The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iii Part 35

"I think so, _pardieu_! Why, it then makes earth a perfect paradise."

"Now, gentlemen," said D'Harville, when the breakfast was finished, "if you will smoke a cigar in my cabinet, you will find some excellent Havannahs there."

They rose from the table, and returned to the cabinet of the marquis.

The door of his bedchamber, which communicated with it, was open. We have said the only decoration of the room consisted of two small racks of very beautiful arms.

M. de Lucenay, having lighted a cigar, followed the marquis into his room.

"You see, I am still a great lover of good weapons," said D'Harville to him.

"Yes, and I see you have here some splendid English and French guns. _Ma foi!_ I hardly know which to admire most. Douglas," exclaimed M. de Lucenay, "come and see if these fowling-pieces are not equal to your crack Mantons."

Lord Douglas, Saint-Remy, and the two other guests went into the marquis's room to examine the arms.

M. d'Harville, taking down a duelling-pistol, c.o.c.ked it, and said, laughingly:

"Here, gentlemen, is the universal panacea for all the ills,--spleen, disgust, weariness."

And as he spoke, jestingly, he placed the muzzle to his lips.

"_Ma foi!_ I prefer another specific," said Saint-Remy; "that is only good in the most desperate cases."

"Yes, but it is so speedy," said M. d'Harville. "Click! and it is done!"

"Pray be cautious, D'Harville; these jokes are always so rash and dangerous; and accident happens in an instant," said M. de Lucenay.

"My dear fellow, do you think I would do so if it were loaded?"

"Of course not, but it is always imprudent."

"See, gentlemen, how it is done. You introduce the muzzle delicately between the teeth, and then--"

"How foolish you are, D'Harville, to place it so!" said M. de Lucenay.

"You place your finger on the trigger--" continued M. d'Harville.

"What a child! What folly at your age!"

"A small touch on the lock," added the marquis, "and one goes--"

As he spoke the pistol went off. M. d'Harville had blown his brains out.

It is impossible to paint the horror,--the stupor, of M. d'Harville's guests.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _M. d'Harville had blown his brains out._ Original Etching by Mercier.]

Next day the following appeared in one of the newspapers:

"Yesterday an event, as unforeseen as deplorable, put all the Faubourg St. Germain in a state of excitement. One of those imprudent acts, which every year produce such sad accidents, has caused this terrible misfortune. The following are the facts which we have gathered, the authenticity of which may be relied upon.

"The Marquis d'Harville, the possessor of an immense fortune, and scarcely twenty-six years of age, universally known for his kind-hearted benevolence, and married but a few years to a wife whom he idolised, had some friends to breakfast with him; on leaving the table, they went into M. d'Harville's sleeping apartment, where there were several firearms of considerable value. Whilst the guests were looking at some choice fowling-pieces, M. d'Harville in jest took up a pistol which he thought was not loaded, and placed the muzzle to his lips.

Though warned by his friends, he pressed on the trigger,--the pistol went off, and the unfortunate young gentleman dropped down dead, with his skull horribly fractured. It is impossible to describe the extreme consternation of the friends of M.

d'Harville, with whom but a few instants before he had been talking of various plans and projects, full of life, spirits, and animation. In fact, as if all the circ.u.mstances of this sad event must be still more cruel by the most painful contrasts, that very morning M. d'Harville, desirous of agreeably surprising his wife, had purchased a most expensive ornament, which he intended as a present to her. It was at this very moment, when, perhaps, life had never appeared more smiling and attractive, that he fell a victim to this most distressing accident.

"All reflections on such a dreadful event are useless. We can only remain overwhelmed at the inscrutable decrees of Providence."

We quote this journal in order to show the general opinion which attributed the death of Clemence's husband to fatal and lamentable imprudence.

Is there any occasion to say that M. d'Harville alone carried with him to the tomb the mysterious secret of his voluntary death,--yes, voluntary and calculated upon, and meditated with as much calmness as generosity, in order that Clemence might not conceive the slightest suspicion as to the real cause of his suicide?

Thus the projects of which M. d'Harville had talked with his steward and his friends,--those happy confidences to his old servant, the surprise which he proposed for his wife, were all but so many precautions for the public credulity.

How could it be supposed that a man so preoccupied as to the future, so anxious to please his wife, could think of killing himself? His death was, therefore, attributed to imprudence, and could not be attributed to anything else.

As to his determination, an incurable despair had dictated that. By showing herself as affectionate towards him, and as tender as she had formerly been cold and disdainful, by again appearing to entertain a high regard, Clemence had awakened in the heart of her husband deep remorse.

Seeing her so sadly resigned to a long life without love, pa.s.sed with a man visited by an incurable and frightful malady, and utterly persuaded that, after her solemn conversation, Clemence could never subdue the repugnance with which he inspired her, M. d'Harville was seized with a profound pity for his wife, and an entire disgust for himself and for life.

In the exasperation of his anguish, he said to himself:

"I only love,--I never can love,--but one woman in the world, and she is my own wife. Her conduct, full of n.o.ble-heartedness and high mind, would but increase my mad pa.s.sion, if it be possible to increase it. And she, my wife, can never belong to me! She has a right to despise,--to hate me! I have, by base deceit, chained this young creature to my hateful lot! I repent it bitterly. What, then, should I do for her? Free her from the hateful ties which my selfishness has riveted upon her. My death alone can break those rivets; and I must, therefore, die by my own hand!"

This was why M. d'Harville had accomplished this great,--this terrible sacrifice.

The inexorable immutability of the law sometimes makes certain terrible positions irremediable, and, as in this case (as divorce was unattainable), only allows the injury to be effaced by an additional crime.

CHAPTER IX.

ST. LAZARE.

The prison of St. Lazare, especially devoted to female thieves and prost.i.tutes, is daily visited by many ladies, whose charity, whose names, and whose social position command universal respect. These ladies, educated in the midst of the splendours of fortune,--these ladies, properly belonging to the best society,--come every week to pa.s.s long hours with the miserable prisoners of St. Lazare; watching in these degraded souls for the least indication of an aspiration towards good, the least regret for a past criminal life, and encouraging the good tendencies, urging repentance, and, by the potent magic of the words, Duty, Honour, Virtue, withdrawing from time to time one of these abandoned, fallen, degraded, despised creatures, from the depths of utter pollution.

Accustomed to delicacy and the most polished breeding of the highest circles, these courageous females quit their homes, after having pressed their lips on the virgin foreheads of their daughters, pure as the angels of heaven, and go into dark prisons to brave the coa.r.s.e indifference or infamous language of these thieves and lost women.

Faithful to their tasks of high morality, they boldly plunge into the tainted soil, place their hands on those gangrened hearts, and, if any feeble pulsation of honour reveals to them a slight hope of recovery, they contend for and s.n.a.t.c.h from irrevocable perdition the wretched soul of which they have never despaired.

Having said so much by way of introduction to the new scenes to which we are about to direct attention, we will introduce the reader to St.

Lazare, an immense edifice of imposing and repulsive aspect, situated in the Faubourg St. Denis.

Ignorant of the shocking drama that was pa.s.sing at her own house, Madame d'Harville had gone to the prison, after having received certain information from Madame de Lucenay as to the two unhappy females whom the cupidity of Jacques Ferrand had plunged into misery. Madame de Blinval, one of the patronesses of the charity of the young prisoners, being on this day unable to accompany Clemence to St. Lazare, she had gone thither alone. She was received with great attention by the governor and the several female superintendents, who were distinguished by their black garments and the blue riband with the silver medal which they wore around their necks. One of these superintendents, a female of mature age, with a serious but kind expression of countenance, remained alone with Madame d'Harville, in a small room attached to the registry office.

We may easily suppose that there is often unrecognised devotion, understanding, commiseration, and sagacity amongst the respectable females who devote themselves to the humble and obscure function of superintendent of the prisoners. Nothing can be more excellent, more practical, than the notions of order, work, and duty which they endeavour to instil into the prisoners, in the hope that these instructions may survive their term of imprisonment. In turns indulgent and firm, patient and severe, but always just and impartial, these females, incessantly in contact with the prisoners, end, after the lengthened experience of years, by acquiring such a knowledge of the physiognomy of these unfortunates that they can judge of them almost invariably from the first glance, and can at once cla.s.sify them according to their degree of immorality.

Madame Armand, the inspectress who remained with Madame d'Harville, possessed in a remarkable degree this almost supernatural prescience as to the character of the prisoners; her words and decisions had very great weight in the establishment.