Serge Panine by Georges Ohnet
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.
He had just completed an important line of railway from Morocco to the centre
of our colony in Algeria, and now he was promoting a company for exporting grain
and flour from America. Several times Cayrol had tried to bring Herzog and
Madame Desvarennes together. The banker had an interest in the grain and flour
speculation, but he asserted that it would not succeed unless the mistress had a
hand in it. Cayrol had a blind faith in the mistress's luck.
Madame Desvarennes, suspicious of everything foreign, and perfectly
acquainted with the rumors circulated respecting Herzog, had always refused to
receive him. But Cayrol had been so importunate that, being quite tired of
refusing, and, besides, being willing to favor Cayrol for having so discreetly
managed the negotiations of Micheline's marriage, she had consented.
Herzog had just arrived. He was expressing to Madame Desvarennes his delight
at being admitted to her house. He had so often heard her highly spoken of that
he had formed a high idea of her, but one which was, however, far below the
reality; he understood now that it was an honor to be acquainted with her. He
wheedled her with German grace, and with a German-Jewish accent, which reminds
one of the itinerant merchants, who offer you with persistence "a goot pargain."
The mistress had been rather cold at first, but Herzog's amiability had
thawed her. This man, with his slow speech and queer eyes, produced a
fascinating effect on one like a serpent. He was repugnant, and yet, in spite of
one's self one was led on. He, had at once introduced the grain question, but in
this he found himself face to face with the real Madame Desvarennes; and no
politeness held good on her part when it was a question of business. From his
first words, she had found a weak point in the plan, and had attacked him with
such plainness that the financier, seeing his enterprise collapse at the sound
of the mistress's voice-like the walls of Jericho at the sound of the Jewish
trumpets—had beaten a retreat, and had changed the subject.
He was about to float a credit and discount company superior to any in the
world. He would come back and talk with Madame Desvarennes about it, because she
ought to participate in the large profits which the matter promised. There was
no risk. The novelty of the undertaking consisted in the concurrence of the
largest banking-houses of France and abroad, which would hinder all competition,
and prevent hostility on the part of the great money-handlers. It was very
curious, and Madame Desvarennes would feel great satisfaction in knowing the
mechanism of this company, destined to become, from the first, the most
important in the world, and yet most easy to understand.
Madame Desvarennes neither said "Yes" nor "No." Moved by the soft and
insinuating talkativeness of Herzog, she felt herself treading on dangerous
ground. It seemed to her that her foot was sinking, as in those dangerous
peat-mosses of which the surface is covered with green grass, tempting one to
run on it. Cayrol was under the charm. He drank in the German's words. This
clever man, who had never till then been duped, had found his master in Herzog.
Pierre and Marechal had come nearer, and Madame Desvarennes, profiting by
this mingling of groups, introduced the men to each other. On hearing the name
of Pierre Delarue, Herzog looked thoughtful, and asked if the young man was the
renowned engineer whose works on the coast of Africa had caused so much talk in
Europe? On Madame Desvarennes replying in the affirmative, he showered
well-chosen compliments on Pierre. He had had the pleasure of meeting Delarue in
Algeria, when he had gone over to finish the railroad in Morocco.
But Pierre had stepped back on learning that the constructor of that
important line was before him.
"Ah! is it you, sir, who carried out that job?" said he. "Faith! you treated
those poor Moors rather hardly!"
He remembered the misery of the poor natives employed by Europeans who
superintended the work. Old men, women, and children were placed at the disposal
of the contractors by the native authorities, to dig up and remove the soil; and
these poor wretches, crushed with hard work, and driven with the lash by drunken
overseers—who commanded them with a pistol in hand—under a burning sun, inhaled
the noxious vapors arising from the upturned soil, and died like flies. It was a
terrible sight, and one that Pierre could not forget.
But Herzog, with his cajoling sweetness, protested against this exaggerated
picture. Delarue had arrived during the dog-days—a bad time. And then, it was
necessary for the work to be carried on without delay. Besides, a few Moors,
more or less—what did it matter? Negroes, all but monkeys!
Marechal, who had listened silently until then, interrupted the conversation,
to defend the monkeys in the name of Littre. He had framed a theory, founded on
Darwin, and tending to prove that men who despised monkeys despised themselves.
Herzog, a little taken aback by this unexpected reply, had looked at Marechal
slyly, asking himself if it was a joke. But, seeing Madame Desvarennes laugh, he
recovered his self-possession. Business could not be carried on in the East as
in Europe. And then, had it not always been thus? Had not all the great
discoverers worked the countries which they discovered? Christopher Columbus,
Cortez—had they not taken riches from the Indians, in exchange for the
civilization which they brought them? He (Herzog) had, in making a railway in
Morocco, given the natives the means of civilizing themselves. It was only fair
that it should cost them something.
Herzog uttered his tirade with all the charm of which he was capable; he
looked to the right and to the left to notice the effect. He saw nothing but
constrained faces. It seemed as if they were expecting some one or something.
Time was passing; ten o'clock had just struck. From the little boudoir sounds of
music were occasionally heard, when Micheline's nervous hand struck a louder
chord on her piano. She was there, anxiously awaiting some one or something.
Jeanne de Cernay, stretched in an easy-chair, her head leaning on her hand, was
dreaming.
During the past three weeks the young girl had changed. Her bright wit no
longer enlivened Micheline's indolent calmness; her brilliant eyes were
surrounded by blue rings, which denoted nights passed without sleep. The change
coincided strangely with Prince Panine's departure for England, and the sending
of the letter which recalled Pierre to Paris. Had the inhabitants of the mansion
been less occupied with their own troubles, they would no doubt have noticed
this sudden change, and have sought to know the reason. But the attention of all
was concentrated on the events which had already troubled them, and which would
no doubt be yet more serious to the house, until lately so quiet.
The visitors' bell sounded, and caused Micheline to rise. The blood rushed to
her cheeks. She whispered, "It is he!" and, hesitating, she remained a moment
leaning on the piano, listening vaguely to the sounds in the drawing-room. The
footman's voice announcing the visitor reached the young girls:
"Prince Panine."
Jeanne also rose then, and if Micheline had turned round she would have been
frightened at the pallor of her companion. But Mademoiselle Desvarennes was not
thinking of Mademoiselle de Cernay; she had just raised the heavy door curtain,
and calling to Jeanne, "Are you coming?" passed into the drawing-room:
It was indeed Prince Serge, who was expected by Cayrol with impatience, by
Madame Desvarennes with silent irritation, by Pierre with deep anguish. The
handsome prince, calm and smiling, with white cravat and elegantly fitting
dress-coat which showed off his fine figure, advanced toward Madame Desvarennes
before whom he bowed. He seemed only to have seen Micheline's mother. Not a look
for the two young girls or the men who were around him. The rest of the universe
did not seem to count. He bent as if before a queen, with a dash of respectful
adoration. He seemed to be saying:
"Here I am at your feet; my life depends on you; make a sign and I shall be
the happiest of men or the most miserable."
Micheline followed him with eyes full of pride; she admired his haughty grace
and his caressing humility. It was by these contrasts that Serge had attracted
the young girl's notice. She felt herself face to face with a strange nature,
different from men around her, and had become interested in him. Then he had
spoken to her, and his sweet penetrating voice had touched her heart.
What he had achieved with Micheline he longed to achieve with her mother.
After placing himself at the feet of the mother of her whom he loved, he sought
the road to her heart. He took his place beside the mistress and spoke. He hoped
that Madame Desvarennes would excuse the haste of his visit. The obedience which
he had shown in going away must be a proof to her of his submission to her
wishes. He was her most devoted and respectful servant. He resigned himself to
anything she might exact of him.
Madame Desvarennes listened to that sweet voice; she had never heard it so
full of charm. She understood what influence this sweetness had exercised over
Micheline; she repented not having watched over her more carefully, and cursed
the hour that had brought all this evil upon them. She was obliged, however, to
answer him. The mistress went straight to the point. She was not one to beat
about the bush when once her mind was made up.
"You come, no doubt, sir, to receive an answer to the request you addressed
to me before your departure for England!"
The Prince turned slightly pale. The words which Madame Desvarennes was about
to pronounce were of such importance to him that he could not help feeling
moved. He answered, in a suppressed tone:
"I would not have dared to speak to you on the subject, Madame, especially in
public; but since you anticipate my desire, I admit I am waiting with deep
anxiety for one word from you which will decide my fate."
He continued bent before Madame Desvarennes like a culprit before his judge.
The mistress was silent for a moment, as if hesitating before answering, and
then said, gravely:
"That word I hesitated to pronounce, but some one in whom I have great
confidence has advised me to receive you favorably."
"He, Madame, whoever he may be, has gained my everlasting gratitude."
"Show it to him," said Madame Desvarennes; "he is the companion of
Micheline's young days, almost a son to me."
And turning toward Pierre, she pointed him out to Panine.
Serge took three rapid strides toward Pierre, but quick as he had been
Micheline was before him. Each of the lovers seized a hand of Pierre, and
pressed it with tender effusion. Panine, with his Polish impetuosity, was making
the most ardent protestations to Pierre—he would be indebted to him for life.
Micheline's late betrothed, with despair in his heart, allowed his hands to
be pressed and wrung in silence. The voice of her whom he loved brought tears to
his eyes.
"How generous and good you are!" said the young girl, "how nobly you have
sacrificed yourself!"
"Don't thank me," replied Pierre; "I have no merit in accomplishing what you
admire. I am weak, you see, and I could not bear to see you suffer."
There was a great commotion in the drawing-room. Cayrol was explaining to
Herzog, who was listening with great attention, what was taking place. Serge
Panine was to be Madame Desvarennes's son-in-law. It was a great event.
"Certainly," said the German; "Madame Desvarennes's son-in-law will become a
financial power. And a Prince, too. What a fine name for a board of directors!"
The two financiers looked at each other for a moment; the same thought had
struck them.
"Yes, but," replied Cayrol, "Madame Desvarennes will never allow Panine to
take part in business."
"Who knows?" said Herzog. "We shall see how the marriage settlements are
drawn up."
"But," cried Cayrol, "I would not have it said that I was leading Madame
Desvarennes's son-in-law into speculations."
"Who is speaking of that?" replied Herzog, coldly. "Am I seeking
shareholders? I have more money than I want; I refuse millions every day."
"Oh, I know capitalists run after you," said Cayrol, laughingly; "and to
welcome them you affect the scruples of a pretty woman. But let us go and
congratulate the Prince."
While Cayrol and Herzog were exchanging those few words which had such a
considerable influence on the future of Serge Panine—a scene, terrible in its
simplicity, was going on without being noticed. Micheline had thrown herself
with a burst of tenderness into her mother's arms. Serge was deeply affected by
the young girl's affection for him, when a trembling hand touched his arm. He
turned round. Jeanne de Cernay was before him, pale and wan; her eyes sunken
into her head like two black nails, and her lips tightened by a violent
contraction. The Prince stood thunderstruck at the sight of her. He looked
around him. Nobody was observing him. Pierre was beside Marechal, who was
whispering those words which only true friends can find in the sad hours of
life. Madame Desvarennes was holding Micheline in her arms. Serge approached
Mademoiselle de Cernay. Jeanne still fixed on him the same menacing look. He was
afraid.
"Take care!" he said.
"Of what?" asked the young girl, with a troubled voice. "What have I to fear
now?"
"What do you wish?" resumed Panine, with old firmness, and with a gesture of
impatience.
"I wish to speak with you immediately."
"You see that is impossible."
"I must."
Cayrol and Herzog approached. Serge smiled at Jeanne with a sign of the head
which meant "Yes." The young girl turned away in silence, awaiting the
fulfilment of the promise made.
Cayrol took her by the hand with tender familiarity.
"What were you saying to the happy man who has gained the object of his
dreams, Mademoiselle? It is not to him you must speak, but to me, to give me
hope. The moment is propitious; it is the day for betrothals. You know how much
I love you; do me the favor of no longer repulsing me as you have done hitherto!
If you would be kind, how charming it would be to celebrate the two weddings on
the same day. One church, one ceremony, one splendid feast would unite two happy
couples. Is there nothing in this picture to entice you?"
"I am not easily enticed, as you know," said Jeanne, in a firm voice, trying
to smile.
Micheline and Madame Desvarennes had drawn near.
"Come, Cayrol," said Serge, in a tone of command; "I am happy to-day; perhaps
I may succeed in your behalf as I have done in my own. Let me plead your cause
with Mademoiselle de Cernay?"
"With all my heart. I need an eloquent pleader," sighed the banker, shaking
his head sadly.
"And you, Mademoiselle, will you submit to the trial?" asked the Prince,
turning toward Jeanne. "We have always been good friends, and I shall be almost
a brother to you. This gives me some right over your mind and heart, it seems to
me. Do you authorize me to exercise it?"
"As you like, sir," answered Jeanne, coldly. "The attempt is novel. Who
knows? Perhaps it will succeed!"
"May Heaven grant it," said Cayrol. Then, approaching Panine:
"Ah! dear Prince, what gratitude I shall owe you! You know," added he in a
whisper, "if you need a few thousand louis for wedding presents—"
"Go, go, corrupter!" replied Serge, with the same forced gayety; "you are
flashing your money in front of us. You see it is not invincible, as you are
obliged to have recourse to my feeble talents. But know that I am working for
glory."
And turning toward Madame Desvarennes he added: "I only ask a quarter of an
hour."
"Don't defend yourself too much," said Micheline in her companion's ear, and
giving her a tender kiss which the latter did not return.
"Come with me," said Micheline to Pierre, offering him her arm; "I want to
belong to you alone while Serge is pleading with Jeanne. I will be your sister
as formerly. If you only knew how I love you!"
The large French window which led to the garden had just been opened by
Marechal, and the mild odors of a lovely spring night perfumed the drawing-room.
They all went out on the lawn. Thousands of stars were twinkling in the sky, and
the eyes of Micheline and Pierre were lifted toward the dark blue heavens
seeking vaguely for the star which presided over their destiny. She, to know
whether her life would be the long poem of love of which she dreamed; he, to ask
whether glory, that exacting mistress for whom he had made so many sacrifices,
would at least comfort him for his lost love.