We judged it more n.o.ble to respect the powerful hate of this magnificent love. As usual the aggressor was the strongest; he threw his rival to the ground, crushed him with his whole weight, tore him with his claws, and then fastening his long teeth in his victim's throat, laid him dead upon the gra.s.s--uttering, as he did so, a cry of triumph that rang through the forest like the clarion of a conqueror.

The tigress remained in the same spot, quietly licking her paw, and when it was quite wet rubbed it over her muzzle and ears with imperturbable serenity and charming coquetry.

This scene contained a lesson for both s.e.xes, my dear Edgar. When nature chooses our masters she chooses wisely.

Heaven preserve you from jealousy! I do not mean to honor by this name that fickle, unjust, common-place sentiment that we feel when our vanity a.s.sumes the form of love. The jealousy that gnaws my heart is a n.o.ble and legitimate pa.s.sion. Not to avenge one's self is to give a premium of encouragement to wicked deeds. The forgiveness of wrongs and injuries puts certain men and women too much at their ease. Vengeance is necessary for the protection of society.

Dear Edgar, tell me of your love; fear not to wound me by a picture of your happiness; my heart is too sympathetic for that. Tell me the traits that please you most in the object of your tenderness. Let your soul expand in her sweet smiles--revel in the intoxicating bliss of those long happy talks filled with the enchanting grace and music of a first love.

After reading my letter, remove my gloomy picture from your mind--forget me quietly; let not a thought of my misery mar your present happiness.

I intend to honor the handsome Leon by devoting my personal attention to his future fate.

ROGER DE MONBERT.

XVI.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN _to the_ PRINCE DE MONBERT, St. Dominique Street (Paris).

RICHEPORT, June 23d 18--.

You place a confidence in the police worthy the prince you are, dear Roger; you rely upon their information with a faith that surprises and alarms me. How do you expect the police to know anything concerning honest people? Never having watched them, being too much occupied with scoundrels, they do not know how to go about it. Spies and detectives are generally miserable wretches, their name even is a gross insult in our language; they are acquainted with the habits and movements of thieves, whose dens and haunts they frequent; but what means have they of fathoming the whimsical motives of a high-born young girl? Their forte is in making a servant drunk, bribing a porter, following a carriage or standing sentinel before a door. If Mademoiselle de Chateaudun has gone away to avoid you, she will naturally suppose that you will endeavor to follow her. Of course, she has taken every precaution to preserve her incognita--changing her name, for instance--which would be sufficient to mystify the police, who, until applied to by you, have had no object in watching her movements. The proof that the police are mistaken is the exact.i.tude of the information that they have given you. It is too much like the depositions of witnesses in a criminal trial, who say: "Two years ago, at thirty-three minutes and five seconds after nine o'clock in the evening, I met, in the dark, a slender man, whose features I could not distinguish, who wore olive-green pantaloons, with a brownish tinge." I am very much afraid that your expedition into Burgundy will be of none avail, and that, haggard-eyed and morose, you will drop in upon a quiet family utterly amazed at your domiciliary visit.

My dear Prince, endeavor to recollect that you are not in India; the manners of the Sunda Isles do not prevail here, and I feared from your letter some desperate act which would put you in the power of your friends, the police. In Europe we have professors of aesthetics, Sanscrit, Slavonic, dancing and fencing, but professors of jealousy are not authorized. There is no chair in the College of France for wild beasts; lessons expressed in roarings and in blows from savage paws do very well for the fabulous tiger city of Java legends. If you are jealous, try to deprive your rival of the railroad grant which he was about to obtain, or ruin him in his electoral college by spreading the report that, in his youth, he had written a volume of sonnets. This is const.i.tutional revenge which will not bring you before the bar of justice. The courts now-a-days are so tricky that they might give you some trouble even for suppressing such an insipid fop as Leon de Varezes. Tigers, whatever you may say, are bad instructors. With regard to tigers, we only tolerate cats, and then they must have velvet paws.

These counsels of moderation addressed to you, I have profited by myself, for, in another way, I have reached a fine degree of exasperation. You suspect, of course, that Louise Guerin is at the bottom of it, for a woman is always at the bottom of every man's madness. She is the leaven that ferments all our worst pa.s.sions.

Madame Taverneau set out for Rouen; I went to see Louise, my heart full of joy and hope. I found her alone, and at first thought that the evening would be decisive, for she blushed high on seeing me. But who the deuce can count upon women! I left her the evening before, sweet, gentle and confiding; I found her cold, stern, repelling and talking to me as if she had never seen me before. Her manner was so convincing that nothing had pa.s.sed between us, that I found it necessary to take a rapid mental survey of all the occurrences of our expedition to the Andelys to prove to myself that I was not somebody else. I may have a thousand faults, but vanity is not among them. I rarely flatter myself, consequently I am not p.r.o.ne to believe that every one is thunder-struck, in the language of the writers of the past century, on beholding me. My interpretation of glances, smiles, tones of the voice are generally very faithful; I do not pa.s.s over expressions that displease me. I put this interpretation upon Louise's conduct. I do not feel an insuperable dislike to M. Edgar de Meilhan. Sure of the meaning of my text, I acted upon it, but Louise a.s.sumed such imposing and royal airs, such haughty and disdainful poses, that unless I resorted to violence I felt I could obtain nothing from her. Rage, instead of love, possessed me; my hands clenched convulsively, driving the nails into my flesh. The scene would have turned into a struggle. Fortunately, I reflected that such emphasized declarations of love, with the greater part of romantic and heroic actions, were not admitted in the Code.

I left abruptly, lest the following elegant announcement should appear in the police gazettes: "Mr. Edgar de Meilhan, landed proprietor, having made an attack upon Madame Louise Guerin, screen-painter, &c."--for I felt the strongest desire to strangle the object of my devotion, and I think I should have done so had I remained ten minutes longer.

Admire, dear Roger, the wisdom of my conduct, and endeavor to imitate it. It is more commendable to control one's pa.s.sions than an army, and it is more difficult.

My wrath was so great that I went to Mantes to see Alfred! To open the door of paradise and then shut it in my face, spread before me a splendid banquet and prevent me from sitting down to it, promise me love and then offer me prudery, is an infamous, abominable and even indelicate act. Do you know, dear Roger, that I just escaped looking like a goose; the rage that possessed me gave a tragic expression to my features, which alone saved me from ridicule! Such things we never forgive a woman, and Louise shall pay me yet!

I swear to you that if a woman of my own rank had acted thus towards me, I should have crushed her without mercy; but Louise's humble position restrained me. I feel a pity for the weak which will be my ruin; for the weak are pitiless towards the strong.

Poor Alfred must be an excellent fellow not to have thrown me out of the window. I was so dull with him, so provoking, so harsh, so scoffing, that I am astonished that he could endure me for two minutes. My nerves were in such a state of irritation that I beheaded with my whip more than five hundred poppies along the road. I who never have committed an a.s.sault upon any foliage, whose conscience is innocent of the murder of a single flower! For a moment I had a notion to ask a catafalque of the romantic Marquise. You may judge from that the disordered state of my faculties and my complete moral prostration.

At last, ashamed of abusing Alfred's hospitality in such a manner, and feeling incapable of being anything else than irritable, cross-grained and intractable, I returned to Richeport, to be as gloomy and disagreeable as I pleased.

Here, dear Roger, I pause--I take time, as the actors say; it is worth while. As fluently as you may read hieroglyphics, and explain on the spot the riddles of the sphinx, you can never guess what I found at Richeport, in my mother's room! A white black-bird? a black swan? a crocodile? a megalonyx? Priest John or the amorabaquin? No, something more enchantingly improbable, more wildly impossible. What was it? I will tell you, for a hundred million guesses would never bring you nearer the truth.

Near the window, by my mother's side, sat a young woman, bending over an embroidery frame, threading a needle with red worsted. At the sound of my voice she raised her head and I recognised--Louise Gruerin!

At this unexpected sight, I stood stupified, like Pradon's Hippolyte.

To see Louise Guerin quietly seated in my mother's room, was as electrifying as if you, on going home some morning, were to find Irene de Chateaudun engaged in smoking one of your cigars. Did some strange chance, some machiavellian combination introduce Louise at Richeport? I shall soon know.

What a queer way to avoid men, to take up one's abode among them! Only prudes have such ideas. At any rate it is a gross insult to my powers of fascination. I am not such a patriarch as all that! My head still counts a few hairs, and I can walk very well without a cane!

What does it matter, after all? Louise lives under the same roof with me, my mother treats her in the most gracious manner, like an equal.

And, indeed, one would be deceived by her; she seems more at her ease here than at Madame Taverneau's, and what would be a restraint on a woman of her cla.s.s, on the contrary gives her more liberty. Her manners have become charming, and I often ask myself if she is not the daughter of one of Madame de Meilhan's friends. With wonderful tact she immediately put herself in unison with her surroundings; women alone can quickly become acclimated in a higher sphere. A man badly brought up always remains a b.o.o.by. Any danseuse taken from the foot-lights of the Opera by the caprice of a great lord, can be made a fine lady. Nature has doubtless provided for these sudden elevations of fortune by bestowing upon women that marvellous facility of pa.s.sing from one position to another without exhibiting surprise or being thrown out of their element. Put Louise into a carriage having a countess's crown upon the panel of the door, and no one would doubt her rank. Speak to her, and she would reply as if she had had the most brilliant education. The auspicious opening of a flower transplanted into a soil that suits it, shone through Louise's whole being. My manner towards her partakes of a tenderer playfulness, a more affectionate gallantry. After all, Richeport is better than Pont de l'Arche, for there is nothing like fighting on your own ground.

Come then, my friend, and be a looker-on at the courteous tournay. We expect Raymond every day; we have all sorts of paradoxes to convert into truths; your insight into such matters might a.s.sist us. _A bientot_.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

XVII.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN _to_ MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES, Hotel of the Prefecture, Gren.o.ble (Isere).

RICHEPORT, June 29th 18--.

I am at Richeport, at Madame de Meilhan's house!... This astonishes you, ... so it does me; you don't understand it, ... neither do I. The fact is, that when you can't control events, the best thing to be done is to let events control you.

On Sunday I went to hear ma.s.s in the beautiful church at Pont de l'Arche, a splendid ruin that looks like a heap of stony lacework, lovely guipure torn to pieces; while I was there a lady came in and sat beside me; it was Madame de Meilhan. I recognised her at once, having been accustomed to seeing her every Sunday at ma.s.s. As it was late, and the services were almost ended, I thought it very natural that she should sit by me to avoid walking the length of the aisle to reach her own pew, so I continued to read my prayers without paying any attention to her, but she fastened her eyes upon me in such a peculiar way that I, in my turn, felt compelled to look up at her, and was startled by the alteration of her face; suddenly she tottered and fell fainting on Madame Taverneau's shoulder. She was taken out of the church, and the fresh air soon restored her to consciousness. She seemed agitated when she saw me near her, but the interest I showed in her sickness seemed to rea.s.sure her; she gracefully thanked me for my kind attention, and then looked at me in a way that was very embarra.s.sing. I invited her to return with me to Madame Taverneau's and rest herself; she accepted the offer, and Madame Taverneau carried her off with great pomp. There Madame de Meilhan explained how she had walked alone from Richeport in spite of the excessive heat, at the risk of making herself ill, because her son had taken the coachman and horses and left home suddenly that morning without saying where he was going. As she said this she looked at me significantly. I bore these questioning looks with proud calmness. I must tell you that the evening before, M de Meilhan had called on me during the absence of Madame Taverneau and her husband. The danger of the situation inspired me. I treated him with such coldness, I reached a degree of dignity so magnificent that the great poet finally comprehended there are some glaciers inaccessible, even to him. He left me, furious and disconsolate, but I do him the justice to say that he was more disconsolate than furious. This real sorrow made me think deeply. If he loved me seriously, how culpable was my conduct! I had been too coquettish towards him; he could not know that this coquetry was only a ruse; that while appearing to be so devoted to him my whole mind was filled with another. Sincere love should always be respected; one is not compelled to share it, but then one has no right to insult it.

The uneasiness of Madame de Meilhan; her conduct towards me--for I was certain she had purposely come late to ma.s.s and taken a seat by me for the purpose of speaking to me and finding out what sort of a person I was--the uneasiness of this devoted mother was to me a language more convincing of the sincerity of her son's sentiments than all the protestations of love he could have uttered in years. A mother's anxiety is an unmistakable symptom; it is more significant than all others. The jealousy of a rival is not so certain an indication; distrustful love may be deceived, but maternal instinct _never_ is. Now, to induce a woman of Madame de Meilhan's spirit and character to come agitated and trembling to see me, ... why, I can say it without vanity, her son must be madly in love, and she wished at all costs either to destroy or cure this fatal pa.s.sion that made him so unhappy.

When she arose to leave, I asked permission to walk back with her to Richeport, as she was not well enough to go so far alone; she eagerly accepted my offer, and as we went along, conversing upon indifferent subjects, her uneasiness gradually disappeared; our conversation seemed to relieve her mind of its heavy burden.

It happened that truth spoke for itself, as it always does, but unfortunately is not always listened to. By my manners, the tone of my voice, my respectful but dignified politeness--which in no way resembled Mad. Taverneau's servile and obsequious eagerness to please, her humble deference being that of an inferior to a superior, whilst mine was nothing more than that due to an old lady from a young one--by these shades insignificant to the generality of people, but all revealing to an experienced eye, Mad. de Meilhan at once divined everything, that is to say, that I was her equal in rank, education and n.o.bility of soul; she knew it, she felt it. This fact admitted, one thing remained uncertain; why had I fallen from my rank in society? Was it through misfortune or error? This was the question she was asking herself.

I knew enough of her projects for the future, her ambition as a mother, to decide which of the two suppositions would alarm her most. If I were a light, trifling woman, as she every now and then seemed to hope, her son was merely engaged in a flirtation that would have no dangerous result; if on the contrary I was an honorable woman, which she evidently feared might be the case, her son's future was ruined, and she trembled for the consequences of this serious pa.s.sion. Her perplexity amused me.

The country around us was superb, and as we walked along I went into ecstasies over the beauty of the scenery and the lovely tints of the sky; she would smile and think: "She is only an artist, an adventuress--I am saved; she will merely be Edgar's friend, and keep him all the winter at Richeport." Alas! it is a great pity that she is not rich enough to spend the winter in Paris with Edgar; she seems miserable at being separated from him for months at a time.

At a few yards from the chateaux a group of pretty children chasing a poor donkey around a little island attracted my attention.

"That island formerly belonged to the Richeport estate," said Mad. de Meilhan; "so did those large meadows you see down below; the height of my ambition is to buy them back, but to do this Edgar must marry an heiress."

This word troubled me, and Mad. de Meilhan seemed annoyed. She evidently thought: "She is an honest woman, and wants to marry Edgar, I fear," I took no notice of her sudden coldness of manner, but thought to myself: How delightful it would be to carry out these ambitious plans, and gratify every wish of this woman's heart! I have but to utter one word, and not only would she have this island and these meadows, but she would possess all this beautiful forest. Oh! how sweet would it be to feel that you are a small Providence on earth, able to penetrate and instantly gratify the secret wishes of people you like! Valentine, I begin to distrust myself; a temptation like this is too dangerous for a nature like mine; I feel like saying to this n.o.ble, impoverished lady: here, take these meadows, woods and islands that you so tenderly sigh for--I could also say to this despairing young poet: here, take this woman that you so madly love, marry her and be happy ... without remembering that this woman is myself; without stopping to ask if this happiness I promise him will add to my own.

Generosity is to me dangerously attractive! How I would love to make the fortune of a n.o.ble poet! I am jealous of these foreigners who have lately given us such lessons in generosity. I would be so happy in bestowing a brilliant future upon one who chose and loved me in my obscurity, but to do this love is necessary, and my heart is broken--dead! I have no love to give.

Then again, M. de Meilhan has so much originality of character, and I admit only originality of mind. He puts his horse in his chamber, which is an original idea, to be sure; but I think horses had better be kept in the stable, where they would certainly be more comfortable. And these dreadful poets are such positive beings! Poets are not poetical, my dear ... Edgar has become romantic since he has been in love with me, but I think it is an hypocrisy, and I mistrust his love.