Part 32

_André_--Well then, I _do_ know the expenses; and let me tell you that you have counted up only those that are part of our life in Paris, and you have not said a syllable of those that belong to our country one.

_Count_--Those that belong to our country one! Those are all just so much economy.

_André_--So then the place at Vilsac is just so much economy?

_Count_--Of course. We get everything from it, from eggs up to oxen.

_André_--Yes, and even to wild boars, when it suits you to shoot one. Now be so good as to consider the place at Vilsac, which you call a matter of economy. First of all, it brings us in absolutely nothing.

_Count_--It never has brought us in anything.

_André_--It is mortgaged for two hundred thousand francs.

_Count_--That happened when I was young.

_André_--Are you under the impression that there comes a time when mortgages wear themselves out? I wish they did. But I am afraid that you deceive yourself; and in the mean time, you are paying every year a mortgagor's interest. Furthermore, at Vilsac--

_Count_--Where, remember, we spend September, October, November, all of which is positively an economy--

_André_--Furthermore, as to Vilsac, this summer place where we pass September, October, and November,--all of which is positively an economy,--the proof of its being an economy is that here we are in the middle of September, and we are just setting out for Dieppe.

_Count_--For one time only, by chance! And moreover, we will have to go down to Vilsac by the end of the month, for I have asked those fellows to come down there for the shooting.

_André_--Yes, in this economical country place, where you have asked all those gentlemen to come down for the shooting, at the end of the month--

_Count_--Really, one would be bored to death without that!

_André_--In this same economical establishment, I say, you have twelve keepers.

_Count_--Quite true; but it is one of the best preserves in France, and really, there are so many poachers--

_André_--You have two masters of hounds, you have ten horses,--in short, a whole hunting equipage; and I don't speak of the indemnities that you pay year by year, if only for the rabbits that you kill.

_Count_--The fact is, there _are_ thousands of rabbits; but shooting rabbits is such fun!

_André_--Add to that the entertainments that it occurs to you to give every now and then, with fireworks and so on, during the evening.

_Count_--Oh, yes, but that pleases all the peasants of the neighborhood, who adore me; between ourselves it _is_ rather--Oh, my dear boy! if I had only been rich, what fine things I would have done! In France, people do not know how to spend money. In Russia it is quite another matter! Now, there you have people who understand how to give an entertainment. But then what can anybody do with two hundred thousand livres for an income?

_André_--Father, one can do exactly what you have done,--one can ruin himself.

_Count_--What! ruin himself?

_André_--Yes. When my mother died your personal fortune brought you, as you say, an income of two hundred thousand livres; and the money which my mother left to me, of which you have had the use until I came of age, amounted to a hundred and twenty thousand livres.

_Count_--I certainly have made an accounting to you in the matter.

_André_--A perfectly exact one, only--

_Count_--Only--?

_André_--Only in doing so you have seriously impaired your own capital.

_Count_--Why did you not say that to me at the time?

_André_--Because I too--I was thinking of nothing but spending money.

_Count_--You ought to have warned me about this before now.

_André_--But I--I was doing then just what I see you doing; I was taking life exactly as you had taught me to take it.

_Count_--André, I hope that is not a reproach.

_André_--God bless me, no. I am only saying to you why I have not looked after your interests better than you have ever done so yourself.

_Count_--Very good, Then I am going to explain to you why I brought you up--

_André_--Not worth while, my dear father. There is no good in going back to that, and I know quite well--

_Count_--On the contrary, you know nothing at all about the matter, and you will please allow me to speak. It will be a consolation. You are perfectly right as to things that have no common-sense in them; and if I have brought you up after a certain manner, it is just because I myself suffer from a different kind of education. _I_ was brought up very severely; at twenty-two years I knew nothing of life. I was born, I was kept hanging on at Vilsac, with my father and my mother, who were saints on earth, with my great-uncle, who had the gout, and with my tutor, who was an abbé. I was born with a constitution like iron. I went hunting day by day for whole months, on foot or on horseback. I ate my meals like an ogre. I rode every sort of a horse, and I was a swordsman like St. George himself. As for other things, my dear fellow, there was no use dreaming about them: I had not a crown in my pocket. The other sex--well, I had heard it said that there was a world of women somewhere, but I certainly did not know where it was. One day my father asked me if I was willing to marry, and I cried out, "Oh yes, yes!" with such an explosion that my father himself could not help laughing--he who never laughed. I was presented to a young girl, virtuous and beautiful; and I fell in love with her with a passion which at first fairly frightened the delicate and timid creature. Such was your mother, my dear André, and to her I owe the two happiest years of my life; it is true that I owe to her also my greatest grief, for at the end of those two years she died. But it must be said, either to the blame or to the praise of nature, that organizations such as mine are proof against the severest shocks. At twenty-four years I found myself rich, a widower, free to do what I pleased, and thrown--with a child a year old--into the midst of this world called Paris, of which I knew nothing whatever. Ought I to have condemned you to this sort of life that I had led at Vilsac, and which had been for me so often an intolerable bore? No, I obeyed my real nature. I gave you my qualities and my shortcomings, without reckoning closely in the matter; I have sought in your case your affection rather than your obedience or your respect. I have never taught you economy, it is true, but then I did not know anything about that myself; and besides, I had not a business and a business name to leave you. To have everything in common between us, one heart and one purse, to be able to give each other everything and say everything to each other,--that has been our motto. The puritans will think that they have a right to blame this intimacy as too close: let them say so if they choose. We have lost, it seems, some hundreds of thousands of francs; but we have gained this,--that we can always count upon each other, you upon me and I upon you. Either of us will be ready at any moment to kill himself for the other, and that is the most important matter between a father and a son; all the rest is not worth the trouble that one takes to reason about it. Don't you think I am right?

_André_--All that is true, my dear father! and I am just as much attached to you as you are to me. Far be it from me to reproach you; but now in my turn I want to make a confession to you. You are an exception in our society; your fettered youth, your precocious widowerhood, are your excuses, if you need any. You were born at a time when all France was in a fever, and when the individual, as well as the great mass of people, seemed to be striving to spend by every possible means a superabundance of vitality. Urged toward active life by nature, by curiosity, by temperament, you have cared for things that were worth caring for,--for them only; for entertaining yourself, for hunting, for fine horses, for the artist world, for people of rank and distinction. In such an environment as this you have paid your tribute to your country, you have paid the debt of your rank in life and of your name. But I, on the other hand, like almost all my generation, brought in contact with a fashionable world from the time that I began life,--I, born in an epoch of lassitude and transition,--I led for a while this life by mere imitation in laziness.... It is a kind of existence that no longer amuses me; and moreover, I can tell you that it never did amuse me. To sit up all night turning over cards; to get up at two o'clock in the afternoon, to have horses put to the carriage and go for the drive around the Lake, or to ride horseback; to live by day with idlers and to pass my evenings with such parasites as your friend M. De Tournas--all that seems to me the height of foolishness. And at the bottom of your own thoughts you think just as I do. So now, now that you really have got to a serious explanation of affairs, let us reach a real irrevocable determination of them. Are you willing to let me arrange your life for you in the future exactly as I would wish to arrange my own life? Are you willing to have confidence in me, and after having brought me up in your way, are you willing that in turn, while there is still time for it, I should--bring you up in mine?

_Count_--Yes, go on.

_André_--Very well,--to severe diseases strong remedies. You think a great deal of our Vilsac estate?

_Count_--I was born there. I should not be sorry to end my days there.

_André_--Very well. We will keep Vilsac for you, and find money in some other way to pay off the mortgage.

_Count_--How?

_André_--That's my business; only you must send away the two piqueurs, and six of the keepers.

_Count_--Poor fellows!

_André_--And only four horses are to be kept. No more entertainments are to be given, no more fireworks. You will entertain only two or three intimate friends now and then,--if we find as many friends as that among all those that are about us nowadays here.--and you will stay at Vilsac seven or eight months of the year.

_Count_--Alone!

_André_--Wait a little. I have not finished yet. This house where we are must be sold. We must put out of doors these servants, who are just so many thieves; and we will keep at Paris only a very modest stopping-place.

_Count_--Will you kindly allow me to get my breath?

_André_--Don't stir, or my surgical operation will not be successful. Now that your debts are paid there will be left to you--

_Count_--There will be left to me--

_André_--Forty thousand livres income, and as much for me,--no more; and with all that, during three or four years you will not have the capital at your disposition.

_Count_--Heavens, what a smash!

_André_--Are you willing to accept my scheme?

_Count_--I must.

_André_--Very well, then: sign these papers!

_Count_--What are they?

_André_--They are papers which I have just got from the notary, and which I have been expecting to make you sign while at Dieppe and send to me; but since you are here--

_Count_ [_signs_]--Since I am here, I may as well sign at once: you are quite right,--there you are.

_André_--Very well; now as, according to my notions, just as much as you are left to yourself you will slip back into the same errors as in the past--

_Count_--What are you going to do further?

_André_--Guess.

_Count_--You are going to forbid--

_André_--Are you out of your senses? I am going to marry you off.

_Count_--Marry me off!

_André_--Without permission.

_Count_--And how about yourself?

_André_--I am going to marry myself off--afterwards. You must begin as an example.

_Count_--André, do you know something?

_André_--What?

_Count_--Some one has told you the very thing I have had in mind.

_André_--Nobody has told me anything.

_Count_--Your word on it?

_André_--My word on it.

_Count_--Explain yourself. You, all by yourself, have had this idea of marriage?

_André_--I myself.

_Count_--Deny now the sympathy between us!

_André_--Well?

_Count_--It exists [_putting his arms around his son_]. There, embrace me!

_André_--And you accept?

_Count_--As if I would do anything else!

Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by E. Irenæus Stevenson

MR. AND MRS. CLARKSON

From 'L'Étrangère'

[These scenes, the final ones of the drama, occur in the private drawing-room of Catherine, the young Duchess of Septmonts. Mr. Clarkson, a wealthy American man of business, a Californian, has just received a note from the Duke of Septmonts, a blasé young roué of high family, requesting him to call at once. He has come, in some bewilderment, to find the duke. Mr. Clarkson has only a formal acquaintance with the duke, but Mrs. Clarkson, who resides much of the time in Paris, acting as Mr. Clarkson's business representative, knows the duke confidentially. The Duchess of Septmonts receives Clarkson.]

_Mr. Clarkson_--I beg your pardon, madam, for having insisted on making my way in here; but a few moments ago I found on returning to my house, a letter from your husband. It asked me for a rendezvous as soon as possible, without giving me a reason for it. I find M. de Septmonts not at home. May I ask you if you know how I can be of service to him?

_Catherine_--I was under the impression that in his letter, M. de Septmonts explained to you the matter in which he wishes your assistance.

_Clarkson_--No.

_Catherine_--Did not his letter contain another letter, sealed, which he purposed leaving in your hands?

_Clarkson_--No.

_Catherine_--Are you really telling me the truth?

_Clarkson_--I never lie, madam: I have too much business on my hands; it would mix me up quite too much in my affairs.

_Catherine_--Then perhaps it is to Mrs. Clarkson that my husband has intrusted that letter.

_Clarkson_--No. She would have mentioned it; for I told her that I had received a line from the Duke, and was on my way to this house.

_Catherine_--Perhaps your wife did not tell you--all.

_Clarkson_--She has no earthly reason to conceal anything from me!

_Catherine_--True! I know very well that she is your wife only in name; she told me as much when I was at her house yesterday.

_Clarkson_--Really! She must be very much pleased with you, for she does not talk readily about her personal affairs.

_Catherine_--Unfortunately, it is quite otherwise as far as I am concerned; she has not hidden from me the fact that she detests me, and that she will do me all the injury she possibly can.

_Clarkson_--You? Injury? For what reason? Pray, what have you done to her?

_Catherine_--Nothing! I have known her only two days. Nevertheless--

_Clarkson_--Nevertheless--

_Catherine_--What I was going to say is not my secret, sir, it is hers, and she alone has the right to tell it to you. But as to this letter that my husband has told my father he has sent to you--it is I who wrote that letter. You may as well know, too, that it was abstracted from my possession; and moreover, that with that letter any one can indeed do me all the mischief with which your wife, Mrs. Clarkson, has threatened me.

_Clarkson_ [_very gravely_]--Then we must know at once if my wife has that letter. I will write her to come here immediately and join us--that I have something very important to communicate to her--here. Are you willing to have her come? [_He writes while he speaks._]

_Catherine_--Certainly.

_Clarkson_--Then we can have a general explanation. You may be sure, madam, that I shall never lend my hand to anything that means harm to you, or to any woman: I come from the country where we respect women.

_Catherine_ [_rings the bell, and says to a servant who answers it_]--See that this letter is sent immediately. Be careful that it does not go astray. It is not my letter. This gentleman has written it. [_Exit servant._]

_Clarkson_--And now, madam, do you know why M. de Septmonts wishes to have an interview with me?

_Catherine_--Yes, I can guess. It concerns me, perhaps; but I have no right to discuss the matter. It is something which belongs to the Duke, and he alone has the right to impart it to you. All I can do is to beg of you to have all details thoroughly explained to you, and to look into them very carefully.

_A_ Servant _enters_

_Servant_--M. le Duc has come in; he will be glad to have Mr. Clarkson come to him.

_Clarkson_--Very good. [_Going_.] I bid you good evening, madam.

_Catherine_ [_to the servant_]--Wait a moment. [_Going to Clarkson and speaking in a low voice._] Suppose I were to ask you a very great service.

_Clarkson_--Ask it, madam.

_Catherine_--Suppose I were to ask you to say to my husband that you are waiting for him here in this drawing-room--that you will be glad to speak with him _here_.

_Clarkson_--Nothing but that? With great pleasure. [_To the servant._] Say to M. de Septmonts that I shall be obliged if he will join me--here. [_Servant goes out._]

_Catherine_--I shall leave you; for if I know what is going to be discussed in this interview, I neither could nor should take part in it; but whatever may come of it, I shall never forget that you have done everything that you could do as a courtesy to me,--and that you are a gentleman. [_Exit Catherine._]

_Clarkson_ [_alone_]--Charming! She is charming, that little woman; but may I be hanged if I understand one word of what is going on here.

The Duke of Septmonts _comes in hastily, and advances to_ Clarkson.

_Septmonts_--I have just come from your house, Mr. Clarkson. Mrs. Clarkson told me you were here. I returned at once. Pardon me for troubling you. If when I came in I asked you to come to my own drawing-room, and have thus troubled you once more, it is because I was told you were expecting me here, with the duchess. This is her private parlor; and as what we have to say is a matter for men--

_Clarkson_--Therefore the duchess went to her own room when your return here was announced.

_Septmonts_--Mr. Clarkson, did _she_ tell the servant that you would prefer to hold our conversation here?

_Clarkson_--No, I told him.

[_Septmonts goes to the door of the room by which Catherine went out, and closes the portière._]

_Clarkson_ [_in a scornful aside_]--What an amount of mystery and precaution!

_Septmonts_--The matter is this, Mr. Clarkson. I must fight a duel to-morrow morning. This duel can terminate only in the death of one or other of the contestants. I am the insulted one, therefore I have the choice of weapons. I choose the sword.

_Clarkson_--Do you fence well?

_Septmonts_--I believe I am one of the best fencers in Paris. But another friend on whom I could count is one of those men of the world who discuss all the details of an affair, and with whom the preliminaries of such a meeting might last several days. I want to get through with the matter at once.

_Clarkson_--Ah! The fact is, you _do_ give an importance and a solemnity to such things in France that we don't understand, we Americans, who settle the question in five minutes on the first corner of the street, in the sight of everybody.

_Septmonts_--That is just the reason that I allowed myself to apply to you, Mr. Clarkson. Now, are you disposed to be present as my second?

_Clarkson_--Bless me, with all my heart! Besides, when I mentioned your letter to Mrs. Clarkson she told me to do all I could to serve you. Have you and my wife known each other long?

_Septmonts_--About four years; and I owe your wife a great deal, morally speaking. I have no desire to conceal the fact. I was not yet married when I met Mrs. Clarkson. One day I had lost a large sum at play,--a hundred and fifty thousand francs,--which I did not have, and tried in vain to procure; for at that time I was completely ruined. Mrs. Clarkson very generously lent me the sum, and I repaid it, with interest equivalent to the capital.

_Clarkson_--But as you were ruined, duke, how could you pay this large capital and this large interest? Did your father or mother die? In France the death of parents is a great resource, I know.

_Septmonts_--No. I was an orphan, and I had no expectations. I married.

_Clarkson_--Ah, true! You French people make much of marriages for money! It's a great advantage over us Americans, who only marry for love. Now with us, in such a case as yours, a man goes into some business or other; he goes to mining; he works. But every country has its own customs. I beg your pardon for interrupting you. After all, it doesn't concern me. Come back to our duel.

_Septmonts_--I have a letter here in my hands--

_Clarkson_--Ah! You have a letter in your hands--

_Septmonts_--A letter which compromises my wife--

_Clarkson_--Ah! I am completely at your service. I belong to the sort of men who do not admit any compromises in matters of that kind.

_Septmonts_--I may be killed--one has to look ahead. If I lose my life, I lose it by having been so injured by my wife that I intend to be revenged on her.

_Clarkson_--And how?

_Septmonts_--I wish that the contents of this letter, which I have in my possession, shall become public property if I am killed.

_Clarkson_ [_coldly_]--Ah! And how can I serve you as to that?

_Septmonts_--I will intrust this sealed letter to you. [_He takes the letter from his pocket._] Here it is.

_Clarkson_ [_still more coldly_]--Very well.

_Septmonts_--Now, if I survive, you will restore it to me as it is. If not, then in the trial which will follow, you will read it in a court. I wish the letters to become public. Then it will be known that I avenged my honor under a feigned pretext; and M. Gérard and the duchess will be so situated that they will never be able to see each other again.

_Clarkson_--Nonsense! Once dead, what does it matter to you?

_Septmonts_--I am firm there. Will you kindly accept the commission?

_Clarkson_ [_in a formal tone_]--Surely.

_Septmonts_--Here is the letter.

_Clarkson_ [_takes it and holds it as he speaks_]--But, duke, now that I think about it, when this trial occurs it is probable, even certain, that I shall not be in France. I was expecting to leave Paris on business to-morrow morning at the latest. I can wait until to-morrow evening to please you, and to help you with this duel of yours; but that is really all the time I can spare.

_Septmonts_--Very well; then you will have the goodness to give this letter to Mrs. Clarkson with the instructions I have just given you, and it will be in equally good hands.

_Clarkson_ [_looking at the letter_]--All right. A blank envelope. What is there to indicate that this letter was addressed to M. Gérard?

_Septmonts_--The envelope with his name on it is inside.

_Clarkson_--You found this letter?

_Septmonts_--I found it--before it was mailed.

_Clarkson_--And as you had your suspicions you--opened it?

_Septmonts_--Yes.

_Clarkson_--I beg your pardon for questioning you so, but you yourself did me the honor to say that you wished me to be _fully_ informed. Do you know whether the sentiments between M. Gérard and the duchess were of long standing?

_Septmonts_--They date from before my marriage.

_Clarkson_ [_looking toward the apartment of the duchess_]--Oh, I see. That is serious!

_Septmonts_--They loved each other, they wanted to marry each other, but my wife's father would not consent.

_Clarkson_ [_reflectively_]--M. Gérard wanted to marry her, did he?

_Septmonts_--Yes; but when he learned that Mademoiselle Mauriceau was a millionaire, as he had nothing and had no title other than his plain name Gérard, he withdrew his pretensions.

_Clarkson_--That was a very proper thing for the young man to do. It doesn't surprise me!

_Septmonts_--Yes; but now, Mr. Clarkson, this young gentleman has come back--

_Clarkson_--And is too intimate a friend to your wife?

_Septmonts_--Ah, I do not say that!

_Clarkson_--What do you say, then?

_Septmonts_--That as the letter in question gives that impression, the situation amounts to the same thing as far as a legal process is concerned.