Home Page
Louisiana Anthology

Charles Testut.
Steven Rowan, translator.
The Mysteries of New Orleans, volume 3.

Translation © Steven Rowan.
Used by permission.
All rights reserved.






The Mysteries

of

New Orleans


BY

Charles Testut


Volume 3





New Orleans

Press of
A. Gaux and L. Dutuit,
publishers

112 rue de Chartres,
on the
First [=second] Floor

1852




Ex libris G. Cusachs




TABLE OF CONTENTS


  1. Sorbets and Cakes
  2. Where the author must return to his Sheep
  3. Historical
  4. Mélanie
  5. Where we see one of our Characters again
  6. Monsieur Bonaventure and Monsieur Firmament
  7. Lynch Law
  8. Or a broken Thread is renewed
  9. How Finot-Bonaventure kept his vow
  10. Following the previous where the reader shall perhaps be surprised.
  11. Continuing the previous, or The Good Adventure
  12. Return to New Orleans
  13. A Duel under Gaslight
  14. On the rue Poydras
  15. In the rue Bourbon
  16. On the rue Sainte Claude
  17. Where one will see another means of correspondence used in “Spiritual Manifestations”
  18. First news of Bonaventure
  19. A Reconciliation
  20. Faith Moves Mountains.
  21. Mysteries on Mysteries.
  22. Where it continues to be proved that the results of “Spiritual Manifestations” are always moral, useful, serious and good.
  23. Where the eccentric Adventures of Mélanie since her kidnapping near San Francisco are told.





I

Sorbets and Cakes



[Mysteries of New Orleans, vol. 3, first 8 pages lost.]

…[sor]bets and cakes, you can bravely choose from the virgins that have fascinated your gaze…

Six months after that marriage — let’s say twelve, fifteen, twenty-eight, if you wish … — indifference, repulsion, even disgust, take the place of some frivolous hours, and then there comes, for the woman, depression, abandonment, torment; or for the man, all the humiliating companions of the minotaur! And look at how you see great ladies getting in their coaches when they have recognized that he is doing better than their husband, visiting the unnamable houses to grow numb and … take pleasure because they are not happy, or many things as ignoble, such as selling yourself decently and quite dearly to enjoy an indispensible luxury … which does not prevent wearing silk, plumes and lace, so as to mount a carriage of silver or gilded copper.

Once again, this is the chief cause of a thousand more or less well-hidden scandals, and no more in Paris than in Rome, or in New Orleans than in Peking, but everywhere, more or less.

So, at the end of some weeks, Julien married the most beautiful girl in Paris, who also had the advantage of not being Parisian. What a crowd there was to see her enter the church and depart from it, was curious to see, although the ceremony was not particularly rich. There was almost indecent applause, too many signs of admiration. Julien, in place of being humiliated or shocked by this, did not feel at ease and raised his hopes for a rent higher than the hundred thousand livres with which he had endowed his wife. So far as she was concerned, several times she raised her head and looked about to find the cause of the murmurs that accompanied her, and each time her beautiful face shone on the vulgar ones that surrounded her, there was an almost overwhelming crescendo which she did not understand at all.

During the first few days of their union, Marie could think herself loved, and it was understandable, since she was so miraculous beautiful. But experience quickly grew in the skill of matrimony, as did the growing chilliness of her ardent spouse, a chilliness as sudden as the fall of the sun in the tropics, that struck her saddened heart.

Marie had lost her father and mother some years before, but, in the place of what these titles have in holiness, she had found, one could almost say something better, in one sense, and it was this: it was an uncle on her mother’s side, but the best of uncles, easy and good, indulgent and generous to a fault. The good man would have cut off a finger to provide a charm for his pretty niece. He was rich, which does not hurt — on the contrary! Every time the young girl had to make some complaint, some request, some secret to tell, it was to this fine man that she went, and she always returned satisfied. Julien barely knew him, since he rarely went to his relatives, where Marie had been received after the death of her own.

A week had passed without making a great difference in the sad situation of the young spouse, who had the misfortune, in these circumstances, of loving her husband. Only, on the last day of this second week, Julien returned to his wife, so as to make an excuse for his singular conduct, The next day he came to her and presented her with a cavalier of good appearance, one of his friends, he said, and he prayed his wife to receive him pleasantly. She then did not see what he wished to have, an act of politeness, and, being a well-raised woman, she was charming, which was the least she could do, with the smallest intention of being amiable! Only she found that this gentleman looked at her a great deal, and sometimes rather oddly. This observation was brief; soon she thought nothing of it.

The unknown man departed with Julien.

— “Well?” he said.

— “Admirable, my dear,” the financier responded, raising his right arm to the sky “… Everything beautiful in the world! Eight hours on my property with this houri, and at once my property is yours!”

— “When is the attack?” Julien said.

— “Tomorrow! Starting tomorrow!” the financier said. “But she is so beautiful that I am afraid of being a beast… I who always have a strong head!”

— “You know the chief condition, Monsieur Cossudor,” the husband said… “She must never know that I am your accomplice in this conquest. There are only so many men who have privileges!”

— “That’s certainly understood, sure! You, tomorrow, you will be going to Bercy, correct?”

— “There or someplace else; I will not bother you.”

— “Great,” Cossudor responded.

After which he mounted a rich, elegant phaeton that departed with the elongated trot of a racehorse.

The next day at eleven o’clock in the morning, Cossudor arrived at the home of his friend Julien … who was absent. He only found Marie there, who was quite surprised at this prompt visit, received him indifferently.

— “My husband is absent,” she told him…

— “What significance does that have?” he responded … “we can talk more easily.”

Marie sensed a blush rising in her face. This impertinence surprised her so that she did not find an immediate response. This silence, interpreted in a sense positive for him, made Cossudor at once braver. “We should not delay getting to know one another” he thought… And he sought a phrase that was spiritual and explicit. Marie tortured him with her beauty, and all he could come up with was this banality:

— “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”

What do you respond to such vapidities?

Marie no longer knew how to react to the visit and words of the financier.

— “Oh!” went the banker… “I do not exaggerate! What a wonderful figure! What an enchanting face!”

The millionaire grew heated. He moved his couch next to that which held the young woman.

She looked at him in such a manner, with such shock, that he sensed ice falling on the brilliant words he was about to speak.

— “Do you love the countryside, Madame?” he finally asked, so as not to remain mute, and to return via a detour to the place he had lost.

— “Very much, Monsieur,” she responded, rather coldly.

— “Some leagues from here I have a charming villa where there are waters, woods … a delicious life…”

— “That’s very nice…”

— “Particularly at this moment, when the city is dull and sad…”

Then, suddenly making a major decision:

— “Keep in mind,” he said, “I am a solid man; I do not know how to search for a thousand detours. Would you permit me to invite you to pass some days at my villa?”

Marie did not respond immediately. Cossudor was as if on pins and needles.

The surprise, the incertitude of the role that this man played, his daring, which perhaps derived from eccentricity, perhaps something else, or simply a drunken pressure to excess; all of this meant that the woman barely knew how to respond.

— “But,” she finally said, “there are two obstacles to accepting this invitation: first of all, I would have to talk to my husband; secondly, I do not have the honor of knowing your wife.”

— “Oh!” Cossudor said, who believed he saw in these two obstacles futile pretexts used by the young woman not to accept outright, “I wish to set you at ease. For your husband, I will obtain his consent; so far as my wife goes, it would be difficult to introduce her to you, seeing that I have none.”

— “Truly, Monsieur,” Marie responded, who was beginning to pierce the dark parts of this conversation, “I go from surprise to surprise. It seems that your visit, which is so extraordinary, has a motive you are not mentioning. If I am not wrong, you are trying to hide it.”

“Devil!” the financier thought, “Here I am at the foot of the wall; I must either leap over it or remain here … go for broke!”

He approached the young woman, looked at her close up, with the effrontery of a man who had a well-stuffed safe, and spoke to her in a low voice over several minutes.

During these minutes of stupefaction, Julien’s wife grew pale, then red, then white. She passed from shock to fury, then from fury to shame, and from shame to hatred.

When Cossudor was finished, without her interrupting with a single word, she rose up, cold and majestic, went to the door, which she opened herself with the greatest calm, and, with a gesture of untranslatable authority, she showed him the way he should take outside.

The financier wanted to speak, but he was unable to find a word. The young woman imposed on him in such a way that he was overcome, mute, obliterated. He took his hat, his gold-headed cane, and departed without salute.

As soon as he had gone, Marie collapsed in tears. But a sudden thought crossed her heart. She dried her beautiful eyes, fiercely took her hat, and, dressing herself in haste, she departed …

She took herself to the good uncle of whom we have spoken.

When Marie entered his room, the good man was occupied with doing his accounts.

— “And eight makes eighty-eight,” he said in a loud voice.

— “Good day my dear good uncle!” the young woman cried out, crossing the salon … How happy I am to find you!”

The dignified man let his pen fall, quickly raised his spectacles, turned his seat and opened his arms to the beautiful weeping girl who fell into them.

When the first cry had dissipated a bit, Marie told her uncle what had occurred since her marriage, finally describing the scene that had just taken place.

The simple, fine figure of the good man was covered with sympathetic wrinkles as his niece’s account clarified each position in this mysterious piece.

— “Listen,” he said, after several minutes of reflection, taking in his hands those of his beautiful niece, “Before tracing to you the line of conduct that you have to hold, I need to go out and get certain important information. This will be done here this evening. This evening I will come to you at the hour when your husband is not home. You already know what it is about, and I will describe to you the route you have to follow and what the position is that you will have to find.”

— “Go,” he said to her at the end of some moments, conducting her back to the door. “You see that I will be going, from my side.”

— “You know,” he added, “what I was calculating when you came in! I was making the account of my savings for the last year: eighty-eight thousand francs! Dear Marie, and there will be more gained this year. That will bring me the impractical sum of one hundred seventy-five thousands! It is necessary for you to help me spend it…”

The young woman smiled without attaching great importance to these last words, embraced her uncle, and parted almost consoled.

That evening she saw him return, faithful to his promise, and he went to her with his usual seriousness.

The forehead of the good man showed worry. The good smile usually on his lips had disappeared, and his eyebrows were low, testifying to great irritation or profound preoccupation.

— “You frighten me, my good uncle!” the young woman told him. “I have never seen you so angry and somber…”

— “There is something, my dear child… But when a misfortune has come, if possible, it needs to be repaired, or to overcome the pain received, finally to reshape the future, and not to wallow in pain nor to dwell only on the past.”

— “Then you have truly terrible things to tell me?”

— “Terrible … perhaps, but certainly very disgraceful!… And now, tell me, but as you would to a confessor … do you love your husband?”

— “Yes!” the young woman responded.

— “That is really unfortunate!… If you did not love him, this would be a minor matter. Finally, what is … is! Sit down there and let’s talk.”

The good man passed the end of his finger over his eyes, placed his cane in a corner and his hat on a cabinet, then, after having absorbed time through these small maneuvers to compose himself to render a sage decision, he went to sit beside his niece and said to her:

— “My child, your husband is an infamous person, and again I use the word ‘infamous’ because I do not know a stronger word.”

Marie looked at her uncle with big crazed eyes, as if seeing a thief taken red-handed…

— “You may open your big eyes, my child,” her uncle said, “and above all be brave, for I have not finished! Your husband has never loved you, does not love you now, and probably will never love you. Taking a poor woman when one has ambitions to have something, and one is neither elderly nor infirm, proves that there is love. With an honest man, the proof is logic, but there is no logic with a dishonest one. Do you know why Julien married you?”

Marie looked at her uncle but did not respond.

— “To sell you!” he said… “yes, to sell you! I insist specifically on this word. I press this instrument into the wound on purpose, first of all to cauterize it, so that it will heal more quickly. Note everything as you foresaw it: Julien searched for a woman of extraordinary beauty, and he found that in you. It was a double happiness for him that your parents had left you nothing, and they could not suspect him for his interest. All that he allowed others to believe was his powerful passion. Julien is a man who believes in nothing, and as a result, he had no doubt about the success that would come from your beauty, that is the gold and the luxury that he could win from you by giving you to rich lovers! You see clearly that when I say that the word ‘infamous’ is too soft, I do not exaggerate!

“My dear child!” the good uncle said, his eyes moist and his voice trembling, “You see these lovely things after three and four weeks of marriage, right? It has been a long time since I passed sixty, and for sure, during this long existence, I have never seen the like. I heard all of it said. And you, not yet nineteen, you know it by experience…

“It is fine, have courage. I am here!”

Marie’s uncle expected tears and sobs. Perhaps, if the matter had been less strong, the infamy smaller, the young woman would have found nothing but tears, but all the excess led to excess. Indignation over her spouse imposed itself on the woman’s sensibility; the reaction was prompt and energetic…

— “Go ahead, dear uncle,” she said, I am too fierce to feel grief. Hatred has killed all my pain. I will leave this man, and that’s it.”

— “Not at all, my fine little niece!” her second father said, “it is not necessary to leave your husband. You must remain an honest woman to the end. Victory always goes to the honesty that knows how to wait. But permit me to continue, and then you will permit me to show step by step the line of conduct that I shall trace for you.

“So, Julien, by marrying you, wished to enjoy a rich revenue through your beauty, persuaded that he would abandon you little by little, and that you would support yourself on lovers — that you would not take as such, until the end — and that you would finish by consoling yourself with them, and that, from these consolations, riches and a splendid existence would flow to him. You would profit as a consequence, either knowing or not knowing the source of this prosperity. There it is.

“Now, do you wish (or not wish) to listen to your uncle and follow his advice without discussing it? I am an honest man, and I love you, therefore I will not lead you on the wrong path…”

For her entire response, the young woman threw herself into the arms of the old nobleman:

— “Everything that you command I will do, my good father!”

— “Well, you may begin by taking this little packet of banknotes, and tomorrow, when you are alone, you are to pay the domestics’ wages for six months; you will also pay rent for six months to the property owner, after which you will pay off the accounts that have been delivered to you by various suppliers, always in Julien’s absence, and, if he happens later to find that all the payments have been made, by you, whom he thought had nothing, you are simply to say, ‘I have paid them.’ He will ask nothing more; only later, he will ask to borrow money from you, which we will easily provide.”

— “But,” Julien’s wife asked, “my husband is broke? Is everything true as you say, uncle?”

— “Yes, my child, not including what I don’t know. Recently, after having dissipated his substance in twenty years of ease, he has become a leader of industry, has found dupes, as such men almost always find them, and he was able to appear to have a position that he did not have. From outside, he played the role well, but one day, trouble surfaced, and comedy was not longer possible. Your husband is a lost man whom only a miracle can resuscitate. Chance will perhaps bring this miracle. You have done nothing but your duty, and, as a moral writer has said, ‘The duty of an honest woman who has a bad husband is to live with him in patience rather than leaving him, as the duty of a Christian who suffers is to live with the suffering rather than put an end to it by suicide.’

“I will be your banker so far as will be necessary,” the good uncle declared. “Only it is necessary for you to have an incredible courage of letting Julien believe that the money comes from the source he thinks it is. For him, I am outside of all of it. When he sees that success is so easy, he will not ask more questions. He will be persuaded that you have earned it, and that you are acting according to his plan, and we will allow things to go on, until there is a circumstance — which times cannot help but provide — that permits us to end it in some manner or other.

“There are those who create conspiracies with evil ends; we are making one for a good end,” the decent man observed: “we will see if it is true that Providence is ever on the right side…”

After some special recommendations, among which was that of arranging a separate room, and to be silent about the result of Cossador’s visit, the uncle departed calmer, leaving the young woman to the thoughts of such a sad experience of life.

Julien only returned at the end of two days. He had gambled, and the gambling had been in his favor. Also, like all those who only believe in money, and who, as a result, are his inferior, bear their heads high and use a peculiar language.

— “I did rather good business,” he said to his wife on entering; I had a bad piece of land about twenty leagues from here, and I got rid of it to my advantage. This little transaction took me two days…

“Concerning which,” he added, “I have to give some wages to our people: that is the most important thing to maintain us on a good footing.”

— “I believe that would be pointless,” Marie said — who could not help but blush at the memory of what her uncle had revealed to her — “The domestics have received wages for six months.”

— “From you?” said Julien…

— “From me,” Marie replied.

— “Then let’s go,” the unhappy man thought, “she cut it short!”

— “The house rent has been paid for the same period,” the young woman added.

After a pause:

— “The friend that I presented to you, has he returned … to see me?” Julien demanded, turning around, as if expecting some new object.

— “Ah! ah…” the husband murmured, who did not yet dare to approach the subject directly, despite his cynicism.

This “Ah, ah,” was as if to say, “Let’s get to the point; it is necessary to actually break the ice.”

Julien went to his wife and extended his head to embrace her. She coldly offered her forehead; then, when he announced that he was going to change clothes, she showed him a room that was not his usual place, telling him that his bed and his clothes were there.

— “Well!” he said, “you have done it like they do in the larger world, each his own home…”

— “Yes,” she responded, “I found that more suitable.”

And she accompanied these two words with a look that Julien interpreted as indicating his wife’s intention,

Shocked at the last point, he entered the new room without adding a word.

— “Devil!” he said to himself, “one accepted the agreement, but with conditions. I have really been placed to the side, and one will finance it. This is not absolutely what I intended, but it is still good that way. It is perhaps better than otherwise, in the last account: freedom and riches!”

And at that, Julien changed clothes.

When he returned to the salon, his wife had departed. He asked where she had gone, and since she had spoken to no one, no one could tell him.

He sat down and thought…

—“Let’s see her room,” he said.

Since she had decorated Julien’s sleeping room with furniture that had been shared when there was only one for the two of them, she had to have new for herself. They were reflected exquisite taste and delicate choice. Nothing said to the eyes that this was the room of an easy woman who had made an immoral, not to say ignoble, pact. On the contrary, everything there breathed something of honesty, almost of a virgin. At the head of the bed, white and soft, a single pillow, decorated in lace and exhaling a soft scent, was raised above the chastely closed covers. A pretty dressing table, a mahogany commode with a real mirror, a round table with a pretty shaded lamp; on this table were books that do not exceed the light genre; on the parquet, a small strip carpet, embroidered with flowers in a pale color; on the windows, screens of white muslin in large frames, glittering against rods of gilded wood; some fantasy pictures, hung on tapestry walls, representing moral subjects of intimate conduct, such as The Procession of the Poor, where you see a sad poodle, alone, following through wind and rain a more than modest hearse with neither plumes nor ribbons, driven by an old coach-driver whose worn clothing is already black, drawn by a consumptive quadruped with thinned flanks, bony sides, ears lowered, hair worn. — This brings tears to those who gaze at it with the eyes of the soul. — The bad member of the Family, an admirable portrayal of the misery of five persons due to the misconduct of the father alone. The Departure: It is a young village girl, pretty and stooped, her eye full of desires, with a brisk stride. — She is abandoning the paternal hearth to fly to Paris, the great city, where reveries of luxury and opulence call her… In a corner of the picture, you see the old grandmother with white hair on her bent back, holding on her trembling knees the last-born of her daughter; not far from her, the eldest of the young family, a robust worker of eighteen, shades his eyes with his right hand, these eyes stupefied and wet, asking in his naïve love of the paternal hearth why his young sister wishes to leave her people and country… Here and there, the little children, separated from one another by some twelve months, one occupying a mother’s skirt, another spoons his meal, this girl has a broom, that one a fixed spindle … staring, with a heavy air, at the lovely clothes of her big sister on a day that is not Sunday … while in the background, hidden in the half-shadow, stand the boat and the sailor … who wait for her. — You shift your gaze — the young girl is not there, she has gone away! — Next there is The Return: — She is no longer neat and confident, the poor girl! Neither her breasts nor her legs appear under a dress of worn black. A long stick is in her right hand, her left hand is crossed over her chest to cover a bad tear. Her head is uncovered and her hair dry. Bad shoes try to protect her tired feet. Her figure, still young, is bent … her thin cheeks have sad furrows: easy pleasures and bitter tears… — It is a distressing scene — All the family has aged by several years. The old grandmother has lost her sight; the little children have grown … but the cottage is always quiet: bad passions have not penetrated there. — When the poor girl places a timid foot on the peaceful threshold that she had left almost joyfully, the mother ceases spinning; the father, who has risen, neither rejects nor accuses his child: his two arms open, but lowered, appear to say that there is always a place at the hearth, but that it is no longer what it had once been!

These are the pictures that Julien saw in his wife’s room.

Following these painted dramas that he had before him like an amateur artist, he whistled a little tune from Zampa. His hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, a smile on his lips, he appeared to personify the opposite of poetry.

— “look, what here is gay?… In place of pictures of hunting or gastronomy, barking dogs and fine suppers; a gambling scene or a race on the Champ-de-Mars … even lacking a little cleverness, like a gust of wind up skirts, a panic among bathing women surprised by a storm, the fall of an amazone during a steeplechase, etcetera…”

On turning around, Julien noticed a pretty secretary in inlaid mahogany. An idea ran through his head:

— “It is really too bad,” he said to himself, responding to a thought, “that I do not have a key! I would really like to look in there…”

And he approached the item of furniture.

— “Very well shut!” he added, “but if it happens that there is one to open it among my little keys…”

He did not succeed, returned to his room and returned with a collection worthy of a jailer of Lilliput.

He tried one key, two keys, three, six, ten … none of them worked; impatience began to seize him… He continued nevertheless. Finally, which often happens when you search for something you need, and you don’t find it so that you despair, dropping your hands — the last key opened the secretary as if it were expressly made for it!

Then he began searching everything, but with order and intelligence, returning everything to its place. In a small drawer he found many banknotes, the remnant of what the generous uncle had given to Marie.

— “This is going well!” he said, shuffling the silky papers, better and faster than he had expected…

Then he returned each object to its place, closed the piece of furniture, and left.

The first person Julien went to was Charles.

Since their marriage, the two friends had not seen one another; Charles, as often happens, had let Julien know that he had avoided continuing their relations due to Julien’s principles.

This particular day, their reunion was unplanned, and they could not avoid it.

— “Well,” Julien said first, “Monsieur morality, you have not yet departed for far away?”

— “Yes,” Charles responded, “departed and returned alone, several days ago. I left my wife in the country to arrange a rather difficult business that has given me a great deal of trouble.”

— “Ah, ah,” Julien said, “and perhaps as a result you were delayed…”

— “Yes, by my faith; but there was no danger in the delay, as shysters say, in their peculiar language.”

— “In my case,” said Julien, placing his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and balancing on his heels, “I will be a millionaire soon if it continues. If you want some money…”

— “Thanks,” Charles responded, making a negative sign with his head.

At this moment, they had arrived on the boulevard du Temple, at the top of the Jardin Turc, situated opposite the place where Fieschi’s bomb killed Marshal Mortier.

A semi-luxurious carriage arrived across the street. It was seen to contain only two persons, an old man and a young woman.

— “Look,” Charles said to Julien, “would you believe there was another woman of such beauty? They would stand in the bushes to see her pass…”

And he pointed out the carriage mentioned.

Julien smiled and did not respond.

“I would not wish to be either the lover or the husband of this woman,” he added, “this would be a life of torments! This is the third time I have seen her, and each time it is the same crowd to watch her… It is like an emperor or someone condemned to death.”

— “Bah!” said Julien, “a woman is only a woman…”

— “Yes … and if she permitted you to touch her hand, perhaps you would not say with such disdain, ‘A woman is only a woman!’”

— “you believe … oh well, look at the distance that exists between my disdaining indifference and your novelistic beliefs; you would be afraid of that woman because she has large eyes, a small mouth, beautiful hair, a perfect body, in total a bunch of silliness, and me, I care for her like any other, so far as she is concerned.”

— “Do you know her, by chance?”

— “A little.”

— “Have you spoken with her?”

— “Several times.”

— “Did you meet her in a theater; have you touched her at a ball, in a dance?”

— “Better than that!”

— “Then she invited you to a promenade, and, in your pride, you disdain her … like de Lafontaine’s Renard disdaining the grapes!”

— “I will kill you in three words: She’s my wife!”

Charles stood for some seconds without responding.

— “Poor woman!” he finally said…

— “Bah! You believe … that she is happy as a fish in water … and me, too.”

— “I do not dare to ask how happy you are. If it is in the manner that you have spoke to me, remain there, I beg of you.”

— “I have plenty of money and no cares. That is how happy I am. And you?”

— “Me, I have cares and little money: despite that, or perhaps for that reason, I am the most happy of men: I love and am loved.”

— “Like the refrain of the romance,” said Julien, laughing rather loudly.

— “But with whom was she, your wife, in the carriage?”

— “By my faith, I don’t know! Not at all … and I am not concerned about it,” the man responded, “without prejudices,” twirling his walking stick.

In the carriage, there was a different conversation:

— “Oh yes,” Marie’s uncle said, “it is necessary that I speak of a rather delicate matter, and one that might seem extraordinary if one does not understand the motives. Have you ever reflect on this, my dear child: I am rich; I love you as if I were your father, at least, and you married without a dowry?…”

— “But no, my uncle, I never thought about that.”

— “Listen to me. For reasons that you have no reason to know, your father and I did not always live in fraternal friendship. Richer than me at one time, he had lost everything … essentially by his own fault. I then sought to return to him and had offered to share my wealth with him. But he had an intractable character, more than proud. He rejected me. When he was dead, he had designated the place where you were to retire until your marriage. If your mother had remained for you, things would have happened differently. You saw me rarely in your new family: the trusteeship was well executed. For me, you could not be free without being married. To provide a dowry, such as under seal, was easy, but I had other ideas. I wanted that someone would take you for yourself, and the best means would be to let you marry poor. There was always time to enrich you, you two, your husband and you, or at least to give you a good ease.

“It was reasonable, correct? Or one could not find a surer means of happiness for you: a loved woman, a home in ease forever… Oh well, you see that the wisest calculations of men are broken by the accidents and exceptions impossible to foresee, even to make up.

“But as I have already said to you, let’s let things happen, preserving bad appearances and making them good. This comedy is more praiseworthy than blamable, adding that it has as a goal to remain in honesty … if at the end of a certain time, this situation is no longer the solution, one would have no reproaches to employ major means.

“Behold, deal child, how and why it is that, although I was rich, you married poor.”

— “I do not know,” Marie said, “if contempt can kill love with one blow in a woman’s heart, but I swear to you, my uncle, that, for several days, there has been such a change in me that, today, I no longer love Julien, but even the sight of him repels and irritates me, I will say even disgusts me. and it is necessary that it is you who demands that I live this way through a more or less long time, for me to consent to it.”

— “I have a presentiment, my dear child, that the advice I give you will produce good results. And besides, let me see what resolution the times, aided by events, will leave this singular, sad play in which misfortune has wished you to play one of the principal roles.”

— “We will see,” the young woman responded.

At this moment they arrived at the old man’s door. He got off at his home, and Marie went on foot back to her home.

On entering, she found a letter addressed to her. She opened it and read:

To the most beautiful creature in the world:

I am writing to you, utterly charming lady, to excuse myself somewhat for the perhaps too cavalier fashion in which I proposed a nice party at my villa. I have two qualities that well excuse my faults toward women: I am discrete and generous. You know, rich men, particularly those who are involved in business, are in the habit of going fast in everything; this is often a fault, as I was able to see the other day at your home. If you would pardon my clumsiness, then, and permit me to hope that we will meet soon. Since the moment you showed me to the door — that is the word — I do not know what I did; I barely know what it is I said. I would never have believed that of a man such as me… It is true that I have never seen such a woman as you! Finally, it is to the point where I can no longer be involved in business, and it even seems to me that I grow thinner.

You see that I am not hiding my position and the ravages you are causing. In business, it is unwise to state that; one grants a great advantage against oneself. But too bad!… I am totally dedicated; there is no sacrifice I would not be ready to perform to have the happiness I ask from you. I assure you that I have never said, nor ever written, anything of this sort! I am no longer where I was. If this situation continues for long, I will endure enormous losses in my business, for what passes for a strong mind and a great commercial intelligence!

Respond to me, even if it is only a single line. Without it I would be capable of an assault on your home. I am not signing this letter, and further, don’t sign your response if you find it more prudent.

Without even removing her shawl and hat, the young woman went to her secretary and wrote these few words, sending them immediately by the messenger who was waiting downstairs:

It is not useful that Monsieur —— should be upset. He will not be received.

The next day, during the course of the day, Julien returned home. This time, he did not hold up his head as a peacock shows his tail. His face was dark, somber; he spoke little and in a low tone. Since he had been so proud and handsome from having won at gambling, it would be supposed that this time he had lost, and that he had suddenly become humble and depressed.

The episode that we are about to tell is related, as we shall soon see, to the principal narrative, which we are cutting on purpose. Just as this is only an episode — what could be called a long parenthesis — we will proceed rapidly, omitting a thousand small details, and not trying to explain this exceptional act, really not that exceptional, of which there is nothing similar anywhere, saving, with good intentions, the good conduct of the woman we place in the scene.

The reader shall doubtless already have divined who this Marie is, who, as we have said, has another name.

The current episode is only the explanation that we promised earlier concerning a feminine characteristic that might seem rather unique, because it was not explained. When this episode is over, light shall be shed on some obscure points, and certain gaps shall be filled. We will end it differently from the way it was begun, by just telling the story without placing the persons themselves into scenes of dialogue.

For several months, things followed the course that we already know. The roles were well distributed, well formed and well played.

On the first level, Julien and Marie; on the second, the young woman’s uncle.

Julien, sometimes happy, sometimes despairing, always having something to do with gambling and money, had lost his constant skeptical nature, but without also losing the bad consequences. A week did not pass when he did not need money, and each time his wife would give it to him, without any further explanation. The uncle, on the second level where he was placed, only had to turn his hand in order to pass to his niece the sums that she was thought to be finding elsewhere.

Gambling, with its burning torches, had awakened Julien from his moral torpor. Under the restraint of thousands upon thousands of contrary emotions, performing the office of successive galvanic shocks, some passions were awakened in him. On winning days, he recovered that communicative joy that he loved to spread around himself as he floated in satisfaction. If he had had time to study, he would perhaps have seen that he still had some fibers in his heart. At those moments, he felt like a flood of hot lava on seeing the soft face of a woman. His thought, almost despite itself, turned toward the woman he had sold, was still selling, and that he was condemned to sell forever … Then he returned again to the poison, his temporary seduction, to gambling to forget the present, and, like a fool who searches for pearls at the bottom of a puddle, he dived with rage, returning to the surface of the water when the lack of air began to throttle him.

Some months passed in this way.

An intelligent and interested observer, the uncle saw, and perhaps sensed, the approach of some sort of crisis.

Marie waited, cold in appearance and resigned. No incident came again to break the cruel monotony of her role.

Often Julien had recourse to his key to open the secretary where he had found banknotes while searching. He never saw money missing. All the expenses of the house were precisely paid. No creditor tormented Julien, for the simple reason that he had no need to cover his debts. He only had one occupation, which was to gamble to win, to gamble to lose, and, increasingly, to gamble to grow numb.

Julien had no more emotions except in front of green cloth. These emotions were pains, and, outside that place, he had nothing but pain. His god, gold, rather than fill the cavities of his ambition, did nothing but dig them deeper by falling without cease, never getting out. A new Tantalus, we was dying of thirst, and the spring to which he resorted offered him nothing but a drink of fire that only increased the scorching in his gullet.

But he had no waking without rest, no excess without reaction, no slow suicides without remorse, without occasionally having to express the instinct of conservation.

From time to time, Julien called a halt to this forced march that was pushing him, like another Wandering Jew, over mountains and valleys, along routes burning from orgy and gambling. Then, after passing hours for which the vain vapors of all his being evaporated, leaving him almost soulless, the thought germinated in himself and gradually grew lucid, because nature, whose charity cannot be denied, always calmed him in his strength, troubled by excessive ardors.

Then he also reflected.

And when he returned home, he resembled a supplicant who had obtained a pardon at the foot of the scaffold, and who, returning to his prison, returned with a shred of hope, with the perspective of having at least a few hours of tranquility.

If his wife were there, he looked at her, barely daring to address a word to her. This calm and beautiful face, this resigned and tranquil gaze, this resigned and tranquil walk, but fierce as a secret martyr, imposed on him … to him debauchery, to him the merchant of the most sacred thing in the world, to him the pillager of houses without decency, blustering and infidel, parasite of what should nourish bread, love and respect……

If his wife were absent when he arrived, for him it was a relief and at the same time a pain. He came and went within the house, unquiet and tormented, without knowing why. From his place to her place, from there to the salon, and back again, he resembled a man who was visiting a rental property to negotiate the price of moving there. Sometimes, like a commissioner-appraiser, he inventoried Marie’s sleeping room. He looked at everything and touched everything, the tables, the bed, the clothing, like a child searching for a needle in a haystack … or like a lover who searches everything in nothing or nothing in everything. When he had enough of roads, marching and counter-marching, he wandered without direction, going here and there at hazard, and always happened on some interesting situation where found something to numb himself, to roll among the habitual dives, where his shipwrecked reason no longer permitted him to see the riverside, on which he began to ponder the lighthouse of his regrets.

This route only had three ends: dishonor, rehabilitation or death in the flower of the age by suicide or tuberculosis…

Dishonor, for weak characters who, lacking money, and by this halted on their path of seduction, passed through all the ways of vice from theft to gambling, besides trying twenty other ways, to the hour when all is discovered;

Rehabilitation for those to whom the excess of evil leads at the end to disgust for evil: they are the braggarts of vice, among whom there remains a place spared, and who, one fine day, react through some fortuitous cause, turning their eyes away from the pit in which they were rolling without consciousness of being trapped, like a ship that is foundering, they are seized by seasickness.

Death by suicide, for those who, degraded or still prideful — or cowards — do not wish, or do not dare read the disgust that they will inspire on the faces of honest men; by tuberculosis, for physical organisms too weak to support the vigils and other excesses that vigils bring with them.

There is no other end beside these three.

Julien therefore marched inevitably toward one of these three points: two where Satan smiled, and the third, where the merciful arms of Providence opened.

Cossudor had returned, had been shown out, had returned again and had been chased away; then he had written, written letter after letter, made offer after offer, and increased money each time … and each time his letters were returned in the envelope without response.

Other rich men had tempted to seize the difficult position, abandoned by its natural defender. All had the same fate, but since money came in continually to the house, Julien thought everything was fine.

This went on in this way for a year, a year of widowhood and cruel tests for Marie; a year of storms, of despairs and near madness for Julien; of magnificent patience and sublime devotion on the part of the old uncle.

At the end of these twelve long months, Julien was no more recognizable. Gambling had not broken him, but he was disgusted of it. This monotone system: win, lose, get money from his wife, and always this fatal triangle, this annoying circle … it finished with him feeling cold, also annoyed, then disgusted, as we have said. What to do then? A sterile nature, arms incapable of work, a used-up head, an empty heart, he could not be anything but a parasitical beggar. He was weary.

Weary!… There perhaps cannot be a worse penalty in the world. To be weary is to drag behind oneself a sort of cold shroud; it is to love nothing and nobody and to be paid in return. It is to slip slowly and silently over the seconds, hours, months, years, encountering always the same thing at the same time, like the perpetual needle on the tick-tack of a balance, turning the circle of hours with desperate monotony; it is in heavy steps to drag a semi-inert body and a stupid face … to drink, to eat, to sleep, to go, to come, to respond without understanding, to plant oneself, like a vegetable, on a piece of land or, like a mushroom, on a rotting trunk; … it is a living death, a life full of death, a disgust of everything, a general impotence, the swelling of a mollusk, a stagnation of bad water, like an immobile island in the midst of a perpetually agitated flow…

Julien grew weary…

But after the excess of movement when he had found satiety, he could not rest long in the contrary excess. At the end of a period of lethargy, he began to look around himself. He returned, almost on his own, to life, just as, after a severe illness that had conquered nature, the body regenerates and appears to live with new emotions, with new blood, so to speak.

In looking around himself, he saw strange things that he had never noticed, of which he had ever even doubted, for the reason that, believing in nothing, he did not wish to perceive anything.

Little by little, he saw, as through a mist that the sun was dissipating, that life is not a negation, that there were pleasures alongside pains, consolations alongside suffering, happiness for those who wished to search for it, and knew how to make themselves worthy of it.

When he was initiated into these mysteries, which a believing and sensible soul sees by instinct, he cursed his first years… and those which had been made so empty for the future… He saw the paradise whose gates he had closed. The tardy regrets assailed him and cast melancholy over all his being, to the extent that he stripped himself of his skepticisms.

“Skepticism,” said one author, “is a fort raised by pride on the frontiers of science and ignorance.”

Julien wanted to change his conduct, but in what direction? He did not yet know. It was more stable and regular at his home. He ate there, he slept there, he saw his wife rather often, and the more he saw her, the shame of having pushed her into an infamous role that she had accepted — so he thought — grew in him different sentiment for which he could not account.

At this unexpected change, Marie turned her head, like a traveler in a dark wood who hears a human voice in the distance.

But this was not enough to return to honest habits; the infamous traffic did not have to continue longer. Only, how to stop it once it had been sent underway……… And besides, another problem even more difficult, by what resources could the household continue, since Julien, to use a common expression, had nothing to do?

There would be no rehabilitation possible except through work, whatever it might be … and the unhappy man had not expected this consolation and recovery in the laxly leasurely or dirtily brilliant existence that he had led up to then…

The conclusion of this domestic drama depended most of all, probably, on Julien’s moral courage … but moral courage is a hundred times rarer and more beautiful than physical courage, which is not, in most cases, more than pride.

—“I have departed the life I have led,” he said to Marie one day.

—“That would be something!” she responded.

And the conversation remained there.

Some days later, arising despite himself from some unknown charm or a hidden power:

— “I have things to say to you,” he addressed her without looking at her, “but I do not dare.”

—“Perhaps you are right to do that,” she said to him.

This word silenced him … and stunned him.

On the one hand, he sensed that he was too categorized for anyone to be able to believe a return to good on his part: on the other hand, it shocked him, and greatly, that his companion — after all — asserted the right to categorize him. In his eyes, she was more guilty than he, she who, barely removed from the virginal state, had accepted, without hesitation and without opposition, a role as a courtesan, and a legitimately married courtesan … double prostitution, double crime!

But he had the right to say all of that, he had the right, supported by the facts that were obvious to him, to excuse his ignominiousness, taking on the same line the part that his wife had taken there, he sensed — by something inexplicable — that Marie and he were at antipodes from one another.

There is nothing so intolerable as false positions, the unexplained current situation, the received ideas that exist in the spirit or in the heart…

If, in the place of this backward view, of these half-measures, of these fears and vague regrets, Julien had had the courage of the situation he had created, if he had caused himself to stand up for once, courageous and loyal, if he had dared to take on himself the punishment of the ignoble initiative he had taken, and to rise by repenting, lifting the weight that he thought he had imposed on his wife, and if he had asked for pardon for having taken her for a venal thing, for a woman of a seraglio to be sold, that one puts on the market, if he had made on this, let us say, some sweet, suave recompense, wouldn’t it be received for his courageous humility when his wife perhaps responded to him, “I am pure in intention and fact. See that I have what you believed to be the price of an infamous transaction: it was this old man, my uncle, who gave it to me!… I had chased away all those you believed to be my lovers … and, when you believed the reports of my beauty being for rent, I kept myself for your repentance and return!…”

But Julien did not have this courage.

After the two short phrases addressed by Julien to his wife, and the responses that we have seen, Julien became somber and taciturn; his humor became changeable and eccentric. Yet, elegiac and melancholic, he spoke softly and attentively, his eyes moist and his voice affected. At these moments, he showed in his minor concerns for Marie as if, by these manifestations, he was requesting pardon for the past. Still, even if he had taken part and he no longer stopped at nothing, it was an affected indifference, blustering about everything and concerning nothing, treating serious and sentimental matters with puns and facetious sayings. Within the space of forty-eight hours, he was day and night, sensible and braggart, humble and prideful, serious and comedian.

During this continual variation, Marie, poor Marie, did not know any more to whom to listen. As we have said of him at Julien’s first return, it was like an hour of surprise where a ray of hope would glimmer. Her native good will was again, at this moment, beneath the blows she had to endure, and despite what she had said of her love for Julien, perhaps this love was only lingering, but not dead. But Julien’s brusque alterations during these last times of which we speak threw her into an uncertainty that change little by little into desperation.

The position was sustained to a point where it was necessary that something had to break.

— “Marie,” Julien said one day to his wife — for a long time he had not addressed her this way — “If I had known what I know or if I had been what I was when I married you, I would be quite happy today.”

— “Couldn’t you explain yourself more clearly?” she responded to him.

There the unhappy man had an opportunity: once more freedom, the straight line… To say everything without restriction. But the straight line which, in everything as in geometry, is the shortest route between two points, is the route one takes the least often, because on this saving line one finds miserable human pride that does not wish to admit fault.

Julien again failed this opportunity…

— “Do you not know,” he responded, “what I want to say?”

— “Not clearly,” Marie responded, who perhaps wanted to push to a complete confession.

— “Then,” Julien said in a deliberate tone, “we will speak no further!”

And that was it.

Marie left and Julien remained alone in the house.

— “This life is insupportable!” he cried out… “This woman, I do not understand her… And I do not dare speak to her that at the end of story, she has very bad grace not to understand me, although she had even obeyed me without command! She had all the appearances of a virgin, and at the first sign she had followed the route of the courtesan to which I had pointed her… Oh well, this woman, I love right now!… and I do not dare say it, because I sold … like a Judas! — Oh! Charles has reason to have contempt for me; I have contempt for myself! But she! she!… This secretary is there … every time I have opened it, I found large sums! Every time I asked for money, she gave it to me. Doubt would be absurd! Women just play comedy better than men!… — Me, I am nothing but a drunkard, half a head… I wanted to deny everything, scoff at everything, walk proud and strong on the prejudiced (I said) and on the world’s beliefs… How did that turn out? Today I sense myself as turned toward the truth, and I resist. Am I mad? Like the tomb of Mohammed, I am suspended between the roof and the ground. Two lovers dispute over my being…

At this moment, Julien was near the secretary in his wife’s room. He opened it, plunging his arm at the place he knew, and he took some banknotes, one or two thousand francs. With a convulsive hand he shook them above his head:

— “Here they are!” he cried out, “here is what I worshipped and is killing me today. At present, the game is over … and I still profit! No!” he added forcefully, “no! I do not want more in this way, I do not want more at the price of the torments that pursue me.”

And he tore up the banknotes.

When he was done, he stopped…

— “I’ll go to the end!” he said.

He posed the shredded notes on the writing surface of the secretary, took something with which to write, and wrote these lines with a trembling hand:

Marie,

If I do not dare speak with you, I do dare write to you. Both of us are guilty, but I am guiltier than you. I beg of you, let us end this infamous pact that has led us to wealth: I will seek other means, but not a penny shall pass between us by this accursed route that I opened to you. I will seek work. I will borrow in expectation. For some time I shall not see you any more. We shall save ourselves in another land, and there, I shall become a different man. I tore up the accursed banknotes that I found in the furniture, to prove to us that I no longer wish more, either for you or for me, to come from this source… I do not rightly know what I want to write to you, my head is so full of stains and noise…

At this moment, the apartment bell sounded. Julien signed his letter, closed it, then he gathered together the torn banknotes in the place he had found them. He had hardly closed the secretary when the door opened, and a visit was announced.

In two steps he was in the salon.

Before him was an old man, still fresh, and with a sweet face. At the sight of Julien, this old man appeared to be embarrassed, but this embarrassment was not for long. For Julien, a bout of rage rose to his face, and he was the first to speak:

— “It was not me that Monsieur expected to find here!” he said, gnashing his teeth with visible bitterness.

— “No, Monsieur,” the stranger responded, without losing the affability of his face, “it was not you whom I expected to find.”

— “Monsieur loves it better to have an affair with a pretty girl,” Julien said while chuckling, “which proves that one has passions at every age.”

Julien sat down on a chair. A convulsive trembling ran through the whole of his body, and some sobs escaped his chest.

The old man approached him and extended his had as if to touch him.

— “Get back!” Julien cried out, passing brusquely from sadness to rage… “get back! the time for infamy has passed!…”

“And it is I who wished it!” he added, “unfortunate!”

Instead of going, the old man took a couch, brought it up to Julien’s chair, placed his cane and hat on a piece of furniture, and sat down.

— “What do you want of me?” Julien asked the old man…

— “What I want of you, young man, the old man replied… “what I want from you?… you will know right away, because I believe I see in you a gloomy and repentent man…”

— “I do not understand you…”

— “Look in my face, young man; do I have the air of an old courier of gallant adventures? Is it that, if sadness and remorse are painted in visible traces on a man‘s face, as they are painted right now on your face, don’t good sentiments have their own open expression?”

“Do you wish to respond to me openly? What did you think when you saw me enter here? — You are not responding; you do not dare respond… I will do it for you?”

“You would have said, ‘Here is one of those I have summoned to enrich my house’ — and, when that was it, what would you say when one responds to your appeal, in the last analysis?”

Julien lifted his head like a swan hearing approaching hounds…

— “Who are you, Monsieur,” he cried out…

— “You will learn soon,” the old man responded… “I have suffered long enough!”

— “Me too!” murmured Julien…

— “In expectation, I will come directly before you, for you have need to speak, and you do not dare to! — Perhaps today you regret the twelve months that trail behind you like a wake of shame; if it is so — you see that I know everything — don’t you have something to say?”

— “It is not only for me alone, this shame…” Julien stuttered.

— “Perhaps!” the old man responded…

— “Listen,” Julien said after a moment of silence, “perhaps I would have thrown a man out of the window who came to me to say what you have said, but you have excited my curiosity, and, to force you to satisfy this, it is necessary that you respond. Yes, I have a regrettable past … twelve months in all, which were like punishment. I have suffered like a condemned man from remorse, from shame … and other things as well. All that you guard in your silences is true; all that you throw at me in reproach at the base of your thought, is merited. But you do not know all of it; I am not the only one who may throw a stone, and I am the only one to suffer!”

— “There is pride in your regrets,” the old man replied. “As yet there is no courage to repent! Before going further, and to have the right to go further, I will say who I am … I am your wife’s uncle! Your wife is my favorite child. Your wife is also honest, in intention and in fact, in every way … and since accident has brought us together at this moment, I have concluded that this is the moment to explain everything in order to finish everything.”

He fell silent and listened.

— “You have understood?” the uncle asked.

— “Yes,” Julien said, “but I had too many proofs to believe that I am not the only one to weep over the past.”

— “And what proofs do you have?”

— “The men here…”

— “They were chased away.”

— “My wife’s frequent absences…”

— “She came to my place.”

— “The banknotes in her secretary, always, always!”

— “So look at them! You see me there, and you did not understand!”

— Julien jumped. An electric current ran through all his fibers. A still-vague glow appeared at the bottom of his soul, like a spark on a dark horizon. A cold sweat covered his forehead, and he began to tremble.

— “You do not understand,” the old man repeated, “that this money … that was mine that came … for more than a year! That, for more than a year, I know, and Marie also knows, your silent compromise and all of your conduct — Oh! Monsieur! If you do not have a gangrenous heart and a soul tainted by the moral poison that you have carried for so long, you would never have dreamed to place a beautiful and noble creature such as you were given into the gutter of prostitution! And today, since the past is irreparable — you will die of shame … while you redeem yourself by years of repentance and labor.”

— “Wait,” Julien said on rising and taking the old man by the hand, “come and see…”

And he led him into the Marie’s room. There, he opened the secretary, taking out the shredded banknotes, and he said to the old man with exaltation:

— “See, I had expected your arrival to renounce past infamy! Look if you will on the money I thought was gathered in shame!”

“These are the banknotes I gave today,” the young woman’s uncle said as he took them. This act is something, but it is very little compared with what remains for you to do.”

— “I will work!” Julien cried out, moved in part by the momentary courage inspired by the high probity of the old man, partly by vague desires for a possible happiness, of which he had never been able to dream.

— “Done, if you have the courage for it, but do it quickly and long enough so that the future redeems the past … because, for me, my role as payer is finished so far as you are concerned. So far as my niece vis-ā-vis you, she will do what she pleases, because no one should intervene in these sorts of things. Adieu, Monsieur: the accident by which we met is perhaps the act of the Providence in which you do not believe. You now know that you have an angel in your house. The simplest thing for you would be to ignore in her regard what you have learned from me and to work so that she does not suffer … perhaps God will have pity on you.

On this, the old man departed, much affected, and left Julien depressed and in consternation.

Julien entered his room and closed the door.

A long quarter-hour passed in that way. The unhappy man was alone with his conscience, alone with a new passion, even more violent, as he sought to pierce under the ray of a virtue that he had believed to be ended forever.

His forehead was down, supported on his two hands. A thousand confused ideas assaulted his brain. Among his tumultuous thoughts he had glimmers of courage for future work, of aspiration for an unexpected love, and perhaps of suicide. At certain moments, delirium gave birth to the heroism of a laborious rehabilitation; a second later, impetuous desires were born, then discouragement that, child of a bad past, said to the guilty one, “It will be a long and miserable struggle; kill yourself and finish it!”

There is nothing more difficult to say and easier to comprehend than these fluctuations of thought in a head moving with all the waves, who turns into all winds, like a skiff fighting a storm.

Suddenly Julien heard a noise. It was his wife coming home. He watched her through an opening of the screen, as Claude Frollo watched Esméralda being caressed by Captain Phoebus de Châteaupert in Victor Hugo’s Nôtre-Dame de Paris… Only, he did not have a dagger in his hand, since he did not have a rival to kill.

Now Julien was silent, watching and listening.

Marie was entering. She removed her hat and her little coat. She had a white dress, with a tight bodice that encompassed her bust with elegance. All her movements were imprinted with this feline grace that undulates voluptuously with young cats and with well-made young women. A fresh, vigorous health is mixed on her face with a touch of sadness and discouragement. This physical force, allied with this moral crushing, gave Marie’s beauty a rare seal of originality. She came and went in the salon, occupied by a thousand little nothings that one could not conjure, as a person does who believes she is by herself. At the end of several minutes, she opened the door of her room and did not close it. There, she changed her clothes, going and coming, as if she had done in the salon. At certain moments, Julien could see her, at others, she was naked — She went to her secretary when she was completely dressed…

Julien, his face at the screen, opened an ardent eye; his respiration became uneven, an abundant sweat pearled on his forehead … he followed his wife’s movements as the magnetizing serpent follows the compelled flight of a bird until, gradually retracing circles upon circles until it delivers itself, bewildered and mad, to the death that invincibly attracts it.

Marie opened the secretary, placed a piece of paper there and wrote. Over half an hour her pen went on and on … and during that half-hour Julien did not budge more than would a statue from the observatory where he was placed.

At various times, the young woman put her handkerchief to her eyes and ceased correcting her letter. When she had finished it, she placed her elbow on the writing surface of the piece of furniture, propped her head on a hand, and plunged into an immobile stare at nothing…

At the end of this moment of meditation, she rose and went to close the door of her room.

Julien breathed again.

— “Will she see my letter?” he asked himself… “What will she do when she has read it?”… And the banknotes I have shredded! There is probably no more money here… What will I do?…”

Julien departed soundlessly to avoid being heard. When he was outside, he did not know where he should go.

— “It is necessary for me to find work … to live!” he said to himself, knitting his brows as he wrung his hands… “Work! But which? Where? When? What shall I do?”

He went straight ahead, like a vagabond who was killing time. He proceeded mechanically to the home of a friend, that is, to one of those men he had often frequented in houses of leisure or vice where he had been so long.

As the first word of “work” was dropped, his friend laughed through his nose in an indecent manner. Julien was ashamed. He did not have the courage of his situation. His friend having turned this eccentricity into ridicule, the poor man finished by mocking himself and confessed that he only wanted to make a pleasantry…

— “Until a good time!” the friend cried out…

— “Parbleu!” Julien said.

When he was outside, he fell into poignant incertitude.

— “Something must be done for us to live,” he thought.

A part of the day passed in gaining courage and then losing it. Toward evening, finally, he felt somewhat self-assured by the excitement he had created in himself, and he decided to go visit another friend.

He fell into the middle of a supper-orgy that was still at its beginning stages. When he turned the doorbell and he had taken two steps inside, acclamations arose from several points of the table.

— “Hurrah! Here is Julien!…” cried out one of the celebrants…

— “Sit down right there!” cried another…

Julien took the place offered. He drank and ate like the others. They talked about the theater girls; the lesbians in the public gardens, the semi-chaste women who were the grandes dames, and the utterly chaste, who were the students’ darling working girls. The honest woman of the bourgeoisie did not exist for these celebrants.

Little by little, Julien recovered his artificial, brilliant gaiety, the territory he had barely abandoned. Under the influence of the general uproar and the liquor, he rose little by little to his ordinary pitch, and he was finally one of the most ardent lives of the party at the rendezvous…

Toward midnight, the celebrants had reached that state of verbal tempest that becomes a virtual Tower of Babel. Everyone was talking at once, about women, politics, theater, creditors, and all the rest across the waves of smoke that the more or less genuine Havanas exhaled.

— “Tell me, all of you!” Julien cried out, “do you know of some vacant place for a hard-working young man? … in a store, in a study, in a bureau, at the post office, in the ministries, in the monopolies, to the devil? … a place for a thousand écus, or twelve hundred francs… Going once! Going twice!… Don’t all talk at once!”

— “Me, I have a place to give,” a fourth-rate journalist, “it is to translate from Chinese.”

— “Doesn’t matter!” Julien replied. What are the conditions?”

— “One year on trial, three years as an unpaid assistant, two additional years on half-pay … and the rest at the boss’s will!”

— “Me,” another said, “I know a bony old female, well preserved, who pays a hundred francs a trimester to a young man who does four hours of reading aloud all evenings, from eight to twelve…”

— “There are two places to get at the Ambigu,” a third player added, “ten sous a night and a refreshment!”

— “You are scoundrels!” Julien shouted. The virtuous young man in question knows how to do nothing, and he wants to earn money!”

— “He should get to pleasing the old woman, and that he be a gentleman: there will probably be a will!”

— “Is it necessary for one to work?” cried out a socialist theoretician… Work is made for bulls!”

— “And for proletarians!” said a pale figure with burning moustaches…”

— “No politics!” someone piped up in falsetto…

— “Opinions are free!”

— “All the more reason!”

Julien let out a roar of laughter. “Do you know,” he declaimed, “that this interesting young man who needs a place, who is searching for a place, who wishes a place … is me! Yes, me, Julien! I have lost all of my fortune … I had three ships wrecked in the Indian Sees. Railroads are bankrupt, the crash had stripped me naked, and the routlette wheel has cut me in half … properly and up to date! I have no bread!”

— “Eat paté!”

— “No credit…”

— “Then put your head in the Seine!”

— “Drink laudanum!”

— “Use your head for a gun target!…”

— “And leave us in peace!” declared the son of the owner of a spice shop…

— “Who will loan me money?” Julien cried out.

— “Don’t you have a wife?” his neighbor asked.

In response to these last words, Julien went pale; his tongue slipped and his knees trembled. With a convulsive hand he seized a nearby glass and threw it at the young man’s head. He ducked in time, and the projectile smashed to pieces a Henry IV nobly seated on his warhorse.

There was a little tumult; but, since these little interludes are not rare in orgies, the storm did not last long.

We will pass over the end of the party, which was drawing to its conclusion, in silence, since the custom in parallel circumstances in such places are such as not to be useful to cite.

Julien did not end his night in those places. In the midst of the half-drunkenness that he had acquired like the others, a vague image passed through his brain. He really did not know what he was to do or what to think about. He had plunged into this state of semi-recalling or semi-forgetting of facts, which follow excesses in natures dwelling on fixed ideas. The vapors of wine turned his spirit first one way, then another. At times his present position appeared to him naked, that is to say that its conclusion and misery appeared very close.

— “I must live tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and each day,” he said to himself, and he struck his forehead in wrath. — “Bah!” he said five minutes later, life is driving me crazy … and that woman, too! … and I will take a bachelor’s room… After me the deluge!”

With these words, he arrived near his house. At what was about two in the morning, he saw light at the window of his wife’s room. A moment of wrath passed through his head, and he entered the salon under this last impression. Since he had gone up the stairs with heavy steps, and singing in a wine-soaked voice, Marie opened her door to see if it really had been he who entered in that manner…

— “It is you, Monsieur!” she said, with disgust.

— “Go to the devil!” Julien responded.

And he entered his room while continuing to hum.


Conclusion

That night was, for Julien, a long, sad nightmare. His troubled morality and his agitated body mixed together into a hodge-podge of contrary fluctuations, producing a bitter combat of which the unfortunate man was the victim.

He woke up about ten, but he had a head so heavy and a body so torn that he could not sustain himself on his feet when he got down from his bed. The furniture of his room stunned his dizzy and vacillating gaze.

He was obliged to return to bed.

It was over the next two hours that he was able to integrate his thought and sustain his body well. Then he rose and dressed himself.

To the extent that the chaos in his head dissipated, memories of the day before assumed their accustomed place. He recalled two attempts to find work, the night of orgy that he had passed, and the grossness with which he had responded to his wife’s observation.

This last tormented him particularly.

We have said it was two in the afternoon.

Since morning at the start of the day there had been much movement in the house, but Julien slept too hard and too deeply to hear this movement.

When he opened the door of his room to enter the salon, his wife was in front of him, completely dressed, standing, and ready to depart. She was wearing a long black dress, like a widow. Her face was paler than was customary. She had a severe gaze and her head held high…

Julien’s thought went back to his memory of Mademoiselle Georges in the role of Lucretia Borgia, when she appeared at the great doorway of the banquet to announce to her guests that they had all been poisoned…

He had a presentiment of evil.

— “I did not wish to flee in your absence,” she said. “I have waited for you to tell you that everything is over between us, and that you will never see me again!”

On pronouncing this last word, she turned without saluting and headed for the door.

Julien put his head between his two hands, like a man from whom madness had taken his brain, and he ran to his room…

Marie descended the stairs for the last time, when a detonation sounded.

She stopped and placed her hand on her heart, as if a blow had struck it.

At the same instant, the old man we know descended quickly from a carriage stationed at the door and ran to the young woman.

—“Courage!” he said to her, and he mounted the stairs as quickly as he could.

Two minutes later, he slowly descended.

— “Dead!” he said; “completely……”

Marie did not respond with a word. White and icy, she advanced to the carriage, like Charlotte Corday to the scaffold, and when she was seated near her uncle, the four wheels resounded on the pavement.

It was the first moment of stupor.

Fifteen months later, the suicide’s wife was married to a rich resident of Porto-Rico.

It had been six months since the old uncle had left this earth, leaving his entire fortune to his niece.

This second marriage was no happier than the first, in another way.

During the first weeks of her visit to the magnificent Spanish colony known by the name of Puerto Rico, Marie did not perceive what would appear to the reader, an infamy of another type, much less rare than that of which we have seen a suicide as the end…

Enticed by the seduction of a new nature, rich and luxuriant, crowned with perpetual spring, beset by an impenetrable vegetation, under one of the softest and bluest of skies in the world, the young woman permitted herself to be rocked to sleep to the soft song of warm breezes that agitated the green fronds of the great palm trees, the golden spears of sugar canes, and playing among the aromatic branches of a coffee plantation, loaded with grains as red as coral … and besides, everywhere around the island, the sea — the most beautiful spectacle in the world along with the sky! — the sea, with high or dormant waves, the faithful servant mirror faithful to a azure or somber firmament, joyous or sad, charged with smiles or tears … the sea … that all the poets have sung, before Virgil and after Lord Byron, as the most grandiose image of infinity, movement, of eternity! There, about this island, buffeted by the floods that Marie observed from on high one morn, floating the ships of all nations, to the breezes of the south or to the winds of the north, their pavilions in brilliant colors: the glorious tricolor of France, the free star-spangled of the United States, the maritime pioneer of England, and so many others with colors and bizarre combinations, carrying across the spaces a sacred torch of the fatherland.

The first visit in most of the Antilles has an enchantment that one never forgets. It is a softer life, a hotter sun, a warmer wind, a richer nature. All of this seizes you by all your senses, penetrates you by all the pores, charms you and seduces you in all ways. They say that the oases are placed, like natural and suave halting places for the voyager making the tour of the globe.

At first Marie closed her eyes to permit herself to win a balance with this novel existence of far niente. But the enchantment declined with acquaintance, and she began waking up. Then, after having regarded distant horizons, she turned her eyes to look around her, and barely healed from the grief of one infamy, she fell into another infamy of which the spectacle would have a decisive influence on her future.

Her new husband was one of those men of whom, happily, few are found today, but of which there were many once in the lands of slaves: a merchant ceaselessly armed with a stick or la rigoise, and making use of it on every occasion to the point of cruelty. This was already something to disgust a woman, but that was not all! This man, arriving young in the country with some uncles, bought some slaves, one by one, of every sex, and to increase the number and quality faster, he had planned to work himself at increasing their number without emptying his purse, following for reasons of greed and cupidity the “grow and multiply” command of Our Lord. He had found two plantations in the same region, and it was a marvel to see how his operation increased in workers and hogsheads from year to year!

Like Charles VI in the opera of that name, he could literally say “My subjects are my children,” which did not prevent extra-paternalistic flogging. He had worked through twelve years in this manner. His two plantations had done as he had, and the figures for other births, added to the rest, finished by making a considerable contingent…

As one always learns bad things quickly, Marie learned this at the end of several weeks. It was the past, and she never imagined that it could still be the present and future. She observed and was quickly convinced that things there had changed little in the usage and customs of its lord and master. So she demanded her property back, quit the island of the blue sky and green harvests; besides, having obtained what she wanted, due to the testimonies she could produce against her husband, she went to the United States as a woman-bachelor, neither daughter, nor spouse, nor widow. Only pride and contempt had created in her a taste for vengeance that she fed in a large scale along her way.

Now that we know what had changed this Marie whose story we have sketched, we will give her the second baptismal name that we have hidden since the first line of this episode, and we tell it to the reader — if he has not already divined it — that this other name is:

Lavinia!




II

Where the author must return to his Sheep

The episode that one has just read appears to have been necessary to explain the nature of the most inexplicable character so far in this work.

So far as the affiliation of Lavinia with the Finance Company, it is possible that the following will acquaint the reader through the sequence of events that took place for her. We shall not deal with such a minor matter separately.

Let us just review the position in which we have left each of our characters before the opening of the long parenthesis that we now close by the title of this new chapter.

Louis and Anna, legitimately united, had departed, as we have seen, aboard a sloop, loaded by the efforts of Eugène. The Captain, instead of being delivered by the Company, since that might not have worked, was delivered by his brother … and perhaps one has not forgotten the rather comic situation of Alexandre before the Recorder.

Lavinia was in New Orleans, seriously seized by her love for Eugène. So far as he was concerned, he had returned to the city after having seen his brother and his sister-in-law depart, and he said to them in the last chapter of the second volume, “Be happy … we will meet again…”

Finot and Rousto, saved from the Baton-Rouge Penitentiary, are wherever they may be, for the moment useless to know. We do not even know now whether we will return to them later.

And Mélanie! This good girl who is so naïvely unfaithful! How similar to the times and the seasons in her variability and reversals of her loves! What will she do in this California where we have seen her arriving at the end of the eighteenth chapter of the previous volume?…

California!

At least one of our characters is there at this moment, and what good luck! This character is a woman who appears created and sent into the world for this exceptional country, where the extremes touch one another more often than anywhere else, let us say a little something, not from our own knowledge, which would be very little, but by borrowing from the revelation of a writer-traveler:




III

Historical

What was the role of the first women in California? Let us permit the author who wrote best about this fairy land:

A woman was for a long time a myth, a miracle. In general, the sentiment that the American has for her consists of a cult and veneration. With this practical intelligence that characterizes him in this vast land that ceaselessly solicits a population always too slowly, he sees in the woman the mother of the family.

You conclude then, in this unisex society that to those who disposed their fealties, their treasures, at the feet of the woman who appeared in the middle of the crowd like a prodigy, a meteor. Nothing was impossible for her caprice; a single sign that betrayed the most fantastic desire, a flood of adoring men would have fulfilled, satisfied, overwhelmed this desire.

So everything was promised to these women; she was enthroned on a pedestal where her rarity had placed her.

And yet none were more unworthy of such fealties. Justice was rendered to them. Fascinated, giving in to the vertigo of gold and easy enjoyment, they descended from their throne to act at their ease, downstairs Messalinas, priestesses of the rites of Venus, debased in the filth of abject pleasures and debauchery.

Even when the numerical difference between the two sexes grew less enormous, and the equilibrium was less far from being established after numerous arrivals from Europe, in the midst of this population that was never able to do its Sabine seizure, women soon reached large numbers.

To draw men to the eating boarding houses, bar rooms, and exchanges that filled the town, nothing could equal the presence of a cashier girl, a title that any woman received, no matter her age or position. The crowd flooded in, and the American, a serious and taciturn admirer, found pleasure in going and slipping a gold or silver coin under her delicate fingers, the price of his consumption.

So far as the girl goes, her pleasure consisted, among other things, in earning from her craft, I am speaking at the outset, from two to four ounces of gold a day.

There were other houses, and quite numerous, where the crowd went without cease all day and all night, where gold rang and sparkled under the shine of a thousand lights, reflected in vast mirrors to rich parquet floors by day, where large paintings, full of nudity more naked than nature, seeming to wish to excite all the passions of the onlookers, and to push them into a complete revolt against reason; where rich tapestries, soft, comfortable seating, appearing to wish to create the sweetness of luxury and to give birth to desire, a foretaste of need, where sometimes cries of rage were interrupted by revolver shots, and the rattle of death, without which, so to speak, gold ceased to ring and the dry, curt voice of the banker ceased his periodic, slow appeals.

There were gambling houses.

There were gathered all the pillars of the café, the European chicken-eaters, the Greeks of all the empires adroit at the croup, able to make a card jump, the cavaliers of the brothel, the heroines of the green cloth, the baronesses and viscountesses of contraband, the ladies of the ball, the amorosinettes and all the marquises of francs on the carpet. Happy mortals, they no more have to fear the sudden appearance of a commissioner clothed in his sash and master of all issues.

A cutthroat unbound, Mexican monte, bacarat multiplied and was organized everywhere; each house became a gaming house.

The spectacle was always strange to see groups gathered about tables piled with gold, to observe the sinister physiognomies in their impassiveness interrupted by explosions; to see the fat deerskin purses, crammed, disgorging for these; — thin, emptied for others; — to the tune of ceaselessly rousing music, always deafening, from an orchestra.

But no spectacle was more pitiful than to see what presents itself so often: a miner, his skin darkened by the placers’ sun, already bent by the fatigue of crushing labor, enters these dens, looks around, submitting without knowing it, influenced by the music, the splendor, unconsciously he approaches, bearing the metal that he knew so well, and as if by a mechanical movement, forgetting fate, he throws away the nuggets of his treasure on a single card. More than once, almost always, this gold, so painfully harvested, that he intended to be brought to his family in his native land, passed under the hands of the croupier, and the unhappy, mute, stunned man must extend again his farewell to his homeland and direct his steps once more to the gold-bearing soil that he has already soaked so many times with his sweat.

And, what was even more dreadful than the shots and the cries of rage was to see the unhappy gambler rise trembling from his guilty seat where his insatiability had pushed him, pale, defeated, searching to master the pain and despair that beset his face, and to depart, staggering, with a pace that the shame of defeat sought to render firm.

Others, in contrast, brilliant, rejoicing, face illuminated, prodigal with animated gestures, wide with grace, expansive, full of a banal tenderness, throwing on the bar, without picking up, what was scattered on the soil, handfuls of gold to pay all those who took the trouble to pass by, pass a glass and to treat the good luck of the fortunate gambler.

These women, so celebrated in disorderly places, so fierce, so vain for blind or thoughtless homage, have been, at least most of them, long in Paris, relegated, unseen among the rank and file of some little boulevard theater or unknown habitués of balls of whom everyone knows her name. — They have found there their old friends, their old stories — the habits of the past had also returned, and nothing anymore impeded their being treated with generosity.

The most remarkable new phase was, without contradiction, that of civilization and moralization, which had two large causes: the arrival of the real women in the land, and exploitation of a more continual and more durable mine, that of the earth, the attention of emigrants turning to agriculture.

The country had found itself in a moment on the edge of starvation in the midst of the greatest treasures. — Immediately, as we have seen it, speculation sought to assure life and provisions of all varieties. — A number of miners around San Francisco, as well as on the other side of the Bay, threw away their pickaxe to take up the spade, and succeeded at cultivating vegetables of all sorts, that the Sandwich Islands and Paya, the volcanic coast, had held the privilege of provisioning the city up to then. The French and the Germans realized considerable profit in this way.

At the same time, the great landwise emigration from Overland, the west of the United States, composed largely of farmers and woodcutters, arrived in the land.

With little confidence in the riches of the mines and disdainful of its gifts, they planted themselves on the soil, not on the caņade, the creek, on gold-producing streams, but the shadowed valley, the bunches of trees or the neighboring forest, a rich soil, the fertile second lines and the lines of fertilizing water. Having found it, the cart was stopped, the beef-cattle of the Far West they brought with them from Missouri or Arkansas, crossing the rivers, the deserts, the Rocky Mountains, were harnessed and commenced the first harvest for themselves. The head of the family made the wife come out with her numerous children of all ages, always one on each breast: also their old white-haired parents, the dii penates of the hearth, who would find their tomb in the shadow of their future cabin. Besides, the rest of the living migration of this new Ark, the pigs that had eaten remnants during the trip and who have not yet served to feed the walking colony; beside the principal tools of the gathering, the most important instruments of agriculture, the plow, the scythe, the mattock, and the necessary provisions while awaiting the seeding and the first harvest.

The woman immediately set herself to prepare food, while the head of the family, aided by the eldest of his sons, began his task of clearance, striking with his American axe the surrounding trees with a cadenced and sustained speed, rolling them together end to end to form an enclosure and to establish the taking of possession. At first the cart serves as lodging.

The first need, once housing was begun, was the work of seeding. You would have passed several days after the arrival of the family on the soil, before you would have seen, as I did, the blade of the plow opening the soil, tracing the first furrow. And, like me, you would have had an inexpressible satisfaction, you would have greeted the first, true symptom of civilization on the land. At a thousand diverse places this land would have been excavated by the avidity of workers, but with no other utility than the inconstant and fugitive utility of the moment and without result for the future, — without any result whatsoever for moralization. While here was the work of the family, the soil wisely furrowed and which, prepared to repay the worker, improved and opened the fertile and stable sources for the times to come.

Labor terminated and the seed placed in the earth, the emigrant-colonist raised the tent of cloth made by his wife and the eldest of her daughters, aided by the aged parents, never unoccupied — Besides, the cart being freed, it went to gather the immense wild oats spread on the hills, and he constructed his mill for provisioning. Finally, he went to the nearby center of habitation to buy the planks needed for the construction of the definitive house, and by operating the transport, or better yet, as the intelligent universal worker, laborer, butcher, architect, he chose the most voluminous, straightest oaks, giving, with the aid of his son, many pulls of the saw in the giant fallen trunk, dividing every cylinder into shingles and small boards, and by covering the carpentry, the cage of the house that he had assembled and fashioned, by means of the high trees he had chosen, here and there, in the surrounding forest. He then did masonry work in adobe and small stones to make the large chimney around which the family will unite, using it for prayer, nourishment or rest, and the fuel was not lacking. — Good times will then smile on this colony, which will expand. The effort of harvest will not prevent the husband to use his cart and his dray animals for transportation, here and there. The wife, to keep travelers and workers, has a bar, and an eating and lodging house. No one was without an occupation: the little baby with his forked baguette leads the pigs to the acorns, — and the daughters make butter and cheese of the unused milk and cheese that sells well in the first times.

No region shall be so favored for agriculture as Oregon and California, or is more ready for a number of the most varied cultures. — From San Diego to Astoria, over an extent of almost five hundred leagues with a variable width, one encounters along with all climates and all temperatures, all vegetal productions. — In the family of palms, the most beautiful varieties; in that of malvaceous plants, citron, vines, oranges, and lemons. In the nettle family, hemp, figs, and mulberry, besides banana and sugar cane in the far south. All the fruit trees of temperate lands, not forgetting nuts: various species of laurel and magnolia. In the family of amentaceous plants, there are oak, elm, and weeping willow. Finally, in the most northerly parts and near the Ocean, as well as on the heights, there are the most magnificent species of conifers and legions of flowers. — For nature has refused nothing to California. — It has arid deserts, fatal to the improvident traveler, but these are deserts of flowers. In the spring the soil is literally covered by a painted carpet of the most lively and glistening colors.

We have said that a large cause for civilization and moralization was the arrival in the land of the feminine population.

For whatever there is of civilization, all the female immigrants, whoever they are, contribute. Women always soften and polish morals. So far as moralization, they are not, to be sure, of that inconstant troupe, undisciplined, led by the desire of change and of the unknown that thinks nothing less than to make themselves, like Marion, into a virgin under a foreign sky, beneath a new sun that it suffices to touch to replace the fact of independence by the right so long desired, and rarely so dearly bought. No, this was the tutelary angel of the market, the woman of devotion, the mother of the family who, participating in the fatigues of the road or the crossing, supported on the companion for life, and supporting her infants, coming with all she had, to establish herself forever in the rich land of the future, or joining her spouse who, gone first to test and see, called his family to participate in his new prosperity. — It was above all the young American woman who, gracious and modest, committed to the business of their household, while their little blond and pink children play in the fresh reeking cottages constructed at the summit of the hill across from the savage bush.

The arrival of the feminine population began to become normal, changing in an instant, and as if by magic, the aspect of the principal cities, and above all of San Francisco. Almost until then, it had preserved a part of the custom of the first times, a mixture of the sailor and the voyageur, recalling the moment when each one had to serve himself and give in to the situation, carry his chest or pack over beaten-down and all too often catastrophic trails. The growth of the feminine population caused this circumstantial custom to disappear, or at least to restrict itself to the working class. Articles of novelty and fantasy appeared in the cases of boutiques. The vestments of civilized lands became abundant there.

Soon nothing was missing in San Francisco. It became a pastiche, a double of New York and Paris: it had its Delmonico, its Tortoni, its Véry, its Café de Paris with its Good french Coffee at any time; it finally had its reading rooms for cosmopolitan reading, its Masonic lodges, and this whole legion of necromancers, ornithologists, homeopaths, dentists, and magnetizers, the Bohemians of science and extreme civilization, of whom the dazzling symbols and floating flags, full of striking designs, gigantic letters, and formidable points of admiration played in the air and caressed the hats of passers-by, a touching and fraternal appeal to a suffering humanity!

This was not all of it; the lovers of sport also had their pleasures and their emotions; their Champ-de-Mars and their Chantilly. They had courses, spring courses organized by the French residents, as well as the most curious and picturesque courses. The Mexican, who is, as we know, a cavalier from his infancy, student of nature, on his nervous horse, with a heavy and splendid caparison, competed, often with advantage, against the American, also nearly one with his mount, the problematic masterpiece of science and good pleasure, reduced to its simplest expression. Alongside this Anglo-Saxon importation, one again found in certain circles cock-fighting, a symbol of civil wars that I have seen so charming to the gouchos of the banks of La Plata, like the corrida of bulls, where the magnanimous torero, on his knees before his adversary, who charges toward him furiously, makes the coup en cachette, under which the animal stops brusquely and drops without a bellow, without a murmur, without a sigh: the effect of the fall is instantaneous.

At this time there resounded in the eastern United States the raising of women’s shields, who found their cotillions too long and dreamed, as an emblem of their liberation, a semi-masculine costume, on the condition that it would remain seductive, gracious and coquettish. One understands that it was a question of the bloomerists.

One of these coryphées of fashion, moved by a desire to start something, wished to raise the standard of reform in California and went straight to the deed, promoting the short skirt and wide pantaloon; she saddled up her charger and committed herself to the mission with her companions, for the moment clothed in the long dress of Amazons, but criticizing the costume of subservience under the round hat of the privileged sex.

The Americans, we have said, are devoted to a sort of cult toward the woman; it is almost a veneration, and this sentiment is so well inborn, so profound, that they have difficulty distinguishing whether the object of their cult is worthy or not. This time the case was too obvious. The Americans are not used to this sort of emancipation. The prank was revolting, public opinion declared.

The bloomerist who played her role outside the scene had to give a bail of 100 piastres, which she was careful not to reclaim for fear of appearing before the recorder.

California was the object of the most enthusiastic descriptions and the most unlimited infatuation; then, since every excess in this world has its reaction, which one might compare to the physical law of the angle of reflection, it gave way to the most favorable reports and to the most disparaging predictions. They have exaggerated the past and misread the future; the present proves the double error. For every wise spirit, it must be evident that the facts of the past went beyond the truth, not on the relationship of its existence and the importance of its marvels, but rather on the relationship of their generalization with the present ability, as an absolute, of obtaining it.

There is, besides, here on earth, a law that is more than humane that attaches a cost to every benefit, a labor to every recompense, — a law of all justice and all moralization. The exception to this law, in the great capitals of the world as in the savage caņadas of California, the placers of Tasmania, the desert gorges of Siberia, is in fact unjust and doubly demoralizing by the discouragement and envy it inspires for less happy work, both the enticement of the example and the desire for easy winning; — a fact for which its exceptional length is always too long.

California has endured this phase. The sailors and the workers, for the most part, have acquired in several hours treasures that have rendered them the equals, and more, than an honorable capitalist, if they have not found on their way the attraction, which was for a large number irresistible, of assaulting gross pleasures in the presence of their riches and raising in them the thirst of gathering desires and the satisfaction of activating a new, unaccustomed fortune. For those whose head resisted the temptation of the heart, the struggle, doubtless, was so intense, or rather, as with ice-water, the shock of novelty, of the unexpected, and the joyous exaltation was so great, that many will become madmen, maniacs, stupefied.

Now as then, all individuals who wish to board for the California coast require a robust body, a firm will, an ardent and lively intelligence, a spirit fertile in resources, a large ability for business, or one of the manual professions that, to the extent that civilization will grow and extend, find chances of success day by day, and a good craft is even better. But always, before everything, that one should not overlook having some capital proportionate to the goal one wishes to obtain. So far as those go who depart, now as earlier, without these conditions, whether for American California, or Mexican California, New Holland, the gold mines of Queen Charlotte’s Island, of Oregon, of El Chaco, of New Granada, of Dutch Guyana, etc., etc., they will expose themselves to enduring the fate of the Mexican colonials, who must, to be just, succumb without complaint.




IV

Mélanie

Mélanie had departed for California, as we have said, “in the company of a young man very rich … in hopes.” Only she arrived alone, since the young man died in the midst of the crossing. Mélanie consoled herself more rapidly and easily, since this last liaison was quite fresh when it was broken by destiny, and because the captain of the steamer was a charming man who occupied himself intensely with the young widow until the end of the crossing… Finally, she arrived and marveled. It was the terrible year of fires. The city was almost entirely consumed, and everywhere the population courageously rebuilt on the gallop.

Eight times (says the author from whom we will borrow some pages) the town had to wake up on a jump, to a thousand sinister repeated cries of fire! fire! Eight times the bells of the Fire Houses rang and were repeated — a deafening call, mixed with the vibrating sound of the Chinese gong and the calls of the multitude; — and eight times the great city, indomitable in its energy, struggled with its lively courage, inalterable, invincible, that men may do in a profound conviction, and which comes to be for those for whom a high, grandiose destiny is reserved.

One could say that the infernal spirit, the genius of evil, indefatigable in its hatred, incarnated itself to ruin the marvelous city with its kiss of death, while the good genius, the spirit of progress and conservation, dressed its injuries and, always attentive in its solicitude, revived hope and will, ceaselessly feeding the sources of life.

When Mélanie put her foot on the already cool soil of California, she perceived that her purse was very light; but she was no woman to torment herself for so minor a reason. She went to a nice hotel, took a superb room, and acted as if she had overlooked the rent. One could say that she knew in advance, without anyone telling her, that fortune could not sleep in the midst of the floods of the Rubicon, the audacious fortune of Caesar.

And, in effect, Mélanie had not passed twenty-four hours to look out the window of her lovely room before the offers commenced to pour around her, like the bouquets tossed at a Talma or a Rachel.

It was the era of fabulous jobs, where:

Construction workers, carpenters, interior carpenters, locksmiths, and others received what they wanted; they argued over twenty-five and thirty piastres per day; where a chef would have dreamed of imitating Vatel, or at least would have thrown his apron into the fire if he did not regularly earn one or two ounces of gold per day, in all cases five hundred piastres per month; and the dishwasher himself, an interesting brotherhood that opened its ranks to more than one refugee of fortune, sons of nobles or from rich houses, authors of talent, great political names, would rather smash underfoot all the chinaware of the restaurant than wash them for less than two hundred, or at the least a hundred fifty piastres, a salary they would not regard except as a remuneration, a monthly indemnity. It was the patron who was gracious, anticipating, obsequious for his salaried help; an irritating word … the dignity of his acolytes would deprive him of their aid for several hours, perhaps a day! And what was a day worth, a single hour?… Besides, what was the difference between the patron and the salaried help, the capitalist from the worker? Fortune? But fortune never permits itself to be seen better, never shows itself naked, blind! Its nature is mobile, unquiet, capricious. By a system of see-saw, without repose nor delay, it dumps one to raise the other.

The culinary art is not the only one so richly endowed. The most wretched sawyer of the violin, worn out in the balls of Idalie, escaped from the barriers of the thatched houses of the suburbs, would traditionally stamp his instrument with his feet — an energetic, lonely, worthy protest against the profanation of the arts — if one offered him less than two ounces of gold for an evening. The least courlaud de boutique employs three extras to grind the pepper or the coffee, and to roll trifles, rue des Lombards, would think himself humiliated to exercise his talents in San Francisco for less than five piastres a day, besides being fed, lodged, cleaned: whitening a shirt, perhaps a unique historic fact, costs a piastre and a half. One does not change anything but fresh linen!

So Mélanie was besieged by requests of all types. They wanted her to train to preside over a fashion shop, to preside over the sale of Havana Segars, to receive the gold pieces of restaurant customers, and other employment of half-known industries. But the careless girl had little interest in continuous work with set hours, she called it small-scale slavery, and she cherished her liberty above all, that is, to come and go at all hours. She would prefer the fate of the woodland wolf to that of a fat, well-nourished dog, bearing the mark of a collar on the neck. Two days after the refusals by which she responded to all those who had come to plead, there was a different riding school with a change of crew … and little by little, Mélanie came to understand her proper value. It was no longer work that they would demand of her; on the contrary, it was a question of her doing nothing, to clothe herself with care and elegance; to pass the hot hours of the day in semi-obscurity behind pretty Persian shades, and the fresh hours of the evening in a carriage or on horseback along the promenades. To live well and aristocratically; to sleep like a princess from eleven hours or midnight to eleven or noon; to take perfumed baths and fragrant sorbets. To have a loge in all the theaters and presents on every occasion, even for nothing! But for that, what was she to do as we would have said, “Nothing!” “What a lovely country!” she declared to herself, “so much for so little!” Alas! In all the countries of the world, it is the same thing, more or less, in certain conditions: in view of the fact that one is generally paid little when one works little. Only, if this word with four letters, “Rien” [=“Nothing”], for certain women, justly said, it is less than not much; for others, it is the synonym for venality, laxness and dishonor: it debases the sublime role of women to the bestial role of a bitch. This kennel, one must say, is usually covered with silk, jewels, even plumes; she eats at ease and travels by carriage: — that is what so seduces — but, later, eight times out of ten, it ends in hiding under rags, in living from garbage, and in walking along low-class roads. To complete the balance with the past, she is beaten up by soldiers and sailors.

Mélanie accepted neither the offers of repose nor the offers of work; she could not rise so high nor descend so low.

Among all those she saw over several days, she did not find one who suited her, and for her suiting was the entire matter, whether rich or poor. She would not sell herself, she would give herself.




V

Where we see one of our Characters again

One evening as Mélanie returned from a promenade that she had made through the city to see the fantastic panorama of constructions executed by thousands at a time from one end of San Francisco to the other, she found four letters at her address. These four varied in orthography, style, and type, but basically they basically all said the same thing.

The most eccentric finished in this manner:

“Finally, if you wish that we should have a common life together, I can offer you a bath in gold dust, and when you come from this bath, you may keep the tub and its contents!”

— “Ah, for example,” she cried out to herself, “this is really an original! I recognize here this big canary with carrot hair, with one furious eye and the other split! Fi donk!”

She tore the whole letter into little pieces that she then amused herself by throwing one by one out the window. Some fell on a straw hat decorated with a green band; the others, lifted by a breeze, played for some seconds here and there before flying to a neighboring balcony; several fell, alas! in the gutter and the rest scattered where they will on the roofs or in the street.

When she had finished this stunt — which resembled that of Monsieur de Chateaubriand throwing pieces of bread into running water, Mèlanie left her balcony window to return to her room. She had barely taken two steps than the door opened with a noise, without any warning, and a man fell toward her, opening his arms and trying to speak,

— Mé … mé … Méla … Mélanie!” he cried out…

And he could not say any more.

— “Finot!” Mélanie responded with the same voice, and with moist eyes.

And the good girl opened her arms to her old friend, recovered so suddenly.

— “Eh! My God,” Mélanie said, like then and other times, the principal thing is that he was found.

Finot made an enormous sigh.

— “I am really happy to find this!” he said.

— “Why ‘this,’” Mélanie said.

— “Damn!… because … if you had not been alone…”

— “If I had not been alone, I would have been two: is that what ‘this’ meant?”

— “Because! What does ‘this’ mean?”

— “Yes indeed! I would have sent away the other to return to my old one, parbleau!”

— “This dear child!” the little man cried out.

And he rushed to embrace his mistress, which he was so happy to find constant, if not faithful.

— “But,” Finot said, “why on earth did I find you in California?”

— “Do you know the play of Robert Macaire?” Mélanie replied…

— “But of course…”

— “Do you recall the scene in the forest where Bertrand stops Robert and says to him, a pistol in his hand, “Your money or your life!”

— “Certainly…”

— “Well… Robert replies, ‘That is certainly the question that I was about to ask you…’”

— “Yes; then?”

— “Well, you asked me, ‘How did I find you in California?’ and I responded to you, ‘How did I find you in California?’… So!”

— “Ah me!” Finot said, “I have had some misfortunes …”

— “Poor Finot! Me, I searched for you…”

— “In California!”

— “Why not?”

— “But it was too far away!”

— “The proof that it is not is that I found you!”

— “But it is I who found you…”

— “See, we found each other.”

— “That is nevertheless true,” Finot said, beating his hands one against the other.

At this moment, nine o’clock sounded, and the evening canon echoed.

Finot received it like a sign.

— “We will not speak again of our little affairs,” Mélanie said, rising and going to her dressing table — “it is good for now that we have found one another.”

— “I had better go…” Finot said with a large sigh. “I am staying rather far from here.”

“What silliness!” the good girl said, looking at him… “and why go?… Is it because you are not comfortable here?”

— “Oh yes!… Mélanie, it is comfortable! I knew some things, but I did not dare hope…”

— “What is it with that language, ‘I did not dare … hope…’ Is that what one says to a duchess, or to his dear friend?…”

Finot had, for the third time, recourse to his major means of reconnaissance: it was to say that, for the third time he went to press on his mouth her lovely fat cheeks, those fine animated eyes, and the vermilion lips of his appetizing friend.

— “Ah that,” she said, “we have finally finished with your silly ‘vous,’ right?”

— “Yes,” Finot responded: I have recovered you, I love you; I am happy as a pasha to be with you, and…”

— “And I remain there!” added Mélanie, while making a great act of reverence to her lover.

— “And I remain there!” Finot responded like a joyous echo…

As it was, Finot remained……

The next morning, a tall one-eyed man, thin, dressed in black, white gloves, with a savage air and red hair, came to Mélanie’s place.

The view of a man with the young woman seem to bother him a little. Nevertheless, since he was there, he spoke to her.

— “Did you receive my letter?” he said with a question mark at the end of his eye…

— “But yes,” she responded…

— “And then?…”

— “And then I made it into a thousand little pieces that I threw to the wind, to amuse myself.” — “Wait,” she added, “you can see a remnant on the roof, there in front?…

The big man blushed and stuttered some words.

— “Besides,” Mélanie concluded, “I don’t like baths!”

At this, the ungainly man turned on his heels and went down the stairs, his head held low.

— “What is it with that man there?” Finot asked.

— “Damn! you saw him well, I think.”

— “He wanted you to take a bath?”

— “Yes indeed, in gold dust. By my faith, I can barely understand it.”

— “It’s really very simple: it is an eccentric manner to offer you a certain sum, in gold.”

— “He does that nicely so that he could then take the whole body.”

— “I do believe it! Or to offer me as much more on the side!”

— “I knew that,” observed Finot. It is that women here are rare, yes! and, in terms of money, they get as much as they want! Also for a moment, I was afraid when I knew you had arrived here.”

— “Fear of what, my dear?… Is it because I am a woman who sells herself!”

— “No, Mélanie, no! but … finally … one cannot remain alone when one is young, pretty and … in such good health!”

— “So far as that goes, certainly. But I could have had a lover at my convenience without asking him whether he was rich or not. Immediately. That is my thought!”

Then each told the other their story … as each intended, which goes without saying. Mélanie forgot her death, not because that was shameful, but because the matter was so brief to be worth mentioning. Finot, on his part, passed in silence over his residence in the Baton Rouge Penitentiary. He arranged his story from the day of his release from the Mobile cellar, and shifted to voyages to find her, Mélanie. Everything was as short as possible. Each attributed his or her San Francisco voyage to a desire to see the country, and what a country! Briefly, in fifty or sixty minutes, the two odysseys arrived at the same word: The End.

Now it was a question of the present.

Mélanie quickly took the balance of her affairs. She had been in the hotel for eight days, had paid nothing in advance, and she did not have a single ounce, in other terms, sixteen piastres!

Finot had been to the mines. There he had amassed several hundred piastres, but the unhappy man! He had been robbed… The pains he had taken to obtain this gold were such that he did not have the courage to recommend the same work after his misfortune, and he had come to the city to get work. He found a position before arriving in San Francisco. At this time the maÎtres d’establissement were hunting for employees, while in all other lands, unemployed men were desperate for jobs. Finot was serving in a café with a monthly salary of four hundred piastres. If he had taken forty-eight hours to look, he would infallibly have found a hundred piastres more. His month would be over in two days, but he had already spent nine-tenths of it.

— “You see,” he said to Mélanie, “bad luck pursues me. I am fortunate to find you again, you are in trouble and I cannot come to your aid!”

— “Come to my aid! And why?”

— “But … to free you here.”

— “Just a minute, my boy! You will see how I free myself.”

And she pulled the bell cord as if she had a hundred thousand in income.

Ten minutes later, a boy arrived.

— “Summon the proprietor,” she said.

He arrived immediately.

— “How much do I owe,” Mélanie asked him without hestitation…

— “We have eight days: that makes, quite reasonably, one hundred sixty dollars.”

Finot, who had never been a resident in a California hotel, did a summersault.

Mélanie did not flinch.

— “By my faith … I do not have any money,” she said.

— “That doesn’t matter,” the proprietor responded, laughing in a manner that was both unpleasant and respectful.

— “How … does that not matter?”

— “That is to say that, if I dare, I will offer you … something … in expectation.”

— “Offer away: then we shall see.”

— “Here is the matter: it is easy, I even dare to say, agreeable. Here there is a buffet. The person who kept it — during the meal — quit the day before yesterday, and that created problems … if you wish … to replace her, I would pay you well.”

Finot looked at Mélanie, and Mélanie looked at the floor. At the end of some seconds, she raised her head.

— “How much are you paying?” she asked.

The master of the house could not hide a feeling of great satisfaction. The Dame de table who had quit was a real problem, thin as a herring, called in Paris, at the barrier balls, Mademoiselle Quille. Mélanie, in contrast, was of moderate height, was young and fresh, and of an adequate weight. She was, in the words of Rabelais, “full of round temptations.” It was a lucky day for the hotel proprietor.

As Mélanie was about to respond, Finot passed her a small card that she read at once.

— “She who just quit,” the hotel proprietor answered, “had two hundred piastres a week. If you wish?…”

Mélanie was not a woman interested in money.

— “That will do!” she said. “Only, since I could find twenty jobs in twenty minutes, I will make one small condition.”

The patron scratched his ear.

— “We shall see,” he said.

— “The eight days I passed here … will disappear, right? Me, I do not like things that trail behind.”

— “I am in favor of it: so it’s agreed?”

— “It is agreed. Ah! I forgot,” Mélanie said, looking at Finot, partly hidden, “I have found my husband, here he is. I want to present him…”

The patron made a grand salute to Finot. He was happy that there was nothing more than that. He rose to depart…

— “One moment,” said Mélanie, “I have another small condition…”

— “Ah!…” said the patron, halting…

— “Yes. As a good wife should always care for her husband, I wish that my husband be your pensioner, without paying.”

— “But,” the patron said, “the pension is very expensive…”

— “It is proper for me to wish to make him a gift … on your part. If that is good to you, we are in agreement; if not, we will not speak further on it.”

— “Oh well,” the patron responded, “it is fine with me.”

— “Then you may inscribe this name in your registers:”

And Marie handed her new bourgeois the card that Finot gave her. On this card one read: “Monsieur Jules Bonaventure” and on the second line, “Performs all variety of professions.”

A moment later, Finot and Mélanie were alone.




VI

Monsieur Bonaventure and Monsieur Firmament

Some months before the epoch where our narrative has reached at this moment, two men were sitting on the poop deck of a three-masted bark, talking in a low voice.

The ship in question spread sail for California. It had departed New York and its crossing was so short that it is cited as one of the most rapid ever to take place.

— “Oh that,” said one of the two men to his companion, a thin little man with a lively eye and a deliberating air, “it is necessary that we forge for ourselves new names. It is not prudent to disembark that way under an old one that is compromised.”

— “It’s true that way, my big man,” the little man responded, “we need names. So let us hunt for a moment, and consider. Let’s see, how would you baptize me?”

The heavy man huffed like a little whale.

— “It is difficult,” he said, “there is no name that suits you better than Finot… You are mischievous, you are small, you are fine: with fin, you have Finot by adding an o and a t.”

— “Parbleu! Better something new! It is not a question of two plus two makes four; it is a matter of finding another thing.”

— “Oh well,” the fat man said, “since you have adventures, call yourself Aventure!”

— “What a beast you are! Could anybody be named Monsieur Aventure? It is too outrageous.”

— Ah! Big fool, what spirit you’ve got!” Finot cried out… I will change Mauvais to Bon, and I have Bonaventure!”

The big man remained in admiration before his friend. A little more, and he would have embraced him.

— “Finot, my friend!” he cried out, “I declare you a superior man. You are my master, Monsieur Bonaventure!”

Finot bowed.

— “Now, it is a question of you. How do you want to name yourself?”

— “Me?” Rousto said — because one had recognized him — “if I were named Cuirasse?”

— “And that is proper! Why not Casque or Bottalécuyère?”

— “Bottalé … what? It’s too long, I would never remember my own name.”

— “Jobard! It is for your pestering that I say that!”

— “At a good hour! What if I called myself Roustagnac?”

— “It is too Gascon.”

— “Roustolos?”

— “Too Spanish.”

— “And Roustolan?”

— “One would ask if you descended from the Emperor’s Mameluk. Listen, you need to take a name that you can never forget. Raise your head!”

Rousto raised his head.

— “What is it you see?” Finot, or Bonaventure, asked him.

— “But … I see the sky…”

— “Good, do you know what they call the sky? Do you know another name?”

— “Yes, the firmament.”

— “Bravo! You will be named Monsieur Firmament!”

— “Right! But that is really pretty, that name! And I would only have to look up in the air if I forgot my name!”

— “Behold, my big man! Your name is written in the heavens! You who were whipped with yellow leather in the Yellow House of Baton-Rouge.”

— “And you, who has cut wooden pegs!”

— “All true. Give me your hand, Monsieur Firmament…”

— “Happily, Monsieur Bonaventure!”

And so that is how, before arriving in California, our two characters baptized themselves — without water — aboard the three-masted bark that carried them.


Monsieur Bonaventure and Monsieur Firmament arrive in California

When the two friends arrived in California, they commenced to gather some tools, and they directed themselves, with slow step, toward the mines. There they found gathered together Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, Mexicans, Chinese, Germans, in sum, men of all lands. They were particularly happy to find the Frenchmen, who understood one another easily. Firmament’s extraordinary strength, Bonaventure’s spirit, fertile in resources, made the two inseparable, a complete partnership. Finot — we cannot renounce using this name from time to time — had a superfine eye for discovering gold veins. The least bit, the smallest brilliant grain glinting in the sun, was like the north pole that attracted to itself the love of the little man. It was like a ferret in a rabbit cage. Rousto himself, who set about to shatter the soil with great blows, when his leader told him, “pick there, my big man!”

The Frenchmen, in contrast to what they are elsewhere, hung together in a cordial association, and they obtained excellent results in their operations.

In California, the Frenchmen created for themselves, so to speak, “a little France,” as the author from whom we have borrowed some passages,

Where two of our compatriots meet, (he continues) on the other side of the seas, they quickly form of these two a new fatherland. The Frenchman imposes his influence on the region that extends him hospitality; he does not submit to foreign influence, he dominates it. See the old French colonies and the lands where it has briefly extended its power, among others the Île-de-France, the left bank of the Rhine, Louisiana and principally New Orleans with its First Municipality, a French town in an American city, which has been preserved for almost eighty years of foreign domination, borders as deep as the yellow flow of a river that moves through the dark waves of the Ocean. And Canada, this old France in North America, where religion, customs, character, language, all has remained faithful to the primitive motherland, whose image, graved profoundly in the heart of the population, will never be effaced.

Everywhere the Frenchman steps, he brings with himself his tastes, his habits, and, little by little, without pressing at all, he makes them accepted, and establishes their triumph. It has been chased from the banks of the Eastern Republic the English influence that predominated. He is the natural courtier of our products, to us who have them not, for our export commerce, of special agents paid three and four thousand piastres per year by the manufacturers of Boston, of Liverpool, of Manchester, finally to receive not only orders of businessmen of one place, but to travel beyond, provoking and making offers of rebates, presenting models, to establish, in a word — the most pressing, the most militant, competition, as the agents of English and American manufacturers in New Orleans, for example.

These appreciations are true, but it would be another matter of French influence if the French knew how to live cordially among themselves in other foreign lands! It is perhaps a necessary thing that this fine friendship has little existence among them, because, united and fraternal, their moral ascendance would become a usurpation.

So the two friends amassed gold as they sang La Marseillaise, Les Souvenirs du Peuple, Le Chant du Départ, Le Grenier, La Vivandière du Régiment, and such other national poetry. It was a valiant gayety, an exciting gayety, a French gayety in the end! … and Firmament’s mattock went its way! and Bonaventure’s tongue never fell silent! and the philosophic powder went, in little grains or in stronger fractions, to fill the leather bag that the former victim of the lash of the fair sex held attached to his throat.

— “Fearless, my big man!” Finot-Bonaventure said, “fearless! It was no longer a question of false gold or false silver, let alone false bills! It was pure gold, there! And in an unknown number of carats! What, then, is a carat, my Porthos?…”

— “Don’t know!” responded Rousto-Firmament.

— “It is, as they say, a conventional idea for knowing the quality of the gold.”

— “Don’t understand!”

“Finally, if the gold is bad, it does not have many carats; if it is very good, it has lots of carats…”

— “So, it has many ideas, so the carat is an idea!”

— “But no, it is a convention.”

— “So there are many conventions!”

— “Rousto… Firmament, my friend, dig lots of gold, and I will make you see carats.”

— “I understand it better that way,” the heavy Hercules responded.

This day they won for themselves twice the annual salary of a colonel.

The next day, while Bonaventure told a story to ten compatriots sitting around him, their legs crossed, a big noise was heard far away. All of them rose and pricked up their ears. A hundred citizens were advancing on the place where the workers were located. All of them were talking at once, which produced a cacophony than one could easily describe as deafening. On arriving near the Frenchmen, the column slowed its pace, and one of them walking at the head called the ten men. They invited them, and, once they met the troupe, the chief ordered and obtained silence. An individual, his hands tied behind him, when seen up close, threw frightened looks all around. He trembled in all his members and hung his head in a sign of despair.

— “Messieurs,” the chief of the troupe said in English, “this man was taken red-handed in the crime of theft and assassination. Every day we are at the mercy of thieves and murderers; we are menaced every moment, menaced in our property and our existence; the law is powerless; legal penalty does not have any power because there are no agents to apply it. We have condemned this man to be hanged … and we are going to hang him immediately.”

— “Hang him!” all the voices cried out.

A rope was attached to a strong limb of a tree. At the end of the rope they tied a sliding greased knot.

The man was placed on a cart and the rope was put around his neck. Then the chief of the band delivered his sentence, after which he was permitted to speak.

— “I have nothing to say for my justification,” he said. “I was taken, too bad for me; it is the fourth time I have killed.”

The clamor revived, and, in the midst of the greatest hubbub, the body of the condemned quickly floated several feet off the ground. He had ceased to live.

— “That was well done, that!” Bonaventure said to Firmament.

The gathering dispersed without a sound, with a sort of satisfaction.

This summary justice appeared to be a barbaric act; in an absolute sense that is true. Still, one should read and consider.




VII

Lynch Law

It is known what Lynch Law is: it is this laconic, expeditious legislation, adopted by several Oregon tribes, among others by the Nez Percés grouped on the banks of the Koos-Koos-Ky river, and which considers every case as a hanging case, formed entirely of articles that begin, Every person who is convicted, finishing with Shall be hanged.

Indeed, the situation and deeds here have forced the return to an equal means of repression.

The pickpockets; the salters, large-scale thieves of mines, once the field was not as free there for impunity, suddenly appeared in the towns. San Francisco became the theater of preference for their exploits. — Articles of merchandise, hitherto piled along public roads, were imported by the thieves. — Under the direction of organizing chiefs of disciplined gangs, under an open sky, they practiced their industry openly. — It was not possible to know where the merchant ended and the thief began. — Justice was stymied, stunned, and remained indecisive, inactive. — But soon the promoters of disorder, encouraged by the action and made bolder by success — the harvest was too slow for their desires. — Incendiary torches raised tumult and facilitated the work. The pickpocket has become a bloodhound, an assassin, and impatient crime spread blood on the streets before the night had extended its mysterious shadow.

Justice, meanwhile, remained deliberate and hesitant to act. But an old man, knocked down by blows from an iron bar wielded by a supposed customer, fell with his injured head at the foot of his stall, which the brigand then carried toward a ship that was raising its sail.

In response to the pleas of the victim, neighbors and passers-by pursued the criminal, grabbed him and arrested him. From one end of the town to the other, the news spread terror and indignation.

A committee of public safety was organized, calling itself the Vigilance Committee, constituting itself as a jury, caused the assassin to appear, interrogated him, forced him to admit his crime, judged him and condemned him to be hanged at once.

The fire-company’s belfry rang in monumental pomp; this time it was not ringing for a fire, this time it was calling the population to the spectacle of an execution.

Regular justice could not renounce asserting the powers it had not known how to use in its hesitancy. It reclaimed the criminal to an improvised court; in response to the repeated testimony, it only responded with a formal refusal.

The comforts of religion were accorded to the guilty man, who put his conscience at rest and asked only for a last cigar. He lit it and approached the place of execution surrounded by members of the committee, who marched slowly, formed in three ranks, in the middle of the population guarding a solemn and profound silence.

The municipal police tried to intervene with force to seize the prisoner, who had been taken from its control. Rudely rejected, the police had to flee; the armed escort was making ready to fire.

One had arrived at the fatal place: a rope hung from a pulley on a beam that served to raise parcels to the loading dock of a store. The condemned threw away his cigar. Two paces from eternity, he confessed his crime in a loud voice, refused to have his face covered, and, face to face, death remained covered in its presence, a sad privilege.

The example was terrible, but one also saw that the facts were of a menacing gravity that reclaimed, and to some extent, justified this example.

Certainly it was profoundly regrettable to see mob justice, easily blind and passionate, taking the place of the regular action of the laws, but when the land is flooded by universal emigration, and the desire for gold invited an entire population of convicts, ruffians, knaves that I have already described, feeding themselves on this land. Once satisfied by easy and plentiful gains, in a minute they return to their nature of violence and crimes, when conditions change, and the serious labor of which they have a horror and dislike becomes one of the conditions of their well-being. In the presence of a great number of thefts and crimes, the justice of the land, momentarily invested by the legislature, of the right to fight theft by death, but without soldiers of gendarmes, without either force or energy, nor — with a removable, elected magistracy — the integrity nor the independence necessary. How is it a surprise that the mass of honest men, victims of bandits, take in hand, provisionally, their own defense and organize, to guarantee their security, a Vigilance Committee of eighty of the most prominent and reputable citizens, appealing to the energy of the crowd to execute pitiless but salutary arrests. That is the truth.

The illegality is regrettable in principle, but the disorder and the triumph of bad passions are regrettable to a greater degree.

Finot and Rousto together occupied a crummy little cabin, built of rubbish and covered by every sort of more or less permeable materials. They had made in the soil a ditch where they buried every evening the gold dust they have collected during the day. They tranquilly slept every night alongside their little treasure, and comparing their present situation with the illegal and dangerous life they had led previously in New Orleans, they found it very happy.

But … — there is always a but in all states of happiness … — a fatal day arrived. The love that lost Troy robbed poor Bonaventure, and, at the same time — poor Firmament.

We must relate the matter carefully.

By the greatest of accidents, they found, near the place these two inseparables had chosen, some women … whom in other lands would have been more or less ignored, but who, in view of their rarity, were taken to be the equal of rare beauties.

Bonaventure had, as is known, lively passions; the sight of the sex tickled his fibers and caused him to smile maliciously. Since they had arrived in California, he had been like a short fuse. He made heavy sighs and could not sit still. One day he discovered what he had sought so intensely: he had a good lady friend. Naturally, his absences from the cabin he shared with his friend Firmament were rather frequent, and, one fine day, or rather one fine night, while Rousto snored with an uncommon pulmonary force, the hidden treasure of the partners vanished. In any case, the theft was not immediately discovered.

The next morning, early, Bonaventure arrived from his nocturnal excursion and awoke Firmament.

— “Have you slept well?” he asked…

— “It is as I know!” Firmament responded. “I threw myself down on my back, on my belly, on one side, right, left, it is all the same, and when I open my eyes, it is daytime!”

— “That is a sign that you sleep solidly…—

— “Perhaps good; I will not say no.”

They departed for the mine.

This day was one of the finest for the partners. They collected nuggets of superb size, and in a very satisfactory number. On returning in the evening, they were excessively gay. Finot sang like a finch, and the California echoes repeated the couplets of our immortal Béranger.

I love all our heroes… Alas! how I weep for them! All of them, soldiers and generals Fill me, at every hour, With love of glory and booty: Tin, tin, tin, tin, tin, r’lin tin tin! Of love of glory and booty… Soldiers! behold Catin!

Rousto whistled, “The more the fool, the more you laugh …” as a funny accompaniment, making quite a droll effect.

— “Give me that, my big man,” Bonaventure said to him, “to put with the rest.”

Then he kissed himself, emptied his bag with a little throw ad hoc, and let out a cry:

— “Robbed!” he repeated…

And he looked at his partner … who looked back…

— “My poor Rousto!” he said…

— “My poor Finot!”

— “What will we do?”

— “I have no idea.”

— “Should we go and complain?”

— “Yes, let’s go!”

Rousto had already taken two strides.

— “I believe that it would be useless,” his friend observed.

— “That is possible! Who knows?”

— “Who knows? Let’s go…”

And they departed to complain.

There quickly gathered about twenty individuals, They posed questions and suppositions. It was who would stop whom who was visiting the cabin.

It goes without saying that nothing was discovered.


What Firmament and Bonaventure did the next day!

The evening of this accursed day, Bonaventure did not go to his habitual rendezvous!

The next morning, while waking up, the two friends, sitting on their common bed, their legs dangling, their shirts in disarray, their hair in every direction, looked at one another and yawning and scratching themselves where the mosquitoes had bitten them.

— “We are ruined, Firmament…”

— “And how, Bonaventure…”

— “Not exactly; not completely…”

— “No, not completely!”

— “We still have today’s nuggets…”

— “And they were good ones!”

— “That’s true. What are we to decide?”

— “I don’t care.”

— “It was your own fault, Rousto! I am sure that they robbed us during your heavy sleep…”

— “It is certainly possible. But if you had been there…”

— “Oh! For sure they would not have done it, considering that I sleep as lightly as the idea of a woman.”

— “So then, it is your fault, Finot! If you had not been gadding about, this would not have happened.”

— “You are right: both of us were wrong … and both of us are suffering. There is nothing more just, Firmament.”

— “You are talking like a book, Bonaventure! But should we get dressed?”

— “Let’s get dressed, but first a decision.”

— “I am listening,” Firmament said, getting on his pants.

— “My advice, Bonaventure said, imitating his partner, “is that, since we were robbed once, they could rob us again.”

— “That seems right to me.”

— “And besides,” Finot continued, “it is awfully tiring, mining! … particularly for you: I am afraid lest you should get thin, my Porthos!”

— “Huh, if I get thin?”

— “And me, if I get fat! I would be like a ball! Well, let’s go work in town. We have enough to get started, and for the rest, it would not take long to find a job.”

— “That’s true! Let’s go work at something different. We can go ask our gang of three inseparables living over there, near the woods … what do you say?”

— “I think it would be best to sell everything than to leave it behind indefinitely.”

— “Let’s go sell it!” Rousto said, who did not have any will.

An hour later, the entire place was sold and paid for, and two hours later, Orestes and Pylades walked side by side toward San Francisco, each armed with a walking stick that could serve at the same time for support and for defense.

The route unrolled clean and white, bordered by green trees whose high oaks waved back and forth in the breeze. Some crops grew here and there, surrounded by a barrier made of untrimmed logs and trees used where they fell. After the gold of the mines, one would have dreamed of this other gold, less quickly won but surer, that the earth gives to those who desire to contribute their labor to it. Families gathered more willingly around a cultivated field than around all sorts of holes dug to search for precious metal.

Bonaventure and Firmament had a road to cover, but, as the jokester of a military company says in his narration, “March today, march tomorrow, through marching you get a lot of road.”

So they will march, consume the road, and arrive.

Forty-eight hours after their arrival in San Francisco, they had jobs. Firmament was employed in a brewery, Bonaventure in a café. Each of them earned four hundred piastres a month, without counting what is called les tours de bâton, profit sharing.




VIII

Or a broken Thread is renewed

So Bonaventure and Firmament separated every day to go to work, each in his own way. This separation was not done without pain. The poor friends had contracted an affection for one another that was stronger than that born by their well-marked differences, and by their common work and pains shared.

Still, it was necessary for Firmament to go to his brewery and for Bonaventure to appear at his café.

— “So we are going to leave one another!” Bonaventure said to his comrade as they arose on the morning of the day they would have to be forcibly separated…

— “Damn! Sure, but we will make some money.”

— “Farewell, Firmament!” said Bonaventure…

— “Farewell, Bonaventure!” Firmament responded…

And they shook hands emotionally. Each began to take his own way, when Rousto — whose eyes were moist — turned around suddenly, with a joyous face, and cried out:

— “I just got an idea!”

— “Bah!” said the little one…

— “Yes, listen: Each of us has to pose a condition to our bosses. They will not dare refuse.”

— “Let’s see!…

— “You will ask for the right to leave every evening for two hours, and I will demand that you have the right to drink beer for two hours … gratis! In this way, we will see one another every evening, and we will not have need to be sad!”

— “And if my boss refuses, I will find another job.”

With that, they separated, consoled.

The following morning, Bonaventure received the note that read as follows:

My dear companion,

Before putting my hand to the hops, barley, and the other drugs of which my boss makes use for the confection of his liquid, I took him aside, rolled up my sleeves, and I said to him, “Look how I am built! I could build you a terrible lot of work, all the more so because I am not afraid of work.”

He thought I was done, and he responded, “That is very good; in a little while I will give you a raise, if my business prospers.”

Then I said to him, “That is not all. I have something to ask of you! My intimate friend, named Bonaventure, cannot avoid coming to see me; without that, I will lose my strength. I want to see him every evening and offer him beer … without paying!” He did not hesitate a minute, and he responded to me that you may come every evening and consume gratis and at discretion. Until this evening!

It is not necessary to ask whether Bonaventure was exact about this rendezvous. For two hours, seated one opposite the other, one smoking a cigar, the other with a big Turkish pipe, only separated by five or six bottles and two glasses, they conversed like good bourgeois who were relaxing from their work.

— “I am lacking nothing but one thing for my happiness,” Bonaventure said.

— “What is it?” Firmament asked as he hoisted a large glass of beer…

— “Ah, my dear!… I am only lacking she whom I love! If only I had Mélanie … I would be the happiest mortal in all the Californias…

— “To me,” Firmament said, “I don’t need that. A woman is trouble!”

— “Trouble!” Bonaventure cried out, returning to the table the glass he had taken to his lips… “trouble! Oh no, on the contrary, it is very agreeable.”

— “I prefer beer!” the novice brewer responded…

— “Parbleu! All these big, fat men … they are like molasses! It always turns gold and loves to remain single!”

— “Possible: each to his own taste.”

— “Firmament, I will go crazy if I am alone for a long time.”

— “That’s impossible.”

— “It is as I tell you. It is necessary that I act. Unfortunately, women are very rare here. You do recall Mélanie, Firmament…”

— “Not much!”

— “Fat scoundrel, go! I have long believed you were trying to suffocate me!…

— “I would happily stick a finger in your eye!”

— “I believe it now, my big man. Just like that, you do not recall this excellent girl who gave me so much trouble and so much happiness. Me, I could see her here. Size a little more than moderate, bodice … full, and famously formed! Belt, round, above the haunches … very pretty haunches! Rous… Firmament. And the legs … perfect! My dear…”

Finot let our a heavy sigh, had an enormous glass of beer, and blew out an enormous puff of smoke; then he shook his head, adding with a continual exaltation:

— “And what eyes! Firmament… And what a mouth! And what fresh cheeks! T………! I will go mad!”

— “Drink your beer!” Rousto said.

— “To hell with the beer! If God is a good God, he will get me Mélanie … I swear to go to mass all Sundays!”

— “You!” cried Firmament … you will go to mass!”

— “Yes, I swear by all I hold most sacred! For five years I never will never miss Sunday mass, except for a major obstacle independent of my will, if I recover Mélanie!”

— “Name of God! That’s a solemn oath!” Rousto hurled, making a fist blow that clove the table…

The glass bottles broke into little pieces.

A boy came running at once.

— “It is nothing,” Firmament said, “I put a patch on the table, and it’s fine.”

— “I believe that you wish another beer,” said the boy.

— “But yes. Bring us two or three bottles. That can’t hurt, it is very healthy!”

— “It is very healthy —” Bonaventure repeated, who did not know what the theme of the conversation was, he was so absorbed” —

At this moment they heard on the street the sound of horses.

Firmament took a look outside; Bonaventure held his head in his two hands, his elbows on the table.

— “Well!” said the former, “it is a cavalcade coming into town. Six Amazons … and rather well kept!”

— “Amazons!” cried Bonaventure, and he rose as if his chair were on fire.

In a moment, Finot had his gaze fixed, his arms frozen at middle-height, his head immobile. Immediately, all his body trembled, his head turned toward Firmament, as if stunned by higher power; his mouth opened … and … he was unable to speak. He grew horribly pale.

— “What do you have?” his friend asked him. “Did the beer make you sick?”

— “Rousto!”

— “Huh?”

— “Rousto!!”

— “What then?”

— “Rousto!! Do you know?”

— “But what!”

— “Do you know … what I am seeing?”

— “No.”

— “Oh! My friend … my friend! If I have not gone mad, that will stun me!”

— “But … they say that it is the beginning…”

— “Of happiness, my boy! Of felicity. Maybe I’m dying!”

— “Ah there … but … he is suddenly insane!”

— “Oh!” said Bonaventure, slapping his forehead, “perhaps I am truly unhappy…”

— “Would you like me to pour beer on your head to cause you to revive?” Firmanent asked, opening a bottle…

— “No!” Finot responded, extending his glass.

— “Well! To me you have the air of becoming reasonable again…”

— “Listen, my companion, my Porthos, listen!”

— “I am listening.”

— “I am seeing … guess who?”

— “I will never guess!” the new Porthos responded.

— “I am seeing… Mélanie!!!”

— “Where? There?”

— “Where you are … it is not important where! Among the Amazons!”

— “Bah!”

— “It is this beautiful woman in blue … who has such lovely breasts.”

Firmament remained stupefied.

— “And I saw nothing,” he said. “Concerning that, you will have to go to mass for five years, right?”

— “Yes, Rousto! … yes, Firmament! … yes, Porthos! I will go for five years, that’s a vow! Perhaps I will go for ten years; but there is one condition — half-heard in my oath, but which fits quite naturally — it is this — Listen well! — If I thank Providence, it must be for a good that has been done to me, right?”

— “Nothing is more clear!”

— Oh well, if Providence offers me Mélanie, I will recognize Him, I will keep my oath. But if Mélanie belongs to another! Do you understand, Firmament?”

— “Oh my dear!” Rousto murmured, “that would really be bad to see her with another than to do the same due to her absence!”

— “So in that case, I would only have the subjects of pain, and jealousy would render my existence impossible.”

— “So then you would die of it, my friend?’

— “Perhaps! … or better, I would become a murderer over it!”

— “A murderer, Finot!…

— “Why not? Is it because I did not stab you for Mélanie, because you are my intimate, the son of my heart!”

— “We shall see: be wise and reasonable. Inform yourself about Mélanie, go to see her, and you will know immediately if you are the happiest or the most unhappy of men. After that, if you have a rival more powerful than yourself, I would pursue a quarrel with him, he will fight with me, and I will kill him with two stabs. This would not be an assassination, it would be an assault and battery, as one says in the jargon of the recorder.”

— “I will be your counsel,” Bonaventure responded. If I am happy, I will keep my oath … and if … I do not return this evening, Firmament, my dear Firmament! … it is because your friend has found … heaven! Too bad for my café!”

On that, Finot departed, Pursued information, found Mélanie and … did not return until the next day, as we have discovered in a previous chapter!




IX

How Finot-Bonaventure kept his vow

At the end of several weeks, Bonaventure and Firmament were, as in the previous chapter, at table, one across from the other. It was the first time in a week!

Love has always come before friendship.

Bonaventure was hardly aware of the void created in his habits by the diminution of the number of his meetings with Firmament, for the simple reason that this void was filled, and more, by a sweeter liaison. He loved Mélanie more than ever. So far as Firmament went, it was not the same. In the evening, when the accustomed hour of talk in the presence of bottles of beer came, he grew sad. He would have a glass or two of beer, but that would not have the same taste, taken alone. He understood that his friend was complete, and he was not. Often, the idea of the mines came back to him. He wanted to speak with Bonaventure, but he was so content when he came back to the brewery that Porthos did not dare speak of his pain to his Aramis.

The idea of returning to the mines had come to Firmament for two reasons: the first, the less frequent visits of Bonaventure; the second, the attraction of this seductive independence that has so many charms for certain natures.

As our author who has written best on California, from whom we have already borrowed, says of the predilection:

Free by himself, stripped of all ties, capable of setting up his own penates and choosing the field of his work, the miner at any time cannot decide to exchange this independent existence common to a voyageur or a hunter, where the total being dwells in a unspeakable sentiment of pride born of the conscience of liberty and in the enjoyment of an endless calm in the place of the agitated, tumultuous life of towns, where necessity throws you into the vortex of interests, producing a desperate struggle, where shabby rivalries cover you with bruises: where the head must bow under inferior authorities, where more than once Gulliver is troubled in his sleep by the blows of pins and laced in the imperceptible threads of imperceptible Lilliputians.

And besides, on the other side — it must be said — Firmament, whose extraordinary physical power and ardor were known to a great number of miners, Firmament, we say, had received many offers from mining companies that had found the means by well-extended association to reduce the costs and to increase the ordinary revenues of isolated operations.

In California, better than elsewhere, association brings the happiest fruits. Not only because by these means the costs of good nourishment are less, but generally all the costs of installation — acquisition or construction of housing, acquisition of tools and training in these instruments of labor, as well as clothing — are also.

The associated workers promise one another mutual aid; special workers make the tools; the association itself operates as a merchant both of the food and necessary objects for the work of mines; in part it leads in agricultural exploitation, hunting, the mine, small commerce; it has its own forge, its bakery, its slaughterhouse, its wash-house, its grocery store, its saw for planks, its carriage shop, it finally has its bar facing its church of fronds, the congregation or the faithful consisting of several couples from places around there, assisting in the divine office, and seeking to repair bodily forces after having cared for their souls.

It is entirely from the point of view of mining exploitation that the association renders eminent services. It permits associated workers to undertake great works, to keep beasts of burden to transport the gold ore from the man to watercourses where it is washed, to operate on large scale with efficient and easy means, to obtain, in a word, the most complete and most profitable results.

The strangers, the miners of the Anglo-Saxon race, deal admirably with these sorts of affairs: they do not discuss, they execute. One does not know who gives the direction, all of them work.

In fact, one had made offers to Firmament. But as brilliant as they were, he would certainly not have accepted if his friend had not virtually abandoned him. Despite his taste for independent work, not restricted in their results, the brave boy had never dreamed of working without seeing Finot.

On the day of which we are speaking at the start of the chapter, Firmament was very distressed, if taciturn. He had an air that was so constrained, so preoccupied, that Bonaventure could not stop him to ask the cause of this unusual humor.

— “You see,” Firmament responded, scratching an ear, “since you recovered Mélanie…”

— “I have always attended the mass on Sunday!” Bonaventure cried out.

— “I know, but … you don’t come to the brewery in the evening.”

— “Ah, damn! … that’s true, but … you see that … I cannot leave my dear child alone … who has received me so well.”

— “I understand that very well,” Firmament replied, but no less, I who am accustomed to you, it is heart-breaking to remain alone through all the long evenings.”

— “Oh well, we shall see.”

— “It is not the same thing, my friend. But do you know the idea that has come to me now? It is to return to the mines. They have made me propositions on the part of a rich company that is working on a grand scale. Being continually at work, I would not have time to have spleen!”

After this tirade — very long for him — Firmament let out a powerful sigh that extinguished one of the two candles on the table.

Bonaventure relit the candle, and a moment of silence followed Firmament’s conclusion.

— “You don’t like the situation of a brewer?” Bonaventure said so as not to respond directly to his friend’s proposition…

— “No,” he responded, “it is always the same song: hops and hot water, barley and hot water, and then always the same work, always the same ingredients in the same quantities. It resembles the work of a squirrel in a cage that turns!”

— “But my dear, one can say as much for all situations.”

— “That is why I do not like them. I love change, novelty, of pain and pleasure; today is danger, tomorrow work with a horse, the next day rest, the following day, a feast … and so on! To each his taste…”

In this particular moment, Firmament was much more eloquent than Bonaventure, because what he said was a sincere expression of his thought, while Bonaventure did not know what to respond, because he felt himself guilty of treason against friendship!

It is necessary to be sincere to be eloquent! It is necessary to be convinced to convince others.

Finally, Bonaventure took the floor; then he explained himself clearly.

— “Listen,” he said to his friend, “let each of us take what is ours. I will come here every two evenings. We are to the fifteenth of the month; complete this month and then the following month at the brewery. In this time, if nothing new has changed our positions, if you still have the same intensions, you can go to the mines, and I will even accompany you for ten leagues.

Finot was only trying to win time. When one is uncomfortable about a conclusion, this procedure is often quite good, because events, or Providence — the word makes no difference — leads almost always to unforeseen incidents that change our intentions.

— “So,” Firmament responded, “you will come every second evening?”

— “Yes, exactly, as exactly as I was at the mass since I found Mélanie again. But you promise not to make any decision before a month and a half?”

— “Word of honor!” Firmament responded. Let’s drink beer!”

— “Let’s drink beer!”

Since the blessed day when Finot had, as if on cue, found his Mélanie again, he had scrupulously carried out his oath. Each Sunday, as the religious bell sent its ringing, echoing call in the great city of California, the faithful Bonaventure put on black pants, a pink necktie, a black coat and a yellow waistcoat. On all that he put a gray hat; at the end of his arms, a pair of gloves in fantasy colors … and he proceeded, as the third bell sounded, toward the temple where the faithful were gathered.

The third time this took place, Mélanie — to whom Finot had said nothing … perhaps intending for another day — asked her dear lover so miraculously recovered, where he was going with such regularity and in this outfit.

To his mistress’s question, Bonaventure spoke of an incommensurable joy. He wanted to make the pleasure last.

He began by raising his hand to heaven, then, with a voice deep and slow, he let these words fall:

— “It was a vow that I have made in my heart!”

— “Devil!” Mélanie said, but once more, “what vow?”

— “The vow to go to mass every Sunday for five years …”

— “For what purpose?”

— “Because of the great happiness that I have found. Because this happiness came to me … and I believe, instead of five years, I will do it for ten!”

— “You won the lottery?”

— “Better than that!”

— “Finot, if you do not tell me the thing categorically and without interruptions, I will not embrace you from now to the end of the week!”

This menace was always victorious for Mélanie’s lover’s sensible heart. It also had its immediate effect, she said.

— “Here is the matter,” he said with a voice filled with sentiment: “I have found gold in this blessed land; I had here and still had here a true friend; my health here is also perfect… In short for other hearts than mine, everything was for the best in the best of all worlds; but … I was lacking the most beautiful jewel in this crown of felicity! And this jewel, Mélanie! This jewel was you!… — One day … no, one evening, at table opposite a friend, in the company of several pitchers of beer, the pain that grew in me made an explosion! I wept over your absence, your loss! And, in a moment of holy exaltation, I swore that if, by accident or by an act of Providence, I would come to recover you, Mélanie! I would go to mass every Sunday for five years! — Listen! — I had barely taken my vow, than the sound of a cavalcade struck my ears. I quickly got up, looked out, and among a dozen Amazons, I recognized this conquering air, these enchanting breasts which could only belong to one Mélanie … to Finot’s Mélanie. I suddenly felt ill … of happiness! A minute later, I felt ill … with rage!… The first impression was the happiness of finding you again; the second, was the rage of jealousy, the thought of you being with another! It was then that I fell like a bomb, to know whether I must go to mass for five years, or whether I must … burn my brain! Look!…”

— “And you will burn your brain?” Mélanie asked…

— “Perhaps!”

— “Let’s see … say the truth?”

— “Oh well, the truth — at present the thing has passed away — it is that my friend Firmament, who is a Hercules, would have killed your lover … with two stabs of a knife!”

— “No more than that!”

— “Oh! My God, no!”

— “Who is this Firmament?”

— “You know him well! I had neglected to stick six ounces of steel into his stomach because he was seen promenading with you in New Orleans, rue de l’Esplanade! It is Rousto.”

— “I faintly recall,” Mélanie responded, “but you are certainly wrong: the poor boy is not a seducer!”

— “I have recognized that since. He has no feeling for women: he says he is an inconvenient piece of furniture … the unfortunate fellow!”

— “Finot! Come here, so I may embrace you! Go to mass, my dear! … your vow proves your love, and, if I know how to repay you properly…”

— “Oh! I will tell you,” the little man replied after having taken the offered kiss…

— “Speak.”

— “Oh well … it is the dream of my entire life: let me marry you! But there, marry you legitimately! That you will call yourself Madame Bonaventure!”

Finot was heating up.

— “And that I should have the right, by law, to kill whomever is taken by me in flagrante delicto of…”

— “Of what?” Mélanie said, turning with a bound…

— “Excuse me,” Finot said in a reduced tone, “I was seized by an exaltation of love … and jealousy!”

— “In time! But remember one thing well: whether I become Madame Bonaventure or not, do not be either a spy or a tyrant, because then you will lose me!”

“No, my little cat, I shall be neither a spy, nor a tyrant, nor jealous. Do you want us to marry?”

—  “Yes, as early as tomorrow!”

Finot executed a series of turns, of jumps and skips, singing and tapping his hands like a puppet gone mad.

— “But you are mad!” Mélanie said to him.

— “Yes, thank God! Mad from happiness, my tigress! My lioness! My countess! It is necessary that my boss extend me an advance of five hundred piastres; I want to celebrate worthily the great day of which I have long dreamed. Feasting, feasting to death! The more mad one is, the more one laughs! I wish that my friend Firmament should be my first witness; for the second, I will get a miner.”

— “You have to be an adult to be a witness,” Mélanie objected.

— “What a bad pun you make there, my cat … I am speaking of a person who works or has worked in mines, and not of a youth of less than twenty-one years.”

— “Let it be so!”

And, forty-eight hours later, Mademoiselle Mélanie no longer existed … that is, she was, before God and men, Madame Bonaventure.

— It is entirely impossible to pass in silence the memorable night which cost Finot the round sum of five hundred piastres, advanced by his boss, and which served to defray a dinner of twelve persons, and everything that followed.




X

Following the previous where the reader shall perhaps be surprised.

First, we want soup With more or less of croutons; A ragout of wild duck; The brains of three sheep; Some fish in fritters, Really fat, really hot, really roasted; Veal, mutton, wild boar, With little peas, intermingled! Then coffee; then Champagne; Punch, with its successors… And then, we fight the campaign: The drunkest will be the winners! (Calisto) Ch. Testut

It was around ten in the evening.

Since the eighth stroke of the clock, Bonaventure, Madame Bonaventure and ten other celebrants were at table on the first story of the café-restaurant where Pinot served.

It had been two hours since the banquet had commenced.

They had arrived at the moment when the tongues loosened, when appetite had been satisfied by the chief dishes, conversations had taken on more freedom, more caprices, more vagabond.

Mélanie — Madame Bonaventure — was, as was proper — clothed entirely in white. As it happened, her dress suited her wonderfully. Its cut was well designed, the breasts exempt from those disgraceful cuts so often seen in bodices, designed in a pure relief, with beautiful rotundities, falling in ample plies, apart from the belt, making it more beautiful and attractive than ever. She was also coiffed with something extra, embellished with everything that jewels could add to beauty…

For jewels always Embellish beauty!

And besides, Mélanie’s eyes were more brilliant than usual, her color more animated, and her smile, more voluptuous, permitting all to admire the splendid teeth that pearled between her pink and sensual lips! So far as the crown of orange flowers is concerned — which she carried, My Faith! — she uncovered her pretty, but not particularly virginal, head… in a way that the modest and chaste clothing of the new spouse was, for Mélanie, a new luxury and a novel attraction.

Bonaventure had worked hard to make himself as handsome as possible, Mélanie had the good taste to cause him to renounce the pink cravat that was, for Finot, the nec plus ultra of elegance.

Firmament was entirely a constellation: gold and steel shone on him from all sides. The buttons of his shirt, the chain, waistcoat buttons, trinkets, buttons of gilded copper on a dark maroon jacket, a stone (more or less precious) on the pin of his cravat… etc.… Was a scintillation of stars that went together with his new name.

We pass in silence over the decoration of the other characters, less important in our narrative.

One was indeed, as we have said, in the third hour of the banquet, between the allegro and the forte of joy. With his eyes Finot devoured his legitimate spouse who smiled with malice by showing her lovely white teeth.

Counting Mélanie, women only numbered three: a big one who made the Daguerreotype, and a small one who told a great adventure; two droll types of women!

Since they saw that this was by no means a Puritan or clergy meeting, according to us, this was preferable, since joy is badly at ease in restriction.

— “My friends!” Bonaventure cried out as he rose, “do you believe that there is on earth a being more happy than me? For my part, I say no!”

— “Then,” cried out another, “let us drink to the continuation of Bonaventure’s happiness!”

— “And of his company!” added another, more gallant…”

The toast was made.

— “Say something, Mélanie,” Bonaventure exclaimed, “that I may hear your sweet voice in the midst of the circle of my friends…”

— “Oh well,” the young woman said, lifting her glass, “that all women who deserve it should find as good a little man as mine!”

All the glasses met in the midst of a gay hurrah.

— “Let’s warm it up! Warm it up…” cried Firmament, who began to show the effect of alcoholic vapors. “To me, I am convinced of one thing, which is that Madame Bonaventure, the illustrious spouse of my illustrious friend, can boast of being loved in a furious fashion.”

— “Look,” Finot cried out… “see that I love you, my spouse!…”

— “He is crazy!” said the large woman, taking Daguerreotypes…

— “All the better for him!” responded the little one, teller of nice adventure.

— “Yes!” added an ardent blond man; he only has a reasonable and advantageous folly: the folly of love!”

— “Political folly is a crime!”

— “Religious folly is silliness!”

— “Folly for gold is ignoble!”

— “All follies are beastly, except amorous folly!” declared the little woman with saucy eyes.

— “Well! An idea,” said the ardent blond… “Should we profit from the circumstance that Mademoiselle Sybilline tell each of us our fortune?…”

— “What fortune?” yelped a small falsetto…

—  “Our future, parbleu! Our good adventure!”

— “The good adventure!” all voices sounded.

— “A toast in favor of the sorceress!” Finot made them hear.

The toast was made, and all the full glasses were emptied.

— “Now silence!” said Mademoiselle Sybilline: “no speaking, nothing.”

A difficult thing to understand! Silence was established as if by enchantment. Everyone went to his place uneasily: whoever had a seat, a plate, or a bottle, and, walking at his own pace, turned their ears, opened their eyes, and listened.

— “Friendly companions,” said the little woman, “I must ask of you that I consent to open before you the gates of the future! So that the thing goes well, it is necessary for me to leave you for an hour, which until I return you may be at your own disposal. Each of you who wish to consult your destiny, come give me an object that you are carrying: a handkerchief, a watch, a hat, gloves, anything! Who wants it?”

From all parts there was only this reply:

“Me … me … me!…”

And each handed over the asked-for objects.

Sybilline took of it, went through a rear door, and entered the room of a neighboring house where there was only a young man having hardly four hairs on his chin.

— “My cherubin, she said to him, here is a magnificent occasion to get to know one another! I know well who is coming. This time, it is not a matter of money, but like the future, it is incalculable, in view of the tongues dedicated to my new practices.”

— “I know all of that,” responded the small fluid voice of a castrato; on eight of the twelve, we have known and we have worked: that will all go alone. For the three others, who, with you, make twelve, it is necessary that you put me to sleep. With what I know and the magnetic light that comes to me from on high during my sleep, we will discover the onset of truth; it is more than needed to predict.”

— “As you say, my love!” Sybilline said…

— “I will not say more about it, little mother!” the asthmatic somnambulist responded. “You will do better if you watch your diction. That is the great warhorse, that! Generally the fact is that somnambulist consultations usually go badly, that is because they fall into the domain of little-lettered persons, not eloquent! That one forms a society among instructed men and an eloquent woman, and the philosopher’s stone has been found! If above all, but it is rare! This man and this woman love one another and remain united between them, without infidelity, so that somnambulist magnetism attains the highest degree of power! It is what the ones cannot comprehend, and the others do not wish to comprehend. — Two men never act together, the same for two women, not arriving at the tenth part of total sexuality united in heart and body!… — Outside of that, no salvation! no progress! no future!”

The young man was inspired… He quit, so to speak, the earth to go to the heaven, from sphere to sphere. That with which he spoke was far from him. — It was a communication of ecstasy.

— “Oh! the magnetism!” the subject cried out — with eyes flashing inspiration and aethereism — the magnetism!!… one does not yet know what it is … because one does not wish to search in the areas of abstract sciences for the causes of this metaphysical communication that have been baptized fluid, for lack of better! A man and a man, a woman and a woman, are two similar electricities that combat one another and who annihilate themselves as in inert physical nature! A man and a woman compete for the same goal, forming, in the spiritual order, two somewhat oblique quasi-parallels that rejoin faster because there exists beween them, body and soul, more sympathies! That is the dream of idealists, who are the precocious children of truth!

There, the young man stopped, opened his arms, drawing to himself Sybilline’s head, holding it embraced for a long time, until he says:

— “Put me to sleep!”

While the scene of magnetism passes between Sybilline and her subject, we may return to the banquet, where the eleven companions continue to be lively.

— “Mesdames et Messieurs!” Firmament said, “it is necessary that I speak to you that my friend Bonaventure has made for the love of his spouse here present. It is something fabulous, you shall see!”

— “Let’s go,” Bonaventure cried out, “do not divulge my secrets before the amiable company here present…”
— “Yes, corbleu!” Firmament responded, on whom wine had bestowed eloquence … I wish that everyone know what my friend has made a vow to go, each Sunday, to mass for five years, because heaven has caused his Mélanie to be found … whom he thought was lost…”

— “And who had only strayed!” Finot added.

— “But it is magnificent, that!” cried out the big man. “Behold who calls him to love!”

— “I did better than that!” said the big blond… “I was left to die of hunger to conquer the resistance opposed to my sentiments for a person … whom I have since lost.”

— “How! Die of hunger? But it does not appear that you are dead…”

— “It is true, but it was a very close thing.”

— “Tell us about it!” several voices demanded…

— “Yes,” Bonaventure added, “I would be curious to hear…”

— “Here is the matter: One day, after having employed in vain all imaginable means to move the heart of my siren, I said, in a voice deep and slow: “Adieu, Mademoiselle — I said Mademoiselle to flatter her.”

— “Adieu … I will not rest until I die!”

— “That is prettily said!” Firmament said…

— “But listen to the end! — ‘How,’ she said to me, ‘Monsieur Héliodore, do you wish to die!’ — ‘Certainly!’ I responded… ‘Will you ruin your face with a dreadful pistol? — ‘Not at all! — ‘You will drown in vile water?’ — ‘Not so.’ — ‘You will succumb in the pains of poisoning?’ — ‘No,’ I cried out, ‘all of that would be too gentle … I will allow myself to die of hunger?’ There she let loose with a great burst of laughter. — ‘It is good,’ I said to her, ‘you will see if I am silly!’ and I left.”

— “It is necessary to tell you,” the big blond continued, “that I lived in the same house as the charming lady. The next day I did not arise. That evening, a friend who was in on the plot came to see me, and we conspired on the manner in which we would direct the operation. The following day, I was already very pale. My friend went to the neighbor to ask for some eau de Cologne. — ‘Your neighbor is ill,’ he said. — ‘Bah! he should take some bouillon and a glass of wine!’ she responded. — That evening, being thirty-six hours, I had not left bed, and the concierge had not seen any food brought to me. The next day — forty-eight hours! — the same regime. My friend encountered the stubborn one on the stairs. He put his handkerchief to his eyes, and tried to pass without saying a word. — ‘And our friend?’ she asked … and he passed along, not wishing to speak nor to listen to her … I later learned that Victorine spoke with the concierge and learned that I had received no food for several days. Twelve hours later, the next day at nine, we heard walking on the landing. My friend had forgotten to close his door. I always recognized her steps. She quietly approached the half-opened door, put in her head … and looked.

“‘Could we make him take nourishment by force?’ my friend said to another he had brought with him for every eventuality…

“I had the figure — horribly pale — hidden by a blanket, save for an eye. I opened my eye and ear. I then saw Victorine enter softly into my room. She was pretty, pretty! so pretty … that, as moribund as I was, I felt the flames running through all parts of my body! I pushed out a sob that had the note of a death-rattle. Victorine entered.

— “‘What then, Monsieur Héliadore?’ she asked, walking on the tip of her toes and keeping her voice low…

— “‘He is’ — my friend replied — ‘dying of … of hunger! and it would be decent to leave him quiet!’

“Victorine went pale — I saw it perfectly well. —

— “‘Is he really letting himself die?’ she asked.

“My friend responded lugubriously:

— “‘He is nearly dead!’

“Hearing these words, she came to my side, all reticence, all hesitation. She approached my pillow, seeing my face directly … and two tears rolled from her eyes. — It is true that I was pale as a dead man, and wrinkled like an old man … which did not prevent me from feeling a thousand voluptuous urgings.”

— “I have a suspicion of a trick there,” said Bonaventure… “And I love when one has good luck with sex!”

— “That’s certainly nice,’ Firmament responded, “but let Monsieur finish his story…”

“So,” the big blond man replied, “when Victorine saw me so down, she placed her face next to mine, opened my eyelids with the tip of her pink fingers and breathed in my sigh to assure herself that I still lived.

— “‘Leave me alone with him for a moment,’ she said to my two guardians, ‘while I test him.’

“My friends passed to the neighboring room.

— “‘Héliodore!’ she said to me directly into my ear … ‘Heliodore … do you hear me?’

“I held my breath. Then she embraced my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth…

— “‘He loved me!’ she cried out…

“And she continued, in all its forms, to use the magnetism of her touches and caresses. I suffered horribly … a very agreeable suffering!”

— “That gets unscrupulous!” the large woman said…

— “I love it!” replied Finot, “A toast to the story-teller!”

And the toast was made with care, that is to say that one emptied glasses that were very full, to the last drop.

“Unscrupulous or not,” the narrator continued, “matters little! We are not children of fifteen years, and California is essentially emancipating.”

— “He did not hear me!” she repeated.

“Then, I had soup, and, with a thousand efforts, I got my right hand to my stomach.”

— “‘It was that he was killing himself with hunger,’ she murmured, ‘Heliodore… Heliodore!’

— “‘Who is calling me?’ I said, like a sob…

— “‘Me, Victorine!’

“She approached my ear and whispered:

— “‘I love you!’

“I wanted to play it to the end, but I couldn’t: I felt the color mounting to my face, which told me that I was blushing.

— “‘ It is too … late!’ — I responded, while slurring my words, ‘I have no more strength!’

“Immediately, she called my friends and demanded a consommé that she spooned to me little by little… Then, on a sign from me that my friends should depart, they retired to let me recover myself, in the presence of my liberating woman alone.

“When I had consumed a cup of excellent bouillon, which reanimated me … much more easily than … but that is of no importance! Finally, I recovered my strength, and with this strength, that of love! — ‘It is you!’ I cried out, taking Victorine’s head in my arms… ‘where am I?’

“‘You are next to me,’ she replied…

“It was the first time she said tu to me! Then I recalled the spirit of a reminiscence by Victor Hugo, and I recited four lines, as if in half-delirium:

Never a child! Never a spouse! No heart ever beating near me… Never a jealous mouth Has ever demanded ‘Where are you going?’

— “‘He is delirious,’ she said while calming me with sweet words. In short, she remained with me until evening…

— “And in summary,” Finot asked…

— “And in summary? … two days later one of us two had not left the house, and there was one renter less!”

— “So an end at last!” said Firmament…

— “Alas, no!” the big blond man replied. One day when I had dined too much, so that my head was rather exalted, and I was sure enough of Victorine to be honest! On that day, she questioned me about my old suicide, and I had the stupidity to betray myself! All the while avowing everything that I loved her — which was true — or that I greatly desired her — which was even truer — I told her that, during my abstention, I ate cold chicken and other comestibles as succulent, that I drank glasses of old Bordeaux … and that, to be pale and weak, my friend would cover my cheeks with some sort of paste and wrinkled my face to give me a weathered face!

— “‘Ah, ah!’ she said…

“In this ‘ah, ah!’ I saw nothing, and there was something there!”

— “Me, I would have pardoned it!” said Mélanie.

— “Me, no!” the blond woman said.

— “Christian charity recommends indulgence,” Finot declaimed. “We have need to be pardoned!”

— “This comes from going to mass!” murmured Firmament in a teary tone.

— “Yes, my friend,” Bonaventure responded, “and I truly hope that one of these days you would come with me!”

“To finish up,” the blond man said, “Victorine announced to me, two days after my admission, that she had to visit some relatives several leagues away, and that she would return in three days.”

“At the end of three days … she did not return, nor after six, twelve days, three weeks, or three months!… She did not return any more; I never saw her again!”

— “Here is the moral of the story, Bonaventure said, “you were guilty of the sin of pride, a capital sin! It was through pride that you dreamed up your comedy; you were punished, that’s justice!”

“So let it be!” the band exclaimed. To Victorine’s health!”

— “To Victorine’s health!”

At this moment, they heard the steps of a woman mount the stairs. It was Sybilline who was returning.




XI

Continuing the previous,
or
The Good Adventure

Silence followed the clamor as the young woman opened the door of the hall.

— “With whom shall we commence?” the large woman asked…

— “By the married woman,” the circle responded.

— “Let it be,” Sybilline murmured, extending her arm to indicate that they could no longer speak.

Then she gathered herself, examined the head and hands of Mélanie, and, with a clear, slow, convinced voice, she said:

— “Mélanie Bonaventure! You will travel the five parts of the world, both with your husband, as well as without him … and you will die, still fresh, on a little-known throne! At your last moments, also in a half-savage country, you will receive the supreme farewells of a priest … whom you have known well as a joyous layman over many years. Your funeral will be magnificent! — I have spoken.

— “So I shall be king!” thought Finot…

— “This is not gay?” cried out the big blond man who died of hunger by eating cold chicken and Bordeaux wine.

— “Oh me!” said Mélanie, “that my life should be what it could be, and my death, of some sort that doesn’t matter, I wash my hands of it … the Eternal Father sees to it!”

— “Bravo, my girl,” cried Bonaventure: “let us love one another well as long as we can … and after us, the deluge!”

— “My turn!” demanded Firmament … if the company permits.”

At the end of a moment of reflection, Sybilline continued:

— You, Monsieur Firmament, before five years pass, you will be rich as Croesus: you will have corsair ships and a seraglio, land and serfs, and in the midst of all of that, you will not find yourself as happy as today!”

— “How will I die?” Firmament asked…

— “Strangled!” Sybilline responded.

Firmament put his hand on his throat, making a grimace.

— “It’s a dreadful death,” he said, “but it is fine … Let us drink to my health, to my corsairs, to my seraglio, to my lands and my serfs!”

And, emptying five glasses, lining them up and drinking them one after another, to the frenetic applause of the people of the night. Then he cried out:

— “To another!”

— “Me!” said the big blond man.

— “This will not be long,” Sybilline responded, “You will die old, a public scrivener, rue aux Ours, in Paris!”

— “That is fine to me, considering I did not die young, of hunger!”

And they drank to the future public scrivener.

— “And me?” Finot asked…

— “You, Monsieur Bonaventure,” the diviner said, you will have a very agitated existence, with high days and low days, without advancing at all. You will finish by entering orders, where you will serve as a missionary to convert the Indians … but you will neither be crucified nor eaten alive!”

— “Then how will I end?”

— “In a cenobite’s cell, older than eighty.”

— “That’s long … but sad,” Finot pronounced with a grave voice… And I will not have Mélanie in my cell! But bah! Who knows?

We only have one life to live Friends, pass it gaily!

Soon they passed to champagne, then to the liquors; so well, that, when dawn began to streak the horizon with silver colors, the celebrants were still at table … in one manner or another — some above, others beneath; some drinking, others sleeping. Bonaventure and Mélanie were the first to depart … and, little by little, all of them went home, as in the song.

So he was fulfilling his vows, this poor Finot, tried by so many blockages, thrown from good to bad and from bad to good, like a skiff with too weak a rudder, going from one tide to another.

While Finot was not what one would call a strong spirit, he was always only weakly led by Sybilline’s prediction, even when he did not think of it much any more. He still did not forget his vow, and his attentiveness at church on Sunday was remarked upon. Every two evenings Firmament saw him arrive at the brewery, and the two became more inseparable than ever.

We could say that Finot was happy. Effectively he was more completely happy than the other: to have a wife one loved and by whom one is loved, a sincere friend, and an ease as far from poverty than from wealth? Are not these three conditions themselves like the trinity of happiness, creating on earth a God in three persons, like that in heaven?…

We have already said that happiness does not tell tales; also, we will pass rapidly over the six months, very long and very short, during which our three friends had nothing to do but to travel along the blue flood of a calm and happy life. Effectively, how is one to narrate the days always the same, with horizons always calm and tranquil?

So six months passed in an instant.

From time to time, Bonaventure, his wife, Firmament and some friends or acquaintances, went on excursions outside of town. They usually returned in the evening; sometimes the times were magnificent, they passed entire night chatting and laughing, under a light tent set up on the soil by some poles.

One day, the bell of happiness that had so long sounded for the lovable trio … changed into a funereal glass.

For twenty-four hours, Mélanie had gone with two of her friends, under the protection of two cavaliers, and Mélanie had not returned!

Finot, extremely disturbed, went to search for her, when the news suddenly spread that a small cavalcade had been attacked in the evening, that the two men who had taken part were severely wounded, and that the three women accompanying them had been seized!

The poor man began to go mad. Like a fanatic he ran from his café, going to the Firmament’s brewery, where he fell like a bomb…

— “Firmament!” he cried out, “Firmament … drop everything, arm yourself, mount a horse and hurry!”

The big Hercules did not respond; he washed his hands and face, dressed himself and armed himself in five minutes, then five minutes later, Bonaventure and Firmament, mounted on excellent horses and armed to the teeth, galloped toward the countryside…

For a quarter-hour, the cavaliers did not exchange a single word.




XII

Return to New Orleans

Just as we cannot follow two paths at one time, and that convinces us that it would be perfectly useless, we will abandon our characters in California, and California itself, to return in all haste to New Orleans, the principal theater of our general action…

So we leave Firmament and Bonaventure to the pursuit of the spouse of the latter.

We will meet them again, well enough, at a necessary time and place as is proper to any well-conducted narrative.

After this short preamble, we will go in less than a second to find ourselves in New Orleans, and for the perfect intelligence of our description, we will return the reader who has lost his way back to the path inscribed in our second volume.

So, in the thirtieth and last chapter of the previous volume, we saw Captain Louis with Anna brought by Eugène on board a three-master lying at anchor in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

You also have not forgotten that at the moment when Eugène mounted a horse to reach the forts, and, from there, descend the Mississippi, Alexandre, the renegade, traitor to the Finance Company from which he had parted, had mystified the office of the recorder, pursued Eugène’s path, and stopped to seek an argument with him. You also recall that Eugène, who had no time, responded to Alexandre that he would be happy to put down his reins if he had had the time. At that, Eugène spurred his horse, reached Fort St. Philippe, took the sloop that awaited him, and rejoined his brother Louis, bringing to him Anna, who had already come aboard the sloop.

Eugène returned to the city without losing any time, and he immediately returned to Lavinia’s, who awaited him with impatience.

So far as Lavinia is concerned, we do not ask if you have forgotten her, since at the start of this third volume has told the reader the past of this woman, the physical masterpiece of nature.

The next morning, Eugène returned to his room at the hôtel St. Louis, which he had never given up despite his new amorous liaison. He had barely entered the room when two individuals knocked. Eugène received them and listened.

— “We are charged to present you with this bill,” one of them said with politeness, which his companion imitated…

— “I divine it so, Messieurs!” Eugène responded before opening the missive. “Nevertheless, I will read this; would you wish to tell me, or I could give you my response? …”

He who spoke first presented a card to Eugène where two lines were written by hand.

Eugène took it, read it … and arose.

This would indicate that the meeting was finished.

The two witnesses retired.

“If Lavinia were here,” Eugène said to himself, “explanations not yet made would have been needed about this group, particularly to hide it from her! Fortunately, these messieurs were well trained.”


A Woman’s Eye

It was seven in the evening.

Lavinia read leaning her elbow on a table. From time to time her gaze left the open book opened before her and turned to Eugène going and coming in perplexity, like a person meditating a difficult question or an unexpected result.

Women in general, and above all those who are in love, have a finesse of vision on such occasions, an extraordinary certainty of divination.

Eugène had been hesitating for a half-hour whether or not to say the truth to Lavinia. Twenty times the first word came to his lips, and twenty times he had restrained himself.

— “You need to go out…” Lavinia said to him point-blank.

— “It is true,” Eugène responded, looking away.

— “You are not looking at me, there is some mystery down there!”

— “But … no,” the young man said, hesitating…

— “Oh yes!…” she bounced back.

— “What makes you suppose…?”

— “Come here!” Lavinia responded, moving a chair to which she directed her lover.

— “Here I am being put to the question!” he said, affecting an air of brilliant gaiety.

— “Let’s see,” said Lavinia, staring at Eugène in the whites of his eyes — as they say — … “You’re going to a happy party! Don’t lie!”

— “No…”

— “To an amorous rendez-vous, I will not ask…”

— “And you are right!”

— “For business?”

— “Correct!” Eugène responded, believing he would be victorious…

— “At eight in the evening!”

— “Why not?”

— “Why not! Because … you are not looking at me correctly!”

Eugène began to be troubled.

Lavinia continued to look at him … and thought.

— “You are going to a fight!” she cried out, rising without her gaze leaving that of Eugène.

— “Me fighting … at night!” he tried to reply…

— “No false leads, my friend! Be truthful. What time is it for!…”

Eugène did not reply at once.

Then, without questioning him any farther, Lavinia went with a firm step to his armoire, opened it and drew out men’s clothing that she quickly threw on her bed.

— “I shall go with you!” she said, “help me and let’s get going! It’s for eight, isn’t it?… Answer me!”

— “Yes!” Eugène said, conquered and subordinated. “But why go there?” he asked…

— “Because I want to.”

And with a softer voice, she sweetened this, from word to word:

— “Listen,” she said, “when he comes, no one will know who I am. I will have as much courage as do you, even more, because it demands more courage to watch a friend fight than to fight for yourself… Let me go with you: my gaze will be your talisman!”

And she embraced him with her arms, covering him with passionate caresses, and whispered sweet words in his ear…

It was seven-fifteen,

Half an hour later, Lavinia was converted into a charming cavalier; but she did not have that feminine figure, soft and as if pillowed in smile and gaze… It was the something of Charlotte Corday before her murder of Marat, of Joan of Arc before the pyre. Her forehead had creases, her gaze had fire, her lips quivered … like Arsace in Semiramis, she raised her head with a warrior’s pride all the more demonstrative as the role was less natural, less in keeping with social conventions.

— “Let’s go, Eugène! The hour approaches: don’t be late! Take my arm or offer me yours, and let’s march!”

This genteel and loving emphasis made the young man smile.

— “Let’s march, my Queen!” he said… We are going on the holy crusade of good right … and may God be with us!”

— “Avaunt!” with mournful thought, the heroine went on, exalting at will and to continue the process of amorous comradeship — “Avaunt! And that my love be the buckler of the chevalier without fear and without reproach!”

— “Devil!” Eugène said, “you are making me into a rather fancy Bayard!”

On these last words, the loving couple, strong as is everything that is well united, advanced from their shared room, closed the door, and strode along the sidewalks of the street with a solid, military step.




XIII

A Duel under Gaslight

“Where is the place of rendezvous?” Lavinia asked.

— “In the salle d’Orléans, Eugène responded in a low voice. A carriage awaited … for whomever was wounded … or killed.

A shiver passed through Lavinia’s body. She clutched Eugène’s arm forcefully … and after a moment:

— “Are you good with the sword?” she asked…

— “Yes … good enough to fight with the masters,” Eugène responded in an assuring tone — perhaps to reassure his mistress.—

Lavinia let out a sigh of relief.

— “You will defend yourself well! Right? And above all, no ridiculous generosity!”

Some minutes later, Eugène and Lavinia arrived at the door of the house where the combat was to take place. There they found the two witnesses waiting.

— “Who is this monsieur?” one of the witnesses said to Eugène, pointing out Lavinia…

— “It is my best friend,” he responded: he can go with us.”

The four cavaliers went in.

The salle d’Orléans was illuminated in gaslight: one could see as if in full daylight. Four individuals sitting on a bench conferred with one another. They rose on seeing the new arrivals.

Immediately, two ardent stares crossed, that of Alexandre and that of Eugène. The first was charged with hatred and somber rage; the second was filled with disdain and arrogance. Lavinia noted this double flame…

— “Messieurs,” said Alexandre’s first witness, “there is no possible variety of arrangement according to the desires of him whom we represent.”

— “In that case,” Eugène’s first witness responded, “we are perfectly in agreement!” It was even quite useless to make this observation.

— “Yet, Monsieur, it seems to me…”

— “Everything may seem to you as you wish, but I maintain what I have said!”

— “Messieurs,” Eugène said with nobility, “I do not wish more than the one affair that concerns me should become the concern of the witnesses who wish to assist us, my adversary and me. So please, I pray you, cease all argument…”

— “That’s good!” murmured Lavinia, half hidden in the shadows…

The argument stopped and the dispositions for combat were made in a few moments.

Alexandre and Eugène each received a sword of the same length, each similar to the other. Then they were placed opposite one another, their swords were crossed, and when everything had been arranged, the witness charged with this mission drew back two paces and said:

— “Go!”

Alexandre’s blade trembled; Eugène’s did not budge.

There was a profound silence for two or three seconds.

Alexandre had his white lips slowly half opening; his nostrils beat like a pulse…

Eugène, cold and arrogant, held his head high, his stare fixed.

Lavinia felt herself turning pale through a cold feeling that was invading her face.

Finally, the first blows were made; steel rubbed steel with a strident murmur. The lieutenant’s hand was impatient; that of his adversary was almost immobile…

— “We will not finish it!” the Lieutenant murmured…

And, advancing slightly, he delivered two of three bold blows that were parried quickly, but without a riposte.

— “Not bad,” Eugène said, retreating by some lines…

Each of the two adversaries saw that they were dealing with a strong opponent.

Suddenly, Alexandre fell with rage on Eugène, risking bold, decisive blows. Eugène was forced to pull back actively by taking a parade pose with calm and cold-bloodedness. Despite that, he was struck on his right hand, and some drops of blood fell on the parquet.

— “You are wounded!” Lavinia cried out, without trying to disguise her voice.

— “It is less than nothing!” Eugène responded as he trembled…

Alexandre had heard and recognized Lavinia’s voice. Faster than a flash, his attention slipped toward her who had so long troubled his reason and who had pushed his rage to the highest degree.

This fraction of a second proved fatal to him: Eugène’s sword cut his chest, but it was cast aside by a lucky shock.

— “Ah!” he cried out, “the infamous woman! She came here to…”

— “Silence!” Eugène interrupted with a strong, imperious voice, suddenly increasing his wrath — “silence, unhappy one!”

And, while saying these words, he came out of his passivity and pressed his enemy furiously.

This was now a combat of large blows, ardent, all aggressive on both sides. Witnesses grew attentive and concerned. Lavinia rose, and, her eyes open as if frightened, she followed these serpents of steel that whistled, twisted, searched for a place to strike…

— “His blood! All his blood!” Alexandre shouted — “That I kill him … and then I die! …”

— “You’re not killing anyone!” Eugène responded — “You will not longer insult women! You will not longer betray men!”

While saying these words, he blocked Alexandre’s iron, turned it to the side, and defended himself forcefully.

He had hit the upper part of the chest. Alexandre staggered … then he fell into the arms of his witnesses. But his sword, batted away in mid-thrust, planted itself at the same time in his adversary’s groin, and in agony Eugène fell to his knees.

Lavinia arrived on the ground as rapidly as he did, letting out a cry of fear.

— “If only he could die that way!” Alexandre was heard … and he sent out a mouthfull of blood…

— “I am suffering!” Eugène murmured as he thanked Lavinia for her help …

The two wounded men were taken down to the carriage waiting below, which was intended only for one.

It goes without saying that their wounds were dressed for the interim.

Alexandre was placed on a mattress extended on the bottom of the passenger compartment; Eugène, whose state was much less grave than the Lieutenant’s, could stretch out on the bench, near to Lavinia, who forcefully wanted to accompany him that way.

The carriage went in the direction of the rue des Ramparts, escorted by the witnesses on the sidewalk.

At the end of some minutes, they arrived at a medical service, where the Lieutenant was carefully taken out.

As they deposited him on a bed prepared in advance:

— “Is he dead?” a weak voice asked…

Some minutes later, Eugène, half-seated on an excellent bed that the reader has seen, smiled at the caressing cares of Lavinia.

— “I feel much better,” he told her; “I hope not to need more than a week to rest in absolute peace.”

— “If he had killed you,” Lavinia responded, “I would have blasted his brain on the spot!”

And he showed her lover a small pistol she had kept with that intention.

We will abandon our two wounded men to their physicians and to nature for a while, of whom one receives mercenary care, and the other is surrounded by everything that is most sweetly curative, the solicitude of a beloved woman.

While they either die or get better, we will send an observer in the sky across this New Orleans, with its strange attractions, with its complicated Mysteries that those who have lived there since infancy not knowing their ABCs at least set on this research with a firm will to know.

At the time we have arrived in our narrative — and which we do not believe able to tell by dates — New Orleans began to be invaded by mysterious beliefs, by half-hidden meetings; on the other side, it was said that you heard— as yet vaguely — sounds of conquests, of clandestine armaments. Secret councils took place in this and that place in the least inhabited quarters. It was at the same time the approach of an important election, so that all these facts, intermixed and entangled, so to speak, one and others, produced a series of incidents one could not count, even approximately. The sky of the great city of Louisiana was literally covered with mists, each more mysterious than the others. In a large number of families, there were brusk changes of attitudes that threw confusion, trouble, and suspicions among many spirits. Here was a woman who disappeared at hours when she normally would never be seen outside. There, a husband made night of the day, of the day the night, with evasive responses and unaccustomed behavior … Some bought geographic maps, others bought gunpowder, those there bought weapons, others card games. One would say that a thin mist filled with madness and eccentricities descended from on high, or rose from below. The post offices were crammed with letters, and telegraph wires were ceaselessly in motion.

Behold the chaos into which we will bring the reader with the aid of a thread that we were moved to seize as a result of pains and research.

We will travel little during the day, night being the habitual hour of mysteries, protecting with its shade and its silence the deeds and exploits that do not love the indiscreet clarity of the sun.

Be alert, curious friend!… Put on a dark garment, arm yourself more or less to have a response ready for the indiscreet questions of the cavaliers of the night. Keep your stomach full so as to support the chill of the hours of the moon; a little money in your pocket; a good cane in your hand; your hat over your eyes … above all else, move! Never repeat what you see… And now on the way!




XIV

On the rue Poydras

We are here on the rue Poydras. How far up? It is not necessary to be precise. “Too much talk at night.” Rue Poydras is enough. There are many who figure out the rest of the address. So far as the others go, too bad!

We enter into this alley at the end of which a semi-covered light burns. It is a proper and well-kept house. There is carpet from the bottom to the top of the narrow stairs. It is adequate: one does not intend to mount or descend.

But here is an individual posted to receive the password. I know it; listen:

Key of Mexico!

Say it low to the guardian, as I will do: we shall pass!…

A score of men are gathered in a fine hall. Only six of them are seated around a table on which are placed two candles and many geographic maps. There are also some particular plans drawn in pencil; there are leaves of paper covered with notes and figures. Several of those not part of the council at table are leaning over the maps and the plans; others converse in low voices.

— “We will have the government against us!” one said.

— “When it is over, they will not intervene in it.”

— “I believe it, but other powers…”

— “No! The only way is to act and succeed in a radical stroke. In this situation, my opinion is that the government will be for us rather than against us, but only on one condition: we have nothing to expect if defeated; otherwise, we are foreordained.

— “First, that you excite the masses. That’s easy: the journal, on this street right here, the brilliant gatherings and furious speeches. You can show the island to be oppressed and call for its relief! We have ——, who can lie and blushes at nothing, —— who has a talent for dramatic speeches with nothing but wind; this is what works.”

— “You are forgetting the most important: telegraphic messages.”

— “No, not to be forgotten! Haven’t you read this today?”

— “Yes; but I think they are true…”

— “Let’s go, then!… That the world believes it, but us!”

In another group, the subject is different.

— “Is it that —— imagines that he will be Captain-General if the expedition succeeds?”

— “Of course.”

— “He is crazy! He will ruin himself; he will not risk his skin, and he will always be Gros-Jean, as he was before.”

— “And ——, who so loves the military uniform and the clash of arms, what do your think of him?”

— “He is the prudent one, and he is right: he only risks according to the measure that success can give him. This will be the least pain of a defeat.”

At the table of which we have spoken, here is what is being said:

— “Messieurs,” said one of the six, “Yesterday there were thirty enlistments; here is the list.”

And he allowed a paper covered with signatures to pass among the five others, and anyone who wanted to look at it over their shoulders.

— “Well!” one said to his neighbor, “young —— has signed, who was just married! He is allied with your family?”

— “Yes, he is a new relative. I was surprised to see his name appear here. If the expedition fails, it would plunge an honorable family into mourning. So far as the others on this list go, save for two or three, their loss would be imperceptible!”

— “That is what is our problem. It would be better to enlist only that sort of people!”

— “Perhaps! For the rest, the volunteers are free. On the other side, it is perhaps not bad that some known names, of some rank in the country, should figure among the trash of the others. In case of success, it is a great advantage for us; in case of a defeat, this could serve to raise passions and vengeance so as to begin again all the better.”

— “That’s politics!” the other responded.

— “Do you have enough weapons?” the neighbor of the one appearing to preside asked…

— “Not yet,” the president responded, “but we expect more here in two days.”

— “Do you have the signature of —— and of ——?”

— “The first is promised; the second will be obtained, one way or the other.”

— “And the money?”

— “It is not lacking.”

— “I find, Messieurs,” the president said, “that the first message sent to the local assembly was not sufficient.”
— “Why not?”

— “Because, as you know, the Cubans did not summon us in any sense; we can only hope that our initiative will bring along a certain number, and that success will find the rest. In the case of an immediate reversal, not a one of them will budge, if they do not actually turn against us!”

— “If we have such apprehensions, it would be better to dare nothing!” a big man responded in the style of a bully. “We could fail!”

This response, marked with bluster and exaggeration, found support, almost actual applause, while the more prudent and just language of the other was only received in glacial silence.

It is often so in gatherings of men, particularly when they debate an unjust cause … even unjust in the eyes of their conscience.

— “And the general?” came a voice.

— “He has been chosen; there is no room to dissent on his merits.”

— “That’s too bad!”

— “He has been found to be good. So everything is for the best.”

So the Cuban Assembly went on in this manner long into the night. Resolutions and details were adopted there. So far as general decisions are concerned, everything had been settled for several days.

— “Oh well,” we say to a reader who has followed us, “how does all of that seem to you?”

Which naturally sorts itself out in this way:

That an ambitious party desires something unjust, and that men always find a pretexts that they call “causes,” and phrases that they call “reasons,” to help apply their injustices.

— “And the government?”

— “It is very hard to decide! First of all, it is evident that it will raise, as one says, opposition. After that, there are two types of opposition, isn’t there?”

— “Without doubt, real opposition and conditional opposition.”

— “That’s it. Then, it is necessary that the government oppose it, to assert its responsibility in case of failure, and in the end it cannot ask for better! I do not dare to respond categorically to this delicate question. And you?”

— “Neither me nor anyone else.”

On this, we pass to the other Mystery … we will return to this one later.




XV

In the rue Bourbon

Here, friend reader, we do not need a password. We shall encounter singular things, but at least these are things that one may say and discuss out loud! There are disputes, as in all things, which oblige the impartial man to begin by seeing rather than speaking, by studying before judging.

“But,” you very probably respond, “there is not even a necessity to wish to be impartial on this, it is only necessary to have common sense.”

On which we are inclined to the affirmative side, and we all enter the house on the rue Bourbon.

Many of the best are found there at the moment we enter.

While everyone converses while awaiting the opening of the séance that will take place; while the discussions here and there raise the subject of the question for which we have entered, we will clearly expose, as an indispensable preamble, the facts and the direction of the new discovery that, at the point where our general narrative takes place, only began in certain houses at first in a rather mysterious manner. This mystery was necessary, at the outset, because one did not desire to open failed efforts and temporary hypotheses to almost public investigations.

Here is how the belief in this doctrine, entitled Spiritual Manifestations, explains the first revelation that appeared:

A young girl being tried by profound sadness as a result of the death of a beloved relative, alone in her room, in the evening, before going to bed, heard several distinct knocks on a nearby table. The first time this singularity took place, the young girl did not show more than ordinary astonishment, accusing her senses of an error, and, by a series of echoes, only appeared to be made on the table. The next day, having already forgotten this incident, she heard the same knocks, now so distinct and expressive, that, seized with terror, she looked under the table! She saw nothing: she was alone, completely alone. This time the phenomenon knocked very rapidly, and she awaited the evening the next day in a sort of fear. When the same instant arrived, she approached the table, placed her hands there to pull herself together and to hear better. No sooner had she imposed her hands than four knocks were struck on the table an inch from her hands, as strong as a man could have done using his finger-nail.

— “So is this a Spirit?” she said to herself.

She had barely formulated this thought, without the intention of posing a question, than the same knocks were beaten in the same place, in a manner as distinct as the previous time. Then an aura — of an intelligence or from heaven — came into the young girl’s spirit. The response to her involuntary question inspired at the same time the idea of posing another.

— “Is it the Spirit of ——?” she asked …

The four knocks had to wait about two minutes; then they arrived, clear, separated from one another by an interval of one second.

Bewildered, the young girl went out, accompanied by a servant, and went to the home of a friend of her infancy, an inseparable dear. She found her at home, told her the matter in an affected voice and with moist eyes, took her with her, led her to her home … and there, with an entirely good will and a faith full of recognition, she repeated this question:

“Is it the Spirit of —— who is visiting me?”

Nearly five minutes of profound silence reigned after the question; the young girls looked at one another, but their eyes had barely met one another than the perfect response arrived! More responses came to other questions intelligently made from one part and the other, but which could only prove the presence of the Spirit, but not an affirmation or a negation. It was then that, from one trial to another, the young girls arrived at positive conventions for a yes and for a no. Soon appearances spread with great rapidity with every passing day. In many places, small gatherings took place where they made Researches on the subject of which we speak. A few succeeded; the greater number failed, and it was easily seen that success only responded to an appeal by persons serious and in good faith whose spirit held them to be the happy medium between arbitrary negation and premature affirmation. The doubt of the wise man searching truth appeared to be the best condition for Research with good fruit, and it could be explained in this way: Instant belief indicated weak judgment, an inclination to superstition, lightness of character; exaggerated incredulity denoted childish pride, stubbornness, an entirely superficial education which is not the most vain. For with the dispositions of these two exaggerations, one conceived quite well that one was not apt to progress.

Metaphysics does not explain nor prove how geometry explains and proves. Whatever it is, one could, in the analysis of the human heart, proceeding with an awareness of the small extent of human intelligence, find explanations and proofs for things that do not come under the external senses.

There are those who calmly make this peremptory observation: “Everything that I do not understand, I do not believe!”

Pride and silliness have never been far apart.

Is it that a man understands the why and even the how of something? Does he know what it is, where it comes from, and where a grain of sand goes from the edge of the sea?

Does he know how this mud, sometimes dry or soft under the sun or in the rain, and which we call land, produces an oak by means of an acorn … fruits by means of a nut … a little flower … a plant from an herb? Alas! He tills God’s soil, throws in a grain of one kind, one of another, a third, and, when the time comes he finds, within twelve inches, a pepper that burns, a cane that gives sugar, a rose that perfumes the air! He sees, he believes, he never understands! He knows no more than the herb, and the stupid animal that plows it … and, when he speaks of things that he calls supernatural, he responds: “I do not understand, so I cannot believe!”

To return to the history of the propagation of this discovery that we define as a new chapter and a new proof of religious faith, commencing with the execution of God’s promise, that He would proclaim it particularly to the man of good will. To return to this historical narrative, we say, it remains to us to add that the beginning took place in one of the towns of the West of the United States, which, from there, it propagated itself in other towns with a slowness of good promise for the future, immediately, and one would find it entirely simply, it raised various oppositions. The discovery caused two camps to appear, as in all things, everywhere and for everything. But what was most unique, although not rare, was that the most violent opposition was persons who wanted to read nothing, hear nothing, and see nothing on this subject. Some supposed that it raised a barrier against religion, although the source and the goal of these Researches were entirely moral and entirely in faith! Others pretended that it led to nothing; indeed they were great geniuses because they predicted the future! Others predicted that nothing but evil could come from these researches. They sinned by the same ridicule as those who came before, more by a sort of entirely hypothetical anathema.

Finally, day by day, Researches extended and arrived in New Orleans. As we have said, their beginnings there were somewhat mysterious, because those who worked at the start, always more difficult, wished to offer something to the first curious who came. It came and quickly!

Let us return to the séance on the rue Bourbon. We are only there as curious onlookers. So we listen with attention, without paying any attention to the little murmurs and the contemptuous smiles of skeptics as they are, who are there to find something to laugh about later.

They begin with several minutes of meditation. Eight persons, seated around an ordinary table, had their hands placed flat on this table. One of them, after several minutes of silence, makes a statement in this manner:

— “Is a good spirit among us?”

The table rises about two inches twice and on falling back on the wooden flooring makes two knocks, signifying Yes.

According to a convention achieved once and for all, it is so. For no, a single knock must be made.

The interrogation goes on:

— “Does the spirit wish to respond to my questions?”

A second Yes is rapped in the same manner.

The curious onlookers approach; some look at the feet and knees of the persons at the table, among whom there are several Mediums. This name is given to those who have come to communicate with the spirits, a faculty that all may acquire, provided that they are not hostile to the act in which they cooperate, and that they bring only the respectful doubt of the sage who wishes to study, understand, and believe.

The casually curious, seeing that they can see noting, turn their attention to the questions of the Medium.

A person in the hall asks the Medium to address a mental question for her.

The Medium asks:

— “Does the Spirit wish to respond to the mental question of Madame ——?”

— “Yes!”

Madame —— has barely formulated her question in her thoughts than a dry and vigorous blow is given by the table, which is to say:

— “No!”

— “I asked,” Madame —— said out loud, “if the expedition General Lopez will lead against the island of Cuba will succeed! May I pose a second question?”

The table having rapped two times, Madame —— made a second mental interrogation.

A no, as well accentuated as the first, arrived immediately.

— “I asked,” Madame —— said in a low voice, “if the Creoles of Cuba will call us to their aid! Is it indiscrete to pose this last question?”

The Medium repeated, changing the negative form of the question to an affirmative form, which is necessary for the form of the responses:

— “Does the spirit wish to respond to a last question of Madame ——?”

— “Yes!” the table responded.

Madame —— posed her question mentally.

The question was barely formulated that a sonorous yes responded.

— “The spirit announces to me,” Madame —— said in a very low voice, “that general L[opez] will lose his life on a second expedition.”




XVI

On the rue Sainte Claude

We have no reasons to leave the séance on the rue Bourbon; but we will abandon it to attend another séance that will be like a continuation of the first, although at a different location.

The following will show the reader who wishes to accompany us that we have quite a plausible reason for this change of location.

One step more and we have arrived in a house on the rue Sainte Claude.

As in the house on the rue Bourbon, we enter without trouble and without ceremony, as everywhere else; for this purpose, everyone is received, so that the propagation will be more rapid.

We are there. There are as many as earlier at the séance on the rue Bourbon. We note many a man of a mature age, with graying hair, with grave and serious mien.

Some ordinary questions are made and obtained, as elsewhere, in categorical responses, in the form of a yes or a no, so that the table had to respond with a great number of raps to the questions, often mental, that demand a great number of blows.

This last circumstance stimulates much mocking incredulity, because it is impossible to believe in material charlatanism beating a yes or a no, when, to a mental question the table responds with ten, fifteen, twenty blows, more or less! One is then obliged to recognize the presence of a spirit of some sort baptized with any name you wish, and one can only object here, “It is a bad spirit!” That is so affirmative without being motivated, that one may only respond here with this word, “Why?”

Let us cease commenting and listen…

Let us say in advance that there are persons who — aloud or mentally — address insidious questions with the silly purpose of taking profit from what they call la farce. Some of them are seized with a cruel manner. We will cite two examples, following the operations being done.

A young man came to the séance with a man of mature age, who rose and placed this question through the mediation of the Medium:

— “May the spirit of my father be transported here?”

— “Yes!” the table responded.

The young man smiled with a mocking air; then he continued:

— “For how long has my father been dead?”

The table responded with twenty knocks.

— “Are you counting by years?”

— “Yes!” the table responds.

— “Well,” the young man responds with a victorious and satiric air, “my father is not dead: he is here!”

Many there laughed in their beards to this declaration that appeared to find the Spirit in flagrante delicto of a gross error.

Now, the Medium continued:

— “Does the spirit sustain the responses he has made?”

Two vigorous blows respond at once: it is an absolute yes!

— “I continue,” the Medium said.

Then you could have heard a mouse walk, the silence was so profound! All the faces turned to the table. People held their breath, to speak in that manner. Only the tick-tack of a small French clock disturbed the silence of the hall…

— “Is the spirit present the father of Monsieur?”

— “Yes!”

— “So,” the Medium continued, “I am ending the question mentally” he added in a loud voice…

— “Yes!” the table responded by means of two knocks that would have smashed a toe placed under one of its feet.

Now all eyes turned toward the father and his son…

They had disappeared!…

The second event we will report did not take place on the same day nor at the same place. But in order that they not be separated, we have inserted them in the same chapter.

A young man, again — youth is facetious — posed the following as a question:

— “For how many years has my mother departed this earth?”

No response.

The same question was posed without more success.

Then the Medium took over and began differently:

— “Does Monsieur wish the spirit of his mother to appear?”

He waited a few seconds, then he continued:

— “Is it present?”

Two modest blows said yes.

The young man rubbed his hands and pursed his lips, as if to say, “You will really be caught!” At the same time, he looked at two or three of his companions who had come, like him, to amuse themselves.

The question was then repeated:

— “For how many years has my mother departed this earth?”

Twenty blows responded twenty years.

— “That’s a little too much!” the young man said to his neighbor.

— “Yes, the same responded, since we dined yesterday at your mother’s while you were hunting, and she invited —— and me to a dance she is giving tomorrow!”

— “Is that all you have to ask?” the Medium said to the young man…

— “My faith! Yes, but only if the spirit could give me the mortal name that she had while she lived on the earth, I would be charmed!”

— “I believe that it is easy,” the head of the table responded.

— “Very well, do it for me, I beg of you…”

— “Happily,” the Medium said; — and he asked:

— “The spirit wishes to give her name in all its letters?”

— “Yes!” responded two blows solidly made.

— “Will you commence? One blow for A; two for B, and so on. What is the first letter?”

The table beat a certain number of blows corresponding to the letter … (We do not wish to reveal anything) For the second letter, one obtained it in the same manner, and the third, and the fourth … the whole formed a baptismal name and a family name that we only indicate with ——.

— “What a funny name!” the young man said to his friend; I only know that of the first Mandarin! I want to go further: we want to see!”

— “Would you ask, if you please, in what country the person of whom the spirit will respond?” the young man said to the Medium.

— “Where were you born? Respond by means of the alphabet, as I just asked you…”

The same maneuver took place, and after having assembled the letters, they found the word: St. Domingue.

— “And you are indeed the mother of Monsieur ——?”

— “Yes!” the table responded with two vigorous blows.

— “Monsieur —— knows that?

— “No!”

— “Could he assure himself by research?”

— “Yes!”

— “Is it permitted to question the circumstances of this singularity and ask for explanations?”

— “No!”

— So this would be indiscrete?”

— “Yes!”

There the questions ceased. Each thought differently on this subject. So far as we are concerned, we cite the facts and make no conclusions.

Many other insidious questions did not have a better fate. Many who addressed questions of idle curiosity or silliness, did not even receive a response when they asked out loud, or mentally.




XVII

Where one will see another means of correspondence used in “Spiritual Manifestations”

Until now we have only spoken to the reader of communication by means of the table, and by that of alphabetic letters obtained, as has been seen, to form words.

There is another mode of communication, more rapid, more explicit than the two others, but which is not obtained as easily.

Plus, the benefit is great, plus — it is natural to think this —it is necessary to recognize it by the good intentions and a wise faith. Sometimes one has seen men who little believe themselves to be believers obtain this faculty very rapidly, consisting of writing under the direction and the tacit dictation of the spirit, becoming in a word a Medium écrivant, in English a Writing Medium.

Let us relate what happened in a séance where several Mediums were called to write. This séance was overcome, as one shall see, with such singular pleasantries of a jovial spirit who did not want to extend himself without obtaining the joyous satisfaction he desired.

We are attending a third séance, the place where it happened.

The last question that came to be posed, at the moment we entered, is this:

— “Does the spirit wish to communicate by writing with someone at the table?”

The two blows for the affirmative were heard.

There were ten mediums at the table. He who had interrogated, continued in this way for the moment:

— With whom do you wish to communicate? Please designate this by blows corresponding in number to the number he occupies at this table, beginning with my neighbor on the right.

The table knocked four times. It designated a young woman.

Since she was not accustomed to give evidence, and since she had only recently attended spiritual séances, she blushed somewhat on hearing herself named.

No response.

— Did it manifest itself by the trembling of her hand?

“Yes!” two blows responded.

Several seconds passed. They waited.

Suddenly, the hand of a medium at the table moved slightly … then more strongly … then even more strongly. These movements followed a rapid crescendo, and the hand beat to the right and to the left, as if in rage, along the entire extent of the table, finishing by raising the fear that her bones would break.

A piece of paper was slipped in front of the medium; a pencil was placed in her hand; she seized it, first tracing furious lines without order or rule, then she calmed little by little, paused, stopped for a second … and finally wrote several lines with a prodigious rapidity.

When these several lines were finished, the chief of the table withdrew the paper; the hand of the writing medium dropped as if exhausted, and became immobile. The medium assumed a silent sadness, an extraordinary heaviness along the full extent of her arm. They touched her hand: it was icy. The other was hot.

Here is what she wrote:

“The pitch is rapid and leads to regrets; it is already time!”

The young woman alone read this phrase to herself; she tore the piece where she had written it and put it into her dress pocket after asking whether she could do that.

The hand of the writing medium moved again. After some seconds, she wrote this other phrase:

“The person who keeps himself near the door has an important question to present; he does not dare to do it; when he grasps it, he will soon believe!”

This designated person was a man of thirty-two to thirty-five years.

— “It is true!” he said, “I wanted to know if my wife is in Mexico…”

The question was posed, and the spirit wrote through the hand of the medium.

“In California with your associate!” And it continued: “You do not need to go there: she will return here … very unhappy, in nine weeks!”

— “Do I have to receive her again?” the man asked…

But the hand of the medium moved no more: he could not go further. They made the same question through the table, which did not budge.

— “Is it a bad question?” the medium asked.

— “Yes,” two slow knocks replied.

— “Is it a matter of conscience?”

— “Yes!” rapped two vigorous blows.

Two further questions were posed that did not receive a response. This circumstance piqued curiosity. They waited a minute or two; soon the table raised one end, then the other, then the right side, then the left, and raised a hellish hubbub on the floor planking.

— “Remove your hands!” the medium said.

The hands left the table, and it ceased.

— “Let’s put them back!” But only the tips of their fingers touched.

Some fingers had barely returned lightly when the previous ruckus revived. One could pose fine questions, but the confusion of raps did not cease. The hands were withdrawn, and everything ceased. One minute after their withdrawal and the medium asked:

— “Are you a bad spirit?”

— “No!”

— “A good spirit?”

— “No!”

— “Do you wish to leave us?”

— “No!”

— “So you wish to remain?”

— “No!”

To everything asked there was no; it was a Tower of Babel confusion.

— “Are you a farcical spirit?” the medium continued…

— “Yes!” sounded two deafening blows.

— “You wish to amuse yourself?”

— “Yes!”

— “If I sing you something, will you beat the measure”

— “Yes!”

And the medium began:

By the light of the moon, My friend Pierrot … et cetera

And the table sounded the measure from the beginning to the end of the couplet, in the midst of the laughs of the entire table and the entire hall.

The last blow rapped for the measure could have smashed a nut.

“Are you satisfied?” the medium asked…

The table sounded two moderate blows.

— “Do you now wish to leave us quietly?”

The same response took place.

— “Before parting, you, who seem to be a good sort, do you want to tell us your name?”

A moderate yes replied.

— “Would it be someone that we know?”

A vigorous yes responded.

— Everyone knows you, or almost everyone?”

The same reply came without making them wait.

Attention redoubled among the spectators. Each wanted to know who this jovial boy who spoke so cleverly, and who had accompanied the lines of Clair de la Lune.

— “Spell your name, I pray of you…”

A first letter arrived. It was an E. — A second was a T. — A third: E. A fourth … we will not say; no more than the others, although it would do no harm; there would perhaps have been some indiscretion, and we did not wish to commit one.

All that we could say, because fifty persons listened at the same time as we, and have probably repeated it to five hundred others, is that the name given by the jovial spirit is that of an actor who was long the darling of the Louisiana public.




XVIII

First news of Bonaventure

Many months had passed since the duel where Eugène and Alexandre were both wounded. Our other characters had been even further away from the epoch to which our narrative has reached: those whom we have left wandering toward unknown shores, and the others, whom we have abandoned to the pursuit of which we do not know the result.

Eugène has long been healed. Alexandre, who it was entirely probable should die, yet Alexandre was not dead. In any case, he had several times touched very nearly his fatal hour. The physicians did some, nature a great deal … and he found himself almost out of peril. We said almost, because a relapse was always feared because of the gravity of his wounding.

Before arriving at this difficult healing, Alexandre passed many days, and particularly many nights, in suffering, in cursing, in ruminating certain vengeance. The paroxysm of pain caused to be born in him the paroxysm of rage, and then, he made to himself frightful oaths where dwelt reveries of assassination, poisoning, the whole exalted cortege of infernal revenges.

— “I will kill the two of you!” he said to himself, “one after the other! Since I have risked my life for an uncertain vengeance, I will risk it to see my enemies in throes and dying!”

Sometimes, he proclaimed his maledictions to the heights in hours of delirium. Those who listened could hardly pay attention, attributing a momentary madness to his fever.

When he was calmer, hardly a word escaped his lips. He ruminated his projects in tranquility, and no one could say, in his case, what was going on within him.

All those who have suffered a wound, particularly from side-arms, have experienced these rages and made oaths of revenge. To suffer horribly and be without rancor or rage, one needs a soul soaked in nobility and in charity of heart.

If the blow he had suffered had come from an ambush similar to an assassination, there would be few men who would not consider vengeance to aid their pain. If it is in a loyal combat that the iron had struck, there would be wretchedness in a dream of reprisals. So far as Alexandre was concerned, this was perhaps not the physical suffering that threw him into the horrible thoughts that we have described. His jealous hatred against Eugène and his unbridled love for Lavinia were rather the true mobilizing forces of his savage convictions. When a sword thrust has healed, one no longer thinks of vengeance: the calm and well-being of healing supported forgetting, just as physical pain supported wrath. But knowing that there was, under the same sky as himself, a woman he has loved to delirium, and that he still loves to madness, that this woman had played with your passion for another’s profit, that she had warranted, pushed even to desire her above everything … and misfortune! that she had given her beauty full of delights, her caresses, filled with seductiveness … oh! was there nothing that could be undertaken to make it end?…

Only, the means of vengeance provided the excuse or horror.

From the moment when Alexandre felt well and knew he was out of danger, he adopted the most philosophic of calm, the most complete forgetting, smiling at insensitive statements that delirium had caused him to say.

Eugène did not think about it any more. The affair having ended, it was placed in the rank of past events.

Lavinia did not think the same at all. Her feminine premonition told her that Alexandre’s passion could not have fostered an ordinary hatred. As a precaution, she always carried a weapon.

Since his wounding, Eugène had given up his hôtel St. Louis lodging and lived entirely with Lavinia. She lived always in the admirable brilliance of beauty and freshness without parallel. It was as we reported at the beginning of her appearance in these Mysteries, wherever she went, wherever she passed, one turned around or stopped to look at her. An admirable head atop an even more admirable bust; hair and teeth such as could not be better; skin soft, glistening, the bearing of a queen, the walk of a goddess … and, with all of that, eyes that spoke all the passions, with a caress timid and virginal, up to the most ardent delirium. — Fashion devotees studied her dresses when she passed, studied her hat from as far as they could see it. Everything that could be imitated was imitated, and despite all that, neither similar dresses, nor copied hats, nor other imitations approached their model.

There are men who have a noble and majestic air under a coat showing its weave, under common and worn-out clothing. There are others who make the finest things they wear ridiculous. It is the same with women. They learn how to wear neither a dress nor a shawl. The dress and the shawl are two eternal possibilities for an infinity of persons in the world. Distinction is a gift of nature, like genius and intelligence.

Alexandre often encountered Lavinia. Each time, ice struck his heart. The course of his blood appeared to stop; his legs were forced to become immobile, as if some irresistible magnatism coursed through him. So far as she was concerned, the sight of Alexandre caused her to feel a sentiment so mixed of diverse elements that it was difficult to give it a name. There was there, in this sentiment, a mixture of satisfied pride, hatred, and curiosity: these last two words need to be explained. Balzac has said that adultery is the curiosity of voluptuousness for another; that is true… Oh well, this hatred did not derive, in Lavinia, except from the love she held for Eugène, and this curiosity wished to say, in the most hidden bottom of her heart, she had perhaps desired to know how to love a man who loved in that way. A curiosity entirely sensual, entirely material … let us say the word.

To give the last seal to this explanation, let us say that, if Lavinia had believed herself capable, like Margaret of Burgundy, of seeing this man die of pleasure in her arms, then immediately to die an animal death, her desire would have been fulfilled, her curiosity satisfied! A savage and insensitive passion frightened … and excited! It disgusted her … and attracted her: it is a simultaneous contrast, if we may pronounce it so. What this ardent woman retained in this unusual and exaggerated position was pride, nothing but pride. Curiosity is in the heart or in the sense of all women, without any exception. It is not a matter of bringing it up voluntarily — which is difficult — or involuntarily — which is rare — curiosity has put more knife-punctures in marriage contracts — such as they are — than any other passion. It begins with Eve, and it will probably never end. That explains this: there are men — and women — who, doing well in their spot, go seeking less good elsewhere, and they often go and search the very bad; for example, great ladies and lackeys; distinguished men and common servants! The aberrations of passion are often nothing but the fact of a curiosity.

Go as deep as one wishes. For us, we will stop at this semi-physical and semi-moral dissection, and we will separate what goes before from that which follows.

Eugène and Alexandre also encountered one another several times, as always happens in rather considerable towns. The first time, the Lieutenant had turned his head; the second time, he had looked at his enemy with a sort of gentleness. Later, he saluted him and was saluted, so that at the end of some time, one would never have said that these two men had hatred and had sought to kill one another. Eugène believed in the freedom to forget Alexandre; so far as Lavinia was concerned, she burned in her conviction that the Lieutenant had forgotten nothing, abandoned nothing.

Things stood there when Rousto returned to New Orleans. It is not necessary to believe that he was committing a great imprudence then, because he had changed so much that it was as if he would have recognized himself when he looked in a mirror.

Further, he arrived under the poetic name of Firmament; he was rich, which gave him style and did not get in the way of business. He carried glasses of gold, black moustaches, and an imperial of the same color, all making a better social impact. He was dressed with more luxury than taste, with more research than elegance. Since his condemnation, Firmament had been crossed off the list of the Finance Company, where we made his acquaintance at the start of this work. This Company found itself well

dismembered in New Orleans. Its Captain, Louis, had left, as one knows, with Anna. The Lieutenant, a traitor to his oath, had been knifed … which did not kill him, it is true, but it put him very close to death. Finot was as stricken from the list as Rousto: it was a total debacle among those of our acquaintance.

It had been barely a week after Firmament arrived in New Orleans that he received a letter from Bonaventure. Firmament had taken a long time en route, because he had wanted to visit the countries along his passage. Bonaventure’s letter came quite quickly, which explains why he would read it there.

Here is the letter from our old acquaintance:

My dear Firmament, my poor name of Bonaventure begins to lie in a jolly way! When after fruitless searching, we were separated, I have not been any happier. I have not found the slightest trace of Mélanie … is she lost to me? … and now that she is well and duly my legitimate! One may truly say that it is written in our destiny for one to run after the other in reversing roles, she and I. I have visited many lands in the ardent course that I tried to find her without whom I cannot live: I write from Guadeloupe, where I am for a few days, expecting that some repairs to an English steamer from the Antilles will be completed, on board of which I embarked, by a succession of events too long to repeat to you. Since day before yesterday, I am on land, at la Pointe-ā-Pitre. What a beautiful country, my dear friend!… How I would pass several months with my poor friend, if I could find her! I have never seen a more beautiful sky, vegetation richer and more gay. A hundred ships float upon the roadstead, closed on all sides by charming small communities. When I put my feet on the ground, the governor was watching a review of troops. The drummers played, the flags floated in the wind, the military fanfares echoed. All this sound, all this movement reminded me of France … and for a moment my enthusiasm was so strong that I forgot my pain!

In the evening, I was at the theater. They were presenting a vaudeville and a drama. The Two Divorces and The Man in the Iron Mask. At the end of the first piece I wept like a baby at the scene of reconciliation, where they sang:

That our pain be finished forever We shall be united to be happy!

I saw all around me smiling couples, full of youth and hope, happy to be in love … and me!

Ah! My dear Firmament, I am struck in my heart, and if I do not find my wife soon, that is the end for your poor Bonaventure!

One thing very strong and really surprising: the pretty women, of which this country is full, have no effect on my heart, it is so weighed down with sorrow for the loss I have suffered … and further I assure you that the sort of beauty that I see in this fine colony has an entirely particular style that charms and invincibly attracts.

In a few days we will go back to sea. I will write from all the places where we anchor. Without the money you so generously gave me, my brave, worthy friend, how could I have been able to make the journeys and voyages of which, despite everything, I have hope to see success one day or another.

Farewell, and that God will that I may soon announce to you the end of my troubles!




XIX

A Reconciliation

It is around eight in the evening. Eugène is alone in the room where we saw him first after the violent scene that we have told in another volume. Lavinia is occupied in a neighboring apartment. From time to time, you can hear her voice rise, pure and vibrant. She is happy; she is singing.

This is no longer the melancholy, sentimental songs coming from her nightingale throat; it is from the philosophy in the style of Roger-Bontemps, a charming air taken from a charming opera.

Everything in this lower world Is only a game; The true sage labors no more Than a little… But the fool amuses himself So hard, And he never accuses His lot! He knows only one time around, Always, Makes of all he does To wind; But love, happiness, all passes So well, That no trace remains Of nothing! The pleasure and the pain, Abuse! Do you live one week More? This Croesus they describe Did he have More than we, from the Fates’ The thread?… Then it is necessary that one die, Why Not await your hour Gaily? … Of pleasure, sweet lies We live… If life is a dream, Dream on!

Eugène accompanied by striking the beat on the table. A letter was open before him. Lavinia entered the first salon, and, passing behind her lover, she bent over and read the letter. The signature was not on the first page.

My Dear Monsieur, (said the letter), your former adversary Monsieur A—— has recognized that his conduct during the last times has been unjust and wicked. The pain of an excessive and repulsive passion has sent him to extremes, which you know. I declare today that this passion is dead, that he has come to the end of crime … and he deplores it bitterly. He wishes to leave the country permanently, never to return, but first he feels the necessity not to leave behind him any hatred, and he desires to tell you personally how much he regrets the past. So far as the person you know, Monsieur A—— is more than ashamed of the infamous conduct he has sustained against her. He forgets all of it and asks that you forget it in the same way.

Here the first page ended. Lavinia turned the page and saw for a signature below some additional lines, a name she did not know. Here are those extra lines:

Tomorrow, Monsieur A—— leaves New Orleans for good. You will not refuse to receive him this evening to accept his regrets and to pardon him for the harm of which he courageously recognized that he is guilty, both toward you and toward the person you know.

— “Oh well,” Eugène said when Lavinia had finished reading, “could you now believe that this man would abandon his evil path and wish to make another existence? When one has the courage to repent and declare it, a courage surely greater and much rarer than what consists of dueling, you prove that you are done with evil, and I believe that one deserves to regain the esteem that one has lost.”

— “Yes,” Lavinia responded, “but I have little faith in his protestations, and I have trouble believing that a man of this nature changes so suddenly.”

— “Yet I see two proofs that should convince you: his departure, and his change…”

— “That is true, but I have bad premonitions.”

— “Woman’s folly,” Eugène responded.

— “That is possible … we shall see…”

After finishing these words, Lavinia returned to the rear room and resumed singing some songs. Eugène opened a book and read.

Half an hour had barely passed when someone rang.

Eugène went to open it himself. It was Alexandre. He was very pale; this could mean that the illness would cause him to depart, and Eugène paid it no more attention. He offered his old rival a seat, and for about a minute, an embarrassed silence reigned between the two.

Lavinia had heard and seen Alexandre. She did not go into the front room, and she observed from where she was. Alexandre did not hear her and could believe she was not there. This circumstance appeared to please him, and his face cheered up slightly.

— “You have received,” he finally said, “the letter that one of my friends that you know slightly has addressed to you? I dare believe that you have appreciated the good intention of my overture…”

— “Certainly, Monsieur,” Eugène responded. You wish to leave this country, and I believe that you are right to discuss the perpetual danger that menaces us. So far as your wanting to disavow the past so as to depart without hatred and malice, I find that noble and courageous, and I offer you my hand with a good heart.”

Alexandre rose, his already-pale face paled again, and, with a tremulous voice that could be attributed to emotion as well as to a different sentiment:

— “I accept it,” he responded … “My conduct was that of a fool; I have barely had, for a long time, conscience of what I did! So I may part with my heart delivered from this burden that has weighed on me so?”

— “That everything shall be forgotten,” said Eugène, “do not speak more of it, and be happier besides!”

For about a quarter-hour the conversation rolled through different subjects. Alexandre lost some of his pallor and appeared to recover after this reconciliation that he had come to find.

Lavinia, still hidden in the shadows of the neighboring room, remained silent and observed.

Alexandre had one hand posed on the table; the other was in his pocket.

— “I am hot,” he said, forcing a smile, “I will ask of you a glass of water, if you please.”

— “We will surely drink another thing,” Eugène responded, and he arose and went to a cabinet on which there was placed an alcove of inlaid wood.

Alexandre turned a bit and smiled, hiding his right hand in his pocket.

Lavinia did not see the movement.

Then Eugène returned to Alexandre carrying two glasses and a carafe of liquor. The eyes of the Lieutenant lit up, and his hidden hand trembled.

— “Let’s toast,” Eugène said, “to forgetting the pass, and to hope for the future!”

And he filled the two glasses.

At this moment, Lavinia could not see Alexandre, because he was hidden behind Eugène.

The two men drank; the glasses were emptied. The Lieutenant, on replacing his glass on the table, expelled a sigh of satisfaction. His lips smiled an evil smile that passed unperceived. They sat down. Now Lavinia could observe the faces of the two men. That of Alexandre appeared to recover its animation; that of Eugène turned white. His eyelids dropped like a bird folding its wings. His speech grew difficult and broken.

Lavinia sensed a chill running through her body. Her eyes opened wide and terrified, but she did not yet budge. She looked on, immobile and cold.

— “Oh well,” Alexandre said, believing himself alone, “what do you have now? You appear to be beaten…”

— “I don’t know,” the young man responded, “it appears that my stomach hurts; my pulse is beating…”

And at the same time, Eugène rose, looked Alexandre close in his eyes, opened his mouth to speak … and fell back into his chair.

Alexandre began snickering.

— “Bah!” he said, “it is perhaps a draft or bad digestion … in half an hour there will be no more question!”

Lavinia put her hand in her bodice, and, ready to advance, she listened.

— “Oh!” Eugène cried out, placing his hand on his forehead “ … so what is it?”

— “It is nothing, lady-killer! You have simply been poisoned!”

Alexandre had not completed his last word when a knife-stab sent him to the parquet.

— “Hell!” he cried out while falling “ … I must die at her hand!…”

— “Come to me!” Eugène cried out while faltering… “come to me, Lavinia!”

And he fell unconscious.

Lavinia sent for a physician, who arrived at once.

Alexandre was dead…

Eugène was cold, and his heart was not beating except at a very low rate.

Lavinia was as if mad, but a madness striking at the root, immobile, frozen, neither seeing, nor hearing…




XX

Faith Moves Mountains.

Three days after the scene you have just read, the room where it occurred was plunged into a darkness that only revealed an elderly woman placed on an elongated piece of furniture. A woman went and came, walking carefully, on a thick carpet that dissipated the sound of her step. With difficulty, one distinguished a human form extended on a bed and three-quarters surrounded with white screens. A rather strong but rather regular sigh came from the place where the bed stood.

At this moment he slept.

A man dressed in black entered softly…

— “Here I am, Madame,” he said, “where is the sick person?”

— “Come in,” Lavinia responded.

And she conducted the man to the side of the bed.

— “What did the physicians say yesterday?” he asked after looking at Eugène — whom the reader has recognized — and after having gone back a few steps…

Lavinia approached the ear of the new arrival and said to him:

— “That he is lost if his present state continues a few more hours!”

— “Of what poison have they spoken?”

— “Of a preparation of morphine.”

— “And what have they given him?”

— “A blackish liquor in small doses; also a great deal of milk.”

— “According to their last visit, he is well lost if a notable change does not take place in a few hours?”

— “Yes!” the young woman responded, with a voice bristling with emotion.

— “We shall see!”

Then the man returned close to the bed, had the old woman go to a place more comfortable than the one she had, approached to within a few inches of the sick man’s face, and stared at it for several seconds. Then he stretched a little, extending his two hands, and waited.

For several minutes he remained in that position.

— “Are you ready?” the man asked.

— “Yes!” Eugène responded, in a very weak voice.

— “Is it only morphine that you took?”

— “No; there was another poison.”

— “Did you see it?”

— “Yes! It is dark gray; it has a sharp taste and is gradually bitter; I know its name, but I have forgotten it. I will be able to say it another time.”

— “Good. Is what you have taken suitable for the case?”

— “The black liquor was bad for me, only the milk prevented me from dying.”

— “What do you take, and what should be done?”

— “I sense the course of my blood slowing down. There is nothing blocking it, there is only one weight that appears to mix with it … Since you are here, it seems to me that the weight diminishes. I need no drink except milk. But some other thing is needed to cure me.”

— “What is this other thing?… Search well!”

Eugène was a moment without responding.

— “It is necessary,” he then said, “for me to get up … the lead weighs … on my veins and on my arteries… You must know how.”

— “Do you know me?”

— “No: but I recognize your face for having seen it once.”

— “Do you know my name?”

— “I do not know it, but I would find it if I searched.”

— “Do you want to sleep continually?”

— “That is not useful: you can operate that way.”

Lavinia retained her respiration and counted, stiff neck, ardent eyes, this communication — new for her — between the sick person and his healer. Since he had been sickened by the poison, Eugène had never spoken so much.

The unknown man continued for a quarter hour the operation he had commenced. His hands, sometimes fluttering, followed at a distance the route of his blood vessels … and as this discharge operated by means of magnetic attraction, the respiration of the sick man became easier, his members reviving and moving with a sentiment of growing well-being from minute to minute.

— “Speak to him in a very low voice from where you are,” the magnetizer said, speaking to Lavinia: “I cannot hear you, but he hears you, and he will respond.”

Lavinia posed a question to Eugène, but so low, so low, that he alone could hear and respond.

— “Thank you!” the young man responded with a strong voice … but in a voice other than his usual voice.

It was certainly a distinct voice, but it came from dreams and possession; the tone had something of sweetening and straining.

— “I am better” — he responded to a second question — “my body seems invigorated and desires to get up … each breath does me good: I exhale heavy and hot, and I aspire in its place like a cool, perfumed breeze…”

And, finishing these words, he let out a deep sigh, like a shipwrecked man who comes back out of the water.

— “Enough now!” the magnetizer said. “Perhaps I will communicate to him the power to do this by himself!”

— “Oh!” Lavinia said, expressing complete incredulity by this exclamation…

The Magnetizer flashed her a look and a smile in which was written: “You do not know what Faith and Science could do when one relies on the other!”

— “Do not move and do not ask anything, even mentally!” he said to the young woman burned by his gaze… “Me, I am serving as a means for the Will of Him who can do everything.”

Eugène smiled in recognition, and his eyes closed at once.

Some minutes later, he half reopened them…

— “What a sweet sensation!” he said, placing his right hand on his heart, then on his head — Then he added: “Give me a glass of milk.”

The glass was immediately brought as asked. Eugène drank the beverage in one draught without leaving a drop.

The Magnetizer continued.

Ten minutes later, Eugène was seated on his bed; his epidermis was fresh; his eyes were clear; his respiration was even and moderate. He declared no pain, only general lassitude as after a long walk or wrestling. He spoke tranquilly for about ten minutes; then he announced that he felt the need to sleep…

— “Until tomorrow!” the Magnetizer said as he rose…

Then he spoke to Lavinia:

— “Give him nothing but milk!” he said; “I shall return tomorrow for probably the last time and, immediately thereafter, he will enter into convalescence!”




XXI

Mysteries on Mysteries

The next day, the Magnetizer arrived at the stated hour. For a week he never missed the hour by a single minute. At the end of this week, Eugène was saved, healed, strong and mobile.

A sort of friendship established itself between these two men. They were the ones we shall accompany to different places, where we shall see the continuation of what has occupied us in the previous chapters.

It is a Mystery and History at the same time: mystery insofar as it is a matter of supernatural things that human reason is impotent to explain materially. It is history in that the thing exists, happening here and there, everywhere, in the presence of all those who wish to see. It is as serious facts that we will report the results of Spiritual Séances, results already very important, as will be seen.

It is about seven in the evening.

At the moment we enter in a low hall of the rue de C—— …, more than thirty persons are seated around a table where a man is about to present a lecture.

We seat ourselves among these persons, and we will listen.

“Messieurs,” said the person reading, “here in virtue of which order I have gathered you this evening, to read you various very important communications on the subject of Spiritual Manifestations. This order was written by the hand of a Writing-medium conducted by the Spirit. Here it is:”

Saturday, gathered with us, at 71/2 hours, Monsieur —— and other mediums, and one will write a lesson for them. In this Saturday gathering, it is necessary to explain what to do about the experiences: You will read what you have received. Give the instructions that you will suggest to your experience and your meditations, receive only what serious mediums and those you habitually receive here. Your instructions will be collected; we will be with you.

Mesmer

“Now, Messieurs, to place a sort of order on the communication that has been revealed to us various times, I will yield to following writing:”

One asks oneself, ‘Are there Spirits?’ Men wish to doubt them. Yet one may not deny the existence of Spirits such as that of God. Would it be possible that the souls of illustrious men should be mortal?… They must be immortal, and, if the thing is admitted once, there is nothing hostile to placing them in the presence of God. God being everywhere, Spirits are everywhere. Yet, men who do not refuse to believe in the most absurd things in matters of religion, deny the existence of Spirits. Let them be, and do not regulate your conduct on theirs.

Mesmer

The reader paused for a moment, then he continued:

“Messieurs” — he said — “you are about to enter the passage that proves the existence of Spirits. Many have no need of this proof given by the Spirits themselves, but an even greater number perhaps have need to be convinced by a supernatural proof. I will have you follow the lines to which you have listened of a passage where it is a question of the manifestation of these same Spirits to mortals who are worthy of it. This morsel has two distinct parts. The first proves the manifestation; the second responds to a person who demands for proof of the presence of Spirits that they shatter a cylinder. Listen:”

It is asked whether the Spirits can manifest themselves? This question may be responded to in a way that must satisfy any man who wishes to reflect. God is a Spirit, the most perfect of all. Doesn’t He manifest himself to us in all the acts of life, at every instant? Do we need to see in order to comprehend that He exists and that He acts among us? No. Oh well, we have said that the Spirits were with God. Is it necessary that they should follow another law to manifest themselves to us, a law different from that applicable to God? No, because this would be to admit that they are not with God and that they follow a different law. If they are with God, they must follow the same law as God.

That one would ask a maker of juggling tricks to knock over a clock in order to assure that he is in good faith, would prove something; but to ask Spirits to knock over a vase in order to prove that Spirits exist would be like asking a charlatan not to make fun of the public. Spirits manifest themselves by the communion of ideas, for the total communion of ideas. A son who is at the point of committing a crime, invokes the Spirit of his father who was a man of heart … and his hand is stopped, and he does not commit a crime: that is a Manifestation. It only requires a communion of ideas for a real manifestation. This is what is meant by the Communication of the Spirits. Men who seek another thing do not have a true idea of the divinity of the Spirits.

Mesmer

Before attending this séance, Eugène was initiated by his new friend into what was known of the new doctrine called Spiritual Manifestations. So he followed these instructions coming from on high with a religious interest, virtual tablets from a new Sinai.

To have given a greater narrative interest to this recital, to help the reader in the séances themselves where the earlier excerpts and those that follow were written, we have preferred to give an exact history of the evening where the general lecture of these communications took place.

The lecture continued in this way:

In spiritual manifestations, responses are in five different types:

  1. Those relating to a scientific object. They are rarely misleading if one has the prudence to address God when making requests, and to address Him alone. Yet the invocation of a serious Spirit will not absolutely prejudice the validity of the operation.
  2. Those relating to the study of the matter of spiritual manifestations. In these, in order that they be just, it is necessary to address God alone, because it is from Him alone that all comes.
  3. Those relative to medication. These are always expressions of a truth that is expressed for being consecrated by the will of God. While one may also invoke the Spirit of one of those men whose name made an epoch in the history of science, but to be more exact, it is necessary to penetrate the nature of the sick person’s illness, of his age, and the setting in which he is found.
  4. Those that are related to earthly goods. They are not the same as those coming from God, who is the center of every truth. They are made by His will for a useful end.
  5. Those that derive from an object of pure curiosity. These are always negatives.

Martinet

“Immediately afterward, Messieurs,” said the lecturer — here is what was added by the Spirit of Monsieur Martinet. You know that Monsieur Martinet was professor at the College of Spring Hill, near Mobile, State of Alabama:”

Never permit that one pose among you questions that have only a worldly purpose. If it is necessary to say to a medium what one said to the writer, one will say it without it being necessary that he ask it.

Martinet

After our having proved, Messieurs, that Spirits exist and that these Spirits manifest themselves to men in a real manner, here is what has already been written in relation to a third proposition:

There are four varieties of Spirits. Happy; Good; Unhappy; Bad.

The Happy are those who return to God without having had the time to be corrupted.

The Good are those who have made good use of the liberty that God gave them, but who have been in contact with corruption without being corrupted by it.

The Unhappy are those who have touched corruption without being corrupted by it.

The Bad are those who have been won by corruption.

The first two return immediately to God; the third are submitted to a brief purification, and the fourth to punishment and a long purification. But all of these must return to God over the centuries in their original primitive state, because God being the great center, nothing can be kept from Him.

Mesmer

(We say to the reader, one time for all, that, between each reading, it is to reading mediums that we leave the discussion.)

“Messieurs, I will give you no observation on the subject that I will read to you immediately, Listen and take your profit as you intend:”

There is no speaking-medium in the sense that is believed. The experiences that have been made with —— are excessively dangerous, and they derive from the epoch of the sect of the ancient illuminati who caused so much harm in Germany, and who caused so many errors and crimes. The speaking-medium does not exist; the inspired do exist, but the inspiration comes to the individual, from God. It cannot communicate itself among a circle of mediums: one cannot seek to acquire this variety of faculty, because it is born suddenly for a special object and not for following experiences. The eloquence of the orator is one of these genres of inspiration when it is required to act on the masses for a useful purpose. I am speaking of exceptional eloquence: those which extreme cases render necessary. Give credence to those master counsels so as not to spend too long at these sorts of experiences because they will delay the development of what you desire to study: they will render knowledge more difficult, and this will lead to nothing less than to favor charlatans and men of bad faith. It is necessary throughout to endeavor to develop writing mediums: they are those who will render more real services to science. You also will engage them to continue table experiences, because it is through them that they must commence becoming a writing medium. Give particularly to all those among whom these experiences are made the advice to act seriously and to ban pleasantries, because these pleasantries make experiences doubtful, and they are a profanation of something holy that one should study with respect. It is an offence to God to make use of the manifestations to insult old age or abuse ignorance. It is necessary to employ them to develop the sciences, arts, letters, and to the relief of the sick; but one must not use them to serve things that are improper.

Mesmer

After the preceding reading, there were some murmurs in the hall. Evidently there was difference of opinions. Some discussions even rose above a low voice. Some pretended that this was a play on words, so as to say that there is no speaking medium, although certainly there are those who are Inspired. Others maintained the distinction, holding that to confound one with the other was absurd and dangerous in that the doctrine in which one occupied himself was serious and moral, and that illuminism inclined easily to charlatanism of an earlier time.

For us, a faithful historian of the Mysteries that our town sees, reports everything and concludes nothing. That is our role; we will carry it out scrupulously.

To pass in silence all that we report on the subject of Spiritual Manifestations would be to knowingly leave a gap in this work, and the historian cannot do that when he has promised to be as complete as possible.

On this, we continue.

— “Messieurs,” the lecturer repeated in response to a semi-political and semi-social question that had been posed by Mesmer.

When God created the earth, he did not have one family in view: the earth was created for the benefit of the whole human race. We have nothing to do with the further discussion.

Mesmer

This response did not satisfy the questioner, who withdrew murmuring some words … and at once the following explanation following, in two parts, arrived under the signature that you will see:

Monsieur —— said that the response that was made to him resembled socialism: these were his impressions. He was wrong. Socialism, such as it has been loosely defined in recent times, is not the socialism of God. Here is the definition of the socialism of God:

God did not make the earth for one family, but rather for the use of the human race. It must not be understood in this definition that the earth must be divided equally among all men. No, because if it were thus, that would be the negation of the definition that we have been given by the Spirits. We have said that God made the Spirits equally pure, but that he did not make them equally intelligent. The earth is made for all of them, since it is for the profit of all. Those who are intelligent, in using that facility to profit, accumulate goods, and cannot do so without the service of others. For, by themselves alone they can do nothing. It is because it is necessary that the idea of God be accomplished, and that the creatures imitate Him by working and creating, which have there inequality of conditions. To change this state of things is to wish to reverse the work of God, and this is impossible, and each institution that has a similar purpose would never be durable. Inequality is for the benefit of all: without it, all will lose their life: without it, he will have nothing but death. This is why we say that the earth was created for the human race. It is in this sense that our response must be received. God desires order, and, to have that order, it is necessary above all that work be compensated, even among the successors of those who gathered the price of his labor. God does not wish it otherwise, because he wishes the conservation of his work. Men with theories may search as much as they wish, but your humanitarian hallucinations will never lead you to destroy the work of God… Happy for you if they do not lead you to crime! Society was established by God, and your efforts can do nothing against it, because God protects it.

Martinet

On the subject of the purpose for which God created the earth, we were asked if there was not injustice in the distribution God made of his acts of grace. The case of the abuse an intelligent man makes of his riches that his intelligence has procured was proposed. That certainly could happen, for, if that does not happen, there would never be any abuse of the liberty that man has from God. But this doubtless forgets the definition of the Spirits that has been given us, because if one had been called back, this difficulty would not have taken place. A short life of suffering cannot therefore be opposed to a long life of celestial happiness. The rich can abuse what their intelligence has procured of happiness here below, but … afterwards, punishment and long purification await them. Don’t forget that, and you will comprehend what was said about socialism as God understands it, and you will judge if He has not done everything with justice and with an entirely admirable order. You suppose that, if you were to regulate the order of creation, you would have done better?… No! What God has done is well done, and He must never have found it bad.

Martinet

Here are some lines about a very grave question that has agitated the world for centuries. Lamartine said the same in the long, magnificent pages with the title, Atheism among the People:

Some fine pages have been written on socialism since the sect of political reformers appeared in the world! Has humanity received any good from it?… Who is it who dares affirm that its result has been advantageous to the poor class, and that their condition has been improved? No. In other times, hearts were disposed to charity; misfortune found an asylum among the powerful; now, under the false pretext of philanthropy, one has come to lock misery away because it is ugly in the sight of those modern philanthropists. The poor people!

They do nothing good to ameliorate the condition of the people, for all that is done is the desire to relieve material lacks, while it would rather be the spirit that it has to be consoled. Do you wish to be benefactors of humanity? Study the moral needs of the people; seek to clarify its spirit and give it education … and you will have done more for them than to seek to improve its material condition.

Mesmer

You will now hear a passage signed by Chateaubriand on the subject of the same social question. I always avoid commentaries. You may take what you please.

You are living in an epoch when society is in a state of turmoil. Poor humanity! You present your head for torture to improve the governments, and you deny the ways of your fathers … which were happier, despite all the imperfections of the governments under which they lived! It is because three things are lacking for you: Religion, respect for the Laws, and the ties of Family… Selfishness rules today, and it is a selfishness without equal. No progress is possible; no stable society can exist… You speak of liberty! And can you say that the most precious good that you have from God will not be stolen in the midst of the revolutionary torments you support?… It is a sad liberty that demands that one drench the cement of our altars with blood!… Poor humanity! I was proud to belong to you once, and today I pity you!

Chateaubriand

Someone asked what is the most shameful vice of our morals. Here is the response that was made:

God established the sexes to accomplish the noblest of acts that he had in mind when he created man: it was, in some way, a delegation of his creative power that he gave to man and to woman. Why should one go to profane this sublime quality, this divine power, by libertinage!

Martinet

— This is all that I have to read to you, Messieurs, concluded Monsieur ——. Later, when I have brought together the new important messages, I will make it a duty and a pleasure to tell you what I have done today.

And he closed the folder where he had transcribed all the Spiritual Communications obtained by the hand of a writing medium.

At this moment a deaf-mute rose, making a hand-sign that he wanted to address a question to the Spirit.

At once the hand of the writing medium shook for a response, and immediately they received the following several lines, traced with a phenomenal rapidity, and in an almost unreadable form at first look:

“God has given speech to man to disguise his thought,” Talleyrand has said, but as for thought, God has given it to man so that he might approach Him. He who can think does not need to complain, since, by thought, he is united to God, and he may think with Him without disguise and in all the purity of his soul.

Martinet

These lines were recopied and passed to the deaf-mute, who read them with great emotion, and he sat down while kissing his head on his chest.

In her turn, a woman in tears asked health for her children, questioning what one could do to save them from the illness that threatened their existence. The following response came immediately:

Friendship does not rise, it descends. The son loves his mother, but never as much as she loves him. A recompense for so much love… God wishes to give: Good mother, persevere in the counsels you have received and your children will recover.

Mesmer

Barely were the preceding lines read, than the same hand wrote, all at once, the following passage:

The multiplicity of modes where spiritual experiences are made, far from nourishing these experiences, cannot do anything but impede their development. But it is necessary that there be, among the mediums, unity in their mode of action: it is necessary that they study the counsels given them on the occasion of these manifestations, for it each proceeds as it appears, this will only lead to confusion, without developing what one wishes to study. The unity of action in every study is therefore indispensible to arrive at good results. It is to be desired that those who occupy themselves conscientiously to these manifestations leave every spirit of self-love aside, and that they should wish to consult Monsieur —— on the advice that has been granted to him. There is no preference of person: God wishes that everyone unite in the study that each may do; but it is necessary to say, it is with Monsieur —— that one has worked and studied in the most serious manner, and proceeded logically. The weak results that have been obtained until now with him have actually been the best and surest seen until the present time.

Obscene pleasantries, and the conjuring of frivolous Spirits that one did not wish to see when they were down here with us, are the two greatest obstacles that can compromise the development of the study of Spiritual Manifestations. The pleasantry that has no purpose is what I am speaking of, for it differs from that which produces social relations between men. — Follow the mediums who can be well included in this advice, and they are always to be followed!

Mesmer




XXII

Where it continues to be proved that the results of “Spiritual Manifestations” are always moral, useful, serious and good.

We believe it necessary, in ending this volume, to complete the question of Spiritual Communications so as to form as complete a body as possible.

One day, when the benefits of this new mysterious doctrine, religious above all, spreads through all the families that invoke it, will bestow on us, as very imperfect men, a certain vanity for having been one of the first to give it growth by means of the press. Plus today there is nothing that they do not wish nor see nor study more, at the present epoch, to take the place to satisfy those who will dare occupy the first benefits and consolations that grow with each day more and more, in families and in societies.


The Social Question

It was said that three things are necessary for the stability of every well-organized society: religion, the respect for laws, and the ties of family. It only remains to establish the truth of this axiom: that’s what we do.

There is no truth if the belief in God is not admitted at the outset by those who proceed, and it is impossible to have this belief without religion. From which it follows that, since the belief in God is necessary for every great thing, in order for one to attain this goal it is necessary from the outset to be imbued with religious principles, and to let oneself be governed and regulated by them. The atheist can produce beautiful things, but he can never achieve producing great things. These works could have popularity and procure him celebrity, but they will never give him immortality. Consult the history of all the great men of Antiquity and you will see that, while they were pagans, and that they did not achieve a clear knowledge of the divinity, still they were all pious, and they demonstrated the need to believe in God and to attach everything to a superhuman, which is to say, divine principle. They must be convinced of the truth of the premises that we have posed, that religion is the basis of every stable society, for the first of all social elements is the moral element. And since it is impossible to derive moral principles from another source than the divine principle, it follows that, since without religion no belief in the existence of God is possible, it is necessary that religion be the first principle on which social organization should rest.

Society cannot exist without order. From which it follows that rules be established for governance, that is, laws. Because, since laws regulate social order, it follows that to violate their prescriptions is to destroy this same order, overthrowing this same society.

Society is a union of a large number of beings who unite for a useful purpose that is common to them. They therefore have interests that are common to them, and which must necessarily establish a fraternal line among them. The surest guarantee of this fraternal line is found in the affections of the heart. Because it is in the family that is found the most holy affections of the heart, which commence first in conjugal love, then follow in paternity and the other ties of parentage. As on sees, the ties of family are also a necessary principle of all social stability.

Seize heaven, that these truths become popular!

Mesmer

We shall stop there our citations of the communications obtained by the hand of the Medium to whom these writings are due that one comes to read. All these separate documents are soon supposed to form a body that will be published by time and place, in the manner in which it was ordained by Him from whom all comes.

Only, in order that there be no obscurity in the spirit of the reader, so that all that he gets to read are not like Greek or Hebrew, we shall go, in an explanation as briefly summarized as possible, to say how this faculty of writing arrives that has given to those who have the title of Writing Medium.

In the experiences made by table, the good Spirit, sent by God, at the mental invocation of those who are joined around the aforementioned table, charged by an unknown force and always sufficient in the hands of one or several of his assistants. Those of whom the hands are also charged serve as agent in the responses that arrive, and they are called intermediaries, between the Spirit and those who are present, from the name of Medium, means. It is the hands of the medium or the mediums that cause the table to move, but without these hands obeying another will but that of the Spirit.

On the invasion of this unknown force, there are mediums who show on their arms, their forearms, and in their hands an unnatural heat or cold, while others show nothing or almost nothing. The force that goes into the arms and descends to the tips of the fingers comes from the brain, prepared for this by the Spirit. The Medium is a passive agent, while it is his hands that force the table to move.

Well indeed, it is absolutely the same for those who write, called a Medium-écrivant or Writing-medium. First the brain is invaded by a superior, non-terrestial force. This force communicates itself to the arm and the hand which, under this impulsion, agitates sometimes in a very violent manner — until it becomes rather calmed to be able to follow the lines. Then it is with a speed that outruns all stenographers that the lines fill with writing more or less easy to decipher, but which always gets to the end with a good will. It is necessary to having seen fully-developed Mediums to get an idea of the double rapidity of conception and execution who make entire pages covered with writing without the hand stopping for a second, without the head having a second to review what was done. And there never ever is, when the Medium is truly a Medium, and it is well developed, never any incoherence of ideas or of style… Everything is joined, in sequence, explaining itself more or less in eloquence, in a manner to be understood by all. On the pages before this one, you have read things of a wisdom and boldness that have no equal in everything we can read until now. And, in a few pages, it was written so that a profound man cannot read in many volumes.

For example, here:

“Inequality is for the benefit of all: without it, all would lose their lives; without it, there would be nothing but death.”

And this other phrase:

“One would do nothing to improve the condition of the people, no matter how concerned, by the desire to relieve them materially.”

As profundity and sublime eloquence, here are two or three lines that arrived over the signature of Chateaubriand:

“It is a sad liberty that demands that one flood the cement of these altars with blood!”

If you are there, today, arriving with the times, in the case of the gospel, be it political, social, or humanitarian? How is it that philosophies and philosophers have produced masses of volumes, to say less than these three short phrases!

Now, having to end this important digression, which deservedly finds it place among the Mysteries, before returning to the characters of our principal narrative, which, dispersed as has been seen, must somehow be brought together for the general conclusion, and advance the career that is reserved for them. Before that, we will respond to some objections that have been made on the subject of Manifestations.

There are those who have said that these Spiritual Researches are impious, insulting to God and religion, in the end destructive of the consoling faith that sustains us in this terrestrial life…

Here is what all those who are occupied in these researches think:

That, the more one has faith and a good will, the more one obtains important and serious responses; that, in these same good conditions, one may receive useful moral aid in many of the phases of life, good counsels in difficult hours, and the knowledge of useful things to direct oneself wisely and honestly. In contrast, that every research made with a bad justification, whatever nature it happens to be, cannot advance, cannot obtain anything good, cannot remain, in a word, but an insignificant pointlessness, instead of rising, degree by degree, to the high spheres of intelligence and Communication — And, when one pretends that a work without a moral goal is useful, directed toward the good, it cannot obtain anything, and it will direct him who follows it under contrary conditions, arriving where he heads, where one could find that there is something impious in these Researches?

Others say quite simply: “That all of that in the future cannot lead to nothing.”

To all of that, there is only one response: it is that they are making a judgment that is essentially rash. They judge the tree by a seed that is unknown to them. They are judging the effect by a cause that they do not see, that they do not feel, that they do not understand; they judge the unknown by the unknown, the future by what is today non-existent!

When a peasant’s saucepan has an iron lid lifted by the vapor of boiling water, weighed down by a coarse rock already raised by the same vapor, could one see in advance railroads crossing the entire world? … ships without oars and without sails … warships with three decks, one day plowing all the seas, against the winds and currents, at prodigious speeds? … and all of that by means of hot water!… No! While the first to write on this subject and presented his work was treated as mad and put away, like him, in a prison where madness really exists, by the force of moral pains!

The future will say that those who seek the good might find evil … or nothing.




XXIII

Where the eccentric Adventures of Mélanie since her kidnapping near San Francisco are told.

Firmament was considerably bored in New Orleans. He had made good use of his money to procure distractions and pleasures, but the seduction had been quite ephemeral! When he returned home after some party, the poor boy once again found himself more isolated than if he had seen no one for a long time. Among all the distractions that Firmament had procured, it is well that our impartiality as narrator not forget to say that the facile sex had more than once helped the poor boy to cause a certain little amount of his gold to disappear. Yes, despite his theory of women, Firmament was devoted to them … champagne helped.

But the unhappy man was sliding down a slope … and he surely would have fallen at the precipice if one saving idea had not occurred to him…

He thought on marriage; he wanted to be married. This stopped his first deviation … led, somewhat, it is true, by ennui.

— “If only Pinot would return!” he said to himself, “some day I will get patience!”

This reminded him that he had not been to the post office for a long time. At once, without losing a minute, he went there with long strides, expecting that he would find new things there from his friend.

This presentiment did not mislead. A letter covered with five or six stamps had awaited him for several days. He easily recognized the handwriting, went home, and there, having closed the doors and windows, and being arranged for being alone, he opened the letter expecting to taste it slowly.

We are doing like Firmament, and the reader will do as we do, as much as he is interested in this poor Finot and his poor Mélanie.

Bonaventure to his friend Firmament.

Noble and generous friend!

Shall I begin at the end or at the beginning? My fingers are burning! I have so many things to tell you that I find myself quite embarrassed.

Decidedly, I will restrain my impatience and proceed in order. You will excuse the interruptions of my thought and the tick-tock of my style. Am I the most unhappy of men, or the most fortunate of mortals?… You shall see.

I have almost always been in the fog … and in the fog since I wrote you my first letter from the French Antilles. I passed to Dominica, to Sainte-Lucie, there, and then there, and again elsewhere. When I was there a while and my researches had been useless, I threw into the air a slip of paper, and on whichever side it fell I directed my adventurous course.

Briefly, at the end of all, I set foot in Constantinople. And what a stop it was, old friend!

There is something truly extraordinary about Constantinople…! You imagine admirable exteriors and frightful interiors. An old rotten hovel inside, and gilded all over on the outside.

I will not give you a description of the seraglios, the mosques, the bazaars, the khans, the caravanserais, the baths, the baths, the aqueducts, the kiosks, the graveyards, etc. … etc. … I have adventures to tell you, and I am hurrying to get to the conclusion.

Listen, listen, listen! … and you will see that all the romance-writers in the universe have furiously distanced themselves from the hazard of life!

I was, one evening, sitting in a sort of café-cabaret, in the course of drinking I-don’t-know-what, and thinking about many things when, in a neighboring hall, I heard French being spoken.

I listened… Five minutes later, I listened to such things that I would not have given my sheep or my digs for all the gold in California.

I learned about the men who conversed together at a table neighboring me. I discovered that they were a sort of pirates arrived four days ago, and who had sold several women they had seized from a merchant ship. Among the men there appeared to be one who was a chief.

— “By God,” this last man said, “if I had the money, I would have kept for myself the French woman who was so clean.”

— “Who got her?” another asked.

— “It was the fat merchant of evening parties, Ben Philippi, over there.”

— “Oh” another said to him, “he only bought her to sell her again!”

— “Master, it is obviously that you did not caress this pretty chicken a little, during the watch from eight to twelve?”

— “I tried, but I could get no response!”

— “To your health, master!” the questioner responded in a slangy tone.

— “To yours, Ribassi…”

— “It appears,” said the young sailor,” that the Parisian woman has a chance for rescue. She was seized in the area of San Francisco … and…”

— “Who said that, White Chin?”

— “Damn, that’s her … replied the poor man’s Jean Bart, drinking a cup of coffee and rum…

The conversation continued, and, the further it went, the more I was enthralled.

About twelve o’clock, the four individuals left. Three turned to the right; the fourth turned to the left. I followed the fourth. He turned so well, that in ten minutes he and I were sitting smoking near the wall enclosing the house of Ben Philippi. The young sailor had not seen me following him, The night was deep black. Despite that, to avoid being seen, I hid myself behind a pier … and waited.

The young sailor took about twenty steps and stopped near a small, low door. The wall was studded by piers. I left the one where I hid and went to another one to get nearer. My man, whom I pursued with my eyes despite the darkness, bringing his mouth to the keyhole, and a long dampened cry sounded within. There was no doubt that it was a signal. I hesitated. I caressed the handle of my dagger, but after two seconds of thought, I withdrew. I decided to watch this to the end. There would always be time to have recourse to drastic means… And besides, despite appearances, I could be wrong. Soon I heard a voice slip via the keyhole with two words that made me tremble: “Here I am!”

“If Firmament were only here!” I thought to myself…”

I had barely made this thought when the small door opened. A human shape came out, enveloped in a variety of a man’s cloak.

— “Everything is ready!” the young sailor said, “I will bring you to the yawl. You will wait for me for twenty minutes, well hidden: I will return, we will shove off, and immediately the sloop will reach the open water.”

— “Why are you leaving me for twenty minutes?” asked the voice that had made me tremble…

— “To go and get other clothing. I will not depart as a sailor, for sure!”

— “Let’s go! I will do as you say: when we are in the open water, I will repay the promise I have made to you.”

They departed. I followed them. At the end of a quarter-hour, we had arrived near a grotto. A bark was rolling on the expiring current of the Bosphorus. Further out, thanks to the reflection on the water, one could see a large sloop lying to.

The two characters entered the grotto. Almost at once, the young sailor came out and directed himself toward town with large strides. I counted to ten, and, entering into the grotto, I rallied my cold blood to sound this word: “Come!” My hand encountered a cold little hand. Mine burned and trembled. We went toward the bark in silence. Five minutes later we were aboard the sloop, which immediately set sails, and, thanks to the fresh breeze, we set out with a speed of nine to ten knots. We were conducted to an aft cabin.

— “Rest there!” a voice sweet and firm told me. “In two hours you will have your recompense!”

The door of the cabin closed on me at these words, and I remained alone.

— “Your recompense!” I murmured trembling…

I went to the bridge. I returned to the cabin. I sat down, I walked about. I used the time as best I could. At the moment when day was about to begin, I was half-lying down on a sort of ottoman near the door of the cabin where reposed… This door opened. A woman came to me, letting a rather heavy purse drop into my hands:

— “Take it,” she said: “you have certainly earned it.”

I bounded up to her. The purse rolled on the planking.

— “Mélanie!” I cried to her.

And I fell, almost unconscious, in the caressing arms which formed about me like a vice…

I only heard two words come from the adored mouth that I had not heard for a long time: “My God!”

“I will tell you the rest at New Orleans.”

End of the Third Volume

Notes

  1. Marshal Mortier. Marshal édouard Mortier was murdered on 28 July 1835. — Translator’s note.
  2. Nôtre-Dame de Paris. Reference to Victor Hugo’s novel published in 1842, usually referred to in English as The Hunchback of Nôtre Dame. — Translator’s note.
  3. Parbleu. By blue. (French). Euphemistic substitute for Pardieu, By God.
  4. Far niente. Doing nothing. (Italian). — Translator’s note.
  5. La rigoise. The Rigoise was a whip made of bull nerve material, found usually in the French Antilles islands. — Translator’s note.
  6. Nec plus ultra. Nothing further beyond. Latin.
  7. Corbleu. Euphemism for corps de Dieu, “body of God” French.
  8. salle d’Orléans. Located at 717 Orleans Street. — Translator’s note.
  9. Key of Mexico. This passage appears to refer to the expedition to Cuba led by Narciso Lopez (1797-1851), a Venezuelan adventurer; like the later Bay of Pigs attack in the 1960s, the people of Cuba did not respond to his appeal, and he and several other leaders of the expedition were garroted in Havana. The episode had a great impact on the popular and immigrant press in the United States. — Translator’s note.
  10. Spring Hill College. was founded by a French mission near Mobile, Alabama, in 1830. It later passed to Jesuits and continues today as a Catholic university. — Translator’s note.
  11. Chateaubriand . François-René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848) was a founder of the romantic tradition in French literature, promoting the importance of religion and tradition. — Translator’s note.


Text prepared by:



Source

Testut, Charles. The Mysteries of New Orleans. Vol. 3. Trans. Steven Rowan. Semaine Litteraire. Annex to the journal La Semaine. New Orleans: Press of A. Gaux and L. Dutuit, Publishers, 1852. Print. © Steven Rowan. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Home Page
L’Anthologie  Louisianaise