Books: Serge Panine, v1
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Georges Ohnet >> Serge Panine, v1
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"When lost in the vast desert, I was sad and discouraged; I invoked you,
and your sweet face gave me fresh hope and energy. I said to myself,
'She is waiting for me. A day will come when I shall win the prize of
all my trouble.' Well, Micheline, the day has come; here I am, returned,
and I ask for my reward. Is it what I had a right to expect? While I
was running after glory, another, more practical and better advised,
stole your heart. My happiness is destroyed. You did well to forget me.
The fool who goes so far away from his betrothed does not deserve her
faithfulness. He is cold, indifferent, he does not know how to love!"
These vehement utterances troubled Micheline deeply. For the first time
she understood her betrothed, felt how much he loved her, and regretted
not having known it before. If Pierre had spoken like that before going
away, who knows? Micheline's feelings might have been quickened.
No doubt she would have loved him. It would have come naturally.
But Pierre had kept the secret of his passion for the young girl to
himself. It was only despair, and the thought of losing her, that made
him give vent to his feelings now.
"I see that I have been cruel and unjust to you," said Micheline.
"I deserve your reproaches, but I am not the only one to blame. You,
too, are at fault. What I have just heard has upset me. I am truly
sorry to cause you so much pain; but it is too late. I no longer belong
to myself."
"And did you belong to yourself?"
"No! It is true, you had my word, but be generous. Do not abuse the
authority which being my betrothed gives you. That promise I would now
ask back from you."
"And if I refuse to release you from your promise? If I tried to, regain
your love?" cried Pierre, forcibly. "Have I not the right to defend
myself? And what would you think of my love if I relinquished you so
readily?"
There was a moment's silence. The interview was at its highest pitch of
excitement. Micheline knew that she must put an end to it. She replied
with firmness:
"A girl such as I am will not break her word; mine belongs to you, but my
heart is another's. Say you insist, and I am ready to keep my promise to
become your wife. It is for you to decide."
Pierre gave the young girl a look which plunged into the depths of her
heart. He read there her resolve that she would act loyally, but that at
the same time she would never forget him who had so irresistibly gained
her heart. He made a last effort.
"Listen," he said, with ardent voice, "it is impossible that you can have
forgotten me so soon: I love you so much! Remember our affection in the
old days, Micheline. Remember!"
He no longer argued; he pleaded. Micheline felt victorious. She was
moved with pity.
"Alas! my poor Pierre, my affection was only friendship, and my heart
has not changed toward you. The love which I now feel is quite
different. If it had not come to me, I might have been your wife.
And I esteemed you so much, that I should have been happy. But now I
understand the difference. You, whom I had accepted, would never have
been more to me than a tender companion; he whom I have chosen will be
my master."
Pierre uttered a cry at this cruel and frank avowal.
"Ah! how you hurt me!"
And bitter tears rolled down his face to the relief of his overburdened
heart. He sank on to a seat, and for a moment gave way to violent grief.
Micheline, more touched by his despair than she had been by his
reproaches, went to him and wiped his face with her lace handkerchief.
Her white hand was close to the young man's mouth,--and he kissed it
eagerly. Then, as if roused by the action, he rose with a changed look
in his eyes, and seized the young girl in his arms. Micheline did not
utter a word. She looked coldly and resolutely at Pierre, and threw back
her head to avoid the contact of his eager lips. That look was enough.
The arms which held her were unloosed, and Pierre moved away, murmuring:
"I beg your pardon. You see I am not in my right mind."
Then passing his hand across his forehead as if to chase away a wicked
thought, he added:
"So it is irrevocable? You love him?"
"Enough to give you so much pain; enough to be nobody's unless I belong
to him."
Pierre reflected a moment, then, coming to a decision:
"Go, you are free," said he; "I give you back your promise."
Micheline uttered a cry of triumph, which made him who had been her
betrothed turn pale. She regretted not having hidden her joy better.
She approached Pierre and said:
"Tell me that you forgive me!"
"I forgive you."
"You still weep?"
"Yes; I am weeping over my lost happiness. I thought the best means of
being loved were to deserve it. I was mistaken. I will courageously
atone for my error. Excuse my weakness, and believe that you will never
have a more faithful and devoted friend than I."
Micheline gave him her hand, and, smiling, bowed her forehead to his
lips. He slowly impressed a brotherly kiss, which effaced the burning
trace of the one which he had stolen a moment before.
At the same time a deep voice was heard in the distance, calling Pierre.
Micheline trembled.
"'Tis my mother," she said. "She is seeking you. I will leave you.
Adieu, and a thousand thanks from my very heart."
And nimbly springing behind a clump of lilac-trees in flower, Micheline
disappeared.
Pierre mechanically went toward the house. He ascended the marble steps
and entered the drawing-room. As he shut the door, Madame Desvarennes
appeared.
CHAPTER V
A CRITICAL INTERVIEW
Madame Desvarennes had been driven to the Hotel du Louvre without losing
a minute. She most wanted to know in what state of mind her daughter's
betrothed had arrived in Paris. Had the letter, which brutally told him
the truth, roused him and tightened the springs of his will? Was he
ready for the struggle?
If she found him confident and bold, she had only to settle with him as
to the common plan of action which must bring about the eviction of the
audacious candidate who wished to marry Micheline. If she found him
discouraged and doubtful of himself, she had decided to animate him with
her ardor against Serge Panine.
She prepared these arguments on the way, and, boiling with impatience,
outstripped in thought the fleet horse which was drawing her past the
long railings of the Tuileries toward the Hotel du Louvre. Wrapped in
her meditations she did not see Pierre. She was saying to herself:
"This fair-haired Polish dandy does not know with whom he has to deal.
He will see what sort of a woman I am. He has not risen early enough in
the morning to hoodwink me. If Pierre is only of the same opinion as I,
we shall soon spoil this fortune-hunter's work."
The carriage stopped.
"Monsieur Pierre Delarue?" inquired the mistress.
"Madame, he went out a quarter of an hour ago."
"To go where?"
"He did not say."
"Do you know whether he will be absent long?"
"I don't know."
"Much obliged."
Madame Desvarennes, quite discomfited by this mischance, reflected.
Where could Pierre have gone? Probably to her house. Without losing a
minute, she reentered the carriage, and gave orders to return to the Rue
Saint-Dominique. If he had gone at once to her house, it was plain that
he was ready to do anything to keep Micheline. The coachman who had
received the order drove furiously. She said to herself:
"Pierre is in a cab. Allowing that he is driving moderately quick he
will only have half-an-hour's start of me. He will pass through the
office, will see Marechal, and however eager he be, will lose a quarter
of an hour in chatting to him. It would be most vexing if he did
anything foolish in the remaining fifteen minutes! The fault is mine:
I ought to have sent him a letter at Marseilles, to tell him what line of
conduct to adopt on his arrival. So long as he does not meet Micheline
on entering the house!"
At that idea Madame Desvarennes felt the blood rushing to her face. She
put her head out of the carriage window, and called to the coachman:
"Drive faster!"
He drove more furiously still, and in a few minutes reached the Rue
Saint-Dominique.
She tore into the house like a hurricane, questioned the hall-porter, and
learned that Delarue had arrived. She hastened to Marechal, and asked
him in such a strange manner, "Have you seen Pierre?" that he thought
some accident had happened.
On seeing her secretary's scared look, she understood that what she most
dreaded had come to pass. She hurried to the drawing-room, calling
Pierre in a loud voice. The French window opened, and she found herself
face to face with the young man. A glance at her adopted son's face
increased her fears. She opened her arms and clasped Pierre to her
heart.
After the first emotions were over, she longed to know what had happened
during her absence, and inquired of Pierre:
"By whom were you received on arriving here?"
"By Micheline."
"That is what I feared! What did she tell you?"
"Everything!"
In three sentences these two strong beings had summed up all that had
taken place. Madame Desvarennes remained silent for a moment, then,
with sudden tenderness, and as if to make up for her daughter's
treachery, said:
"Come, let me kiss you again, my poor boy. You suffer, eh? and I too!
I am quite overcome. For ten years I have cherished the idea of your
marrying Micheline. You are a man of merit, and you have no relatives.
You would not take my daughter away from me; on the contrary I think you
like me, and would willingly live with me. In arranging this marriage
I realized the dream of my life. I was not taking a son-in-law-I was
gaining a new child."
"Believe me," said Pierre, sadly, "it is not my fault that your wish is
not carried out."
"That, my boy, is another question!" cried Madame Desvarennes, whose
voice was at once raised two tones. "And that is where we do not agree.
You are responsible for what has occurred. I know what you are going,
to tell me. You wished to bring laurels to Micheline as a dower. That
is all nonsense! When one leaves the Polytechnic School with honors, and
with a future open to you like yours, it is not necessary to scour the
deserts to dazzle a young girl. One begins by marrying her, and
celebrity comes afterward, at the same time as the children. And then
there was no need to risk all at such a cost. What, are we then so
grand? Ex-bakers! Millionaires, certainly, which does not alter the
fact that poor Desvarennes carried out the bread, and that I gave change
across the counter when folks came to buy sou-cakes! But you wanted to
be a knight-errant, and, during that time, a handsome fellow. Did
Micheline tell you the gentleman's name?"
"I met him when I came here; he was with her in the garden. We were
introduced to each other."
"That was good taste," said Madame Desvarennes with irony. "Oh, he is a
youth who is not easily disturbed, and in his most passionate transports
will not disarrange a fold of his cravat. You know he is a Prince?
That is most flattering to the Desvarennes! We shall use his coat-of-
arms as our trade-mark. The fortune hunter, ugh! No doubt he said to
himself, 'The baker has money--and her daughter is agreeable.' And he is
making a business of it."
"He is only following the example of many of his equals. Marriage is
to-day the sole pursuit of the nobility."
"The nobility! That of our country might be tolerated, but foreign
noblemen are mere adventurers."
"It is well known that the Panines come from Posen--the papers have
mentioned them more than twenty times."
"Why is he not in his own country?"
"He is exiled."
"He has done something wrong, then!"
"He has, like all his family, fought for independence."
"Then he is a revolutionist!"
"A patriot."
"You are very kind to tell me all that."
"I may hate Prince Panine," said Pierre, simply, "but that is no reason
why I should not be just to him."
"So be it; he is an exceptional being, a great citizen, a hero, if you
like. But that does not prove that he will make my daughter happy. And
if you take my advice, we shall send him about his business in a very
short time."
Madame Desvarennes was excited and paced hurriedly up and down the room.
The idea of resuming the offensive after she had been forced to act on
the defensive for months past pleased her. She thought Pierre argued too
much. A woman of action, she did not understand why Pierre had not yet
come to a resolution. She felt that she must gain his confidence.
"You are master of the situation," she said. "The Prince does not suit
me--"
"Micheline loves him," interrupted Pierre.
"She fancies so," replied Madame Desvarennes. "She has got it into her
head, but it will wear off. You thoroughly understand that I did not bid
you to come from Africa to be present at my daughter's wedding. If you
are a man, we shall see some fun. Micheline is your betrothed. You have
our word, and the word of a Desvarennes is as good as the signature.
--It has never been dishonored. Well, refuse to give us back our
promise. Gain time, make love, and take my daughter away from that
dandy."
Pierre remained silent for a few minutes. In a moment he measured the
extent of the mischief done, by seeing Micheline before consulting Madame
Desvarennes. With the help of this energetic woman he might have
struggled, whereas left to his own strength, he had at the outset been
vanquished and forced to lay down his arms. Not only had he yielded, but
he had drawn his ally into his defeat.
"Your encouragements come too late," said he. "Micheline asked me to
give her back her promise, and I gave it to her."
"You were so weak as that!" cried Madame Desvarennes. "And she had so
much boldness? Does she dote on him so? I suspected her plans, and I
hastened to warn you. But all is not lost. You have given Micheline
back her promise. So be it. But I have not given you back yours. You
are pledged to me. I will not countenance the marriage which my daughter
has arranged without my consent! Help me to break it off. And, faith,
you could easily find another woman worth Micheline, but where shall I
find a son-in-law worth you? Come, the happiness of us all is in peril;
save it!"
"Why continue the struggle? I am beaten beforehand."
"But if you forsake me, what can I do single-handed with Micheline?"
"Do what she wishes, as usual. You are surprised at my giving you this
advice? It is no merit on my part. Until now you have refused your
daughter's request; but if she comes again beseeching and crying, you who
are so strong and can say so well 'I will,' will be weak and will not be
able to refuse her her Prince. Believe me; consent willingly. Who
knows? Your son'-in-law may be grateful to you for it by-and-by."
Madame Desvarennes had listened to Pierre with amazement.
"Really, you are incredible," she said; "you discuss all this so calmly.
Have you no grief?"
"Yes," replied Pierre, solemnly, "it is almost killing me."
"Nonsense! You are boasting!" cried Madame Desvarennes, vehemently.
"Ah, scholar! figures have dried up your heart!"
"No," replied the young man, with melancholy, "but work has destroyed in
me the seductions of youth. It has made me thoughtful, and a little sad.
I frightened Micheline, instead of attracting her. The worst is that we
live in such a state of high pressure, it is quite impossible to grasp
all that is offered to us in this life-work and pleasure. It is
necessary to make a choice, to economize one's time and strength, and to
work with either the heart or the brain alone. The result is that the
neglected organ wastes away, and that men of pleasure remain all their
lives mediocre workers, while hard workers are pitiful lovers. The
former sacrifice the dignity of existence, the latter that which is the
charm of existence. So that, in decisive moments, when the man of
pleasure appeals to his intelligence, he finds he is unfit for duty, and
when the man of toil appeals to his heart, he finds that he is
unqualified for happiness."
"Well, my boy, so much the worse for the women who cannot appreciate men
of work, and who allow themselves to be wheedled by men of pleasure.
I never was one of those; and serious as you are, thirty years ago I
would have jumped at you. But as you know your ailment so well, why
don't you cure yourself? The remedy is at hand."
"What is it?"
"Strong will. Marry Micheline. I'll answer for everything."
"She does not love me."
"A woman always ends by loving her husband."
"I love Micheline too much to accept her hand without her heart."
Madame Desvarennes saw that she would gain nothing, and that the game was
irrevocably lost. A great sorrow stole over her. She foresaw a dark
future, and had a presentiment that trouble had entered the house with
Serge Panine. What could she do? Combat the infatuation of her
daughter! She knew that life would be odious for her if Micheline ceased
to laugh and to sing. Her daughter's tears would conquer her will.
Pierre had told her truly. Where was the use of fighting when defeat was
certain? She, too, felt that she was powerless, and with heartfelt
sorrow came to a decision.
"Come, I see that I must make up my mind to be grandmother to little
princes. It pleases me but little on the father's account. My daughter
will have a sad lot with a fellow of that kind. Well, he had better keep
in the right path; for I shall be there to call him to order. Micheline
must be happy. When my husband was alive, I was already more of a mother
than a wife; now my whole life is wrapped up in my daughter."
Then raising her vigorous arms with grim energy, she added:
"Do you know, if my daughter were made miserable through her husband, I
should be capable of killing him."
These were the last words of the interview which decided the destiny of
Micheline, of the Prince, of Madame Desvarennes, and of Pierre. The
mistress stretched out her hand and rang the bell. A servant appeared,
to whom she gave instructions to tell Marechal to come down. She thought
it would be pleasant for Pierre to pour out his griefs into the heart of
his friend. A man weeps with difficulty before a woman, and she guessed
that the young man's heart was swollen with tears. Marechal was not far
off. He arrived in a moment, and springing toward Pierre put his arms
round his neck. When Madame Desvarennes saw the two friends fully
engrossed with each other, she said to Marechal:
"I give you leave until this evening. Then bring Pierre back with you;
I wish to see him after dinner."
And with a firm step she went toward Micheline's room, where the latter
was waiting in fear to know the result of the interview.
CHAPTER VI
A SIGNIFICANT MEETING
The mansion in the Rue Saint-Dominique is certainly one of the finest to
be seen. Sovereigns alone have more sumptuous palaces. The wide
staircase, of carved oak, is bordered by a bronze balustrade, made by
Ghirlandajo, and brought from Florence by Sommervieux, the great dealer
in curiosities. Baron Rothschild would consent to give only a hundred
thousand francs for it. Madame Desvarennes bought it. The large panels
of the staircase are hung with splendid tapestry, from designs by
Boucher, representing the different metamorphoses of Jupiter. At each
landing-place stands a massive Japanese vase of 'claisonne' enamel,
supported by a tripod of Chinese bronze, representing chimeras. On the
first floor, tall columns of red granite, crowned by gilt capitals,
divide the staircase from a gallery, serving as a conservatory. Plaited
blinds of crimson silk hang before the Gothic windows, filled with
marvellous stained glass.
In the vestibule-the hangings of which are of Cordova-leather, with gold
ground-seemingly awaiting the good pleasure of some grand lady, is a
sedan-chair, decorated with paintings by Fragonard. Farther on, there is
one of those superb carved mother-of-pearl coffers, in which Oriental
women lay by their finery and jewellery. A splendid Venetian mirror,
its frame embellished with tiny figure subjects, and measuring two metres
in width and three in height, fills a whole panel of the vestibule.
Portieres of Chinese satin, ornamented with striking embroidery, such as
figures on a priest's chasuble, fall in sumptuous folds at the drawing-
room and dining-room doors.
The drawing-room contains a splendid set of Louis Quatorze furniture,
of gilt wood, upholstered in fine tapestry, in an extraordinary state of
preservation. Three crystal lustres, hanging at intervals along the
room, sparkle like diamonds. The hangings, of woven silk and gold, are
those which were sent as a present by Louis Quatorze to Monsieur de
Pimentel, the Spanish Ambassador, to reward him for the part he had taken
in the conclusion of the Treaty of the Pyrenees. These hangings are
unique, and were brought back from Spain in 1814, in the baggage-train of
Soult's army, and sold to an inhabitant of Toulouse for ten thousand
francs. It was there that Madame Desvarennes discovered them in a garret
in 1864, neglected by the grandchildren of the buyer, who were ignorant
of the immense value of such unrivalled work. Cleverly mended, they are
to-day the pride of the great trader's drawing-room. On the mantelpiece
there is a large clock in Chinese lacquer, ornamented with gilt bronze,
made on a model sent out from Paris in the reign of Louis Quatorze, and
representing the Flight of the Hours pursued by Time.
Adjoining the great drawing-room is a boudoir upholstered in light gray
silk damask, with bouquets of flowers. This is Madame Desvarennes's
favorite room. A splendid Erard piano occupies one side of the
apartment. Facing it is a sideboard in sculptured ebony, enriched with
bronze, by Gouthieres. There are only two pictures on the walls: "The
Departure of the Newly Married Couple," exquisitely painted by Lancret;
and "The Prediction," an adorable work by Watteau, bought at an
incredible price at the Pourtales sale. Over the chimney-piece is a
miniature by Pommayrac, representing Micheline as a little child--a
treasure which Madame Desvarennes cannot behold without tears coming to
her eyes. A door, hidden by curtains, opens on to a staircase leading
directly to the courtyard.
The dining-room is in the purest Renaissance style austere woodwork;
immense chests of caned pearwood, on which stand precious ewers in Urbino
ware, and dishes by Bernard Palissy. The high stone fireplace is
surmounted by a portrait of Diana of Poitiers, with a crescent on her
brow, and is furnished with firedogs of elaborately worked iron. The
centre panel bears the arms of Admiral Bonnivet. Stained-glass windows
admit a softly-tinted light. From the magnificently painted ceiling, a
chandelier of brass repousse work hangs from the claws of a hovering
eagle.
The billiard-room is in the Indian style. Magnificent panoplies unite
Rajpoot shields, Mahratta scimitars, helmets with curtains of steel,
rings belonging to Afghan chiefs, and long lances ornamented with white
mares' tails, wielded by the horsemen of Cabul. The walls are painted
from designs brought from Lahore. The panels of the doors were decorated
by Gerome. The great artist has painted Nautch girls twisting their
floating scarves, and jugglers throwing poignards into the air. Around
the room are low divans, covered with soft and brilliant Oriental cloth.
The chandelier is quite original in form, being the exact representation
of the god Vishnu. From the centre of the body hangs a lotus leaf of
emeralds, and from each of the four arms is suspended a lamp shaped like
a Hindu pagoda, which throws out a mellow light.
Madame Desvarennes was entertaining her visitors in these celebrated
apartments that evening. Marechal and Pierre had just come in, and were
talking together near the fireplace. A few steps from them was a group,
consisting of Cayrol, Madame Desvarennes, and a third person, who had
never until then put his foot in the house, in spite of intercessions in
his favor made by the banker to Madame Desvarennes. He was a tall, pale,
thin man, whose skin seemed stretched on his bones, with a strongly
developed under-jaw, like that of a ravenous animal, and eyes of
indefinable color, always changing, and veiled behind golden-rimmed
spectacles. His hands were soft and smooth, with moist palms and closely
cut nails--vicious hands, made to take cunningly what they coveted. He
had scanty hair, of a pale yellow, parted just above the ear, so as to
enable him to brush it over the top of his head. This personage, clad in
a double-breasted surtout, over a white waistcoat, and wearing a many-
colored rosette, was called Hermann Herzog.
A daring financier, he had come from Luxembourg, preceded by a great
reputation; and, in a few months, he had launched in Paris such a series
of important affairs that the big-wigs on the Exchange felt bound to
treat with him. There were many rumors current about him. Some said he
was the most intelligent, most active, and most scrupulous of men that it
was possible to meet. Others said that no greater scoundrel had ever
dared the vengeance of the law, after plundering honest people. Of
German nationality, those who cried him down said he was born at Mayence.
Those who treated the rumors as legends said he was born at Frankfort,
the most Gallic town beyond the river Rhine.
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