Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Part 30

"Really!" repeated he, trying to force a smile.

She kissed his forehead; she believed in an impossible combination--she might remain untouched and see Lucien.

She was so coaxing to the banker that she was La Torpille once more.

She fairly bewitched the old man, who promised to be a father to her for forty days. Those forty days were to be employed in acquiring and arranging the house in the Rue Saint-Georges.

When he was in the street again, as he went home, the Baron said to himself, "I am an old flat."

But though in Esther's presence he was a mere child, away from her he resumed his lynx's skin; just as the gambler (in _le Joueur_) becomes affectionate to Angelique when he has not a liard.

"A half a million francs I hafe paid, and I hafe not yet seen vat her leg is like.--Dat is too silly! but, happily, n.o.body shall hafe known it!" said he to himself three weeks after.

And he made great resolutions to come to the point with the woman who had cost him so dear; then, in Esther's presence once more, he spent all the time he could spare her in making up for the roughness of his first words.

"After all," said he, at the end of a month, "I cannot be de fater eternal!"

Towards the end of the month of December 1829, just before installing Esther in the house in the Rue Saint-Georges, the Baron begged du Tillet to take Florine there, that she might see whether everything was suitable to Nucingen's fortune, and if the description of "a little palace" were duly realized by the artists commissioned to make the cage worthy of the bird.

Every device known to luxury before the Revolution of 1830 made this residence a masterpiece of taste. Grindot the architect considered it his greatest achievement as a decorator. The staircase, which had been reconstructed of marble, the judicious use of stucco ornament, textiles, and gilding, the smallest details as much as the general effect, outdid everything of the kind left in Paris from the time of Louis XV.

"This is my dream!--This and virtue!" said Florine with a smile. "And for whom are you spending all this money?"

"For a voman vat is going up there," replied the Baron.

"A way of playing Jupiter?" replied the actress. "And when is she on show?"

"On the day of the house-warming," cried du Tillet.

"Not before dat," said the Baron.

"My word, how we must lace and brush and fig ourselves out," Florine went on. "What a dance the women will lead their dressmakers and hairdressers for that evening's fun!--And when is it to be?"

"Dat is not for me to say."

"What a woman she must be!" cried Florine. "How much I should like to see her!"

"An' so should I," answered the Baron artlessly.

"What! is everything new together--the house, the furniture, and the woman?"

"Even the banker," said du Tillet, "for my old friend seems to me quite young again."

"Well, he must go back to his twentieth year," said Florine; "at any rate, for once."

In the early days of 1830 everybody in Paris was talking of Nucingen's pa.s.sion and the outrageous splendor of his house. The poor Baron, pointed at, laughed at, and fuming with rage, as may easily be imagined, took it into his head that on the occasion of giving the house-warming he would at the same time get rid of his paternal disguise, and get the price of so much generosity. Always circ.u.mvented by "La Torpille," he determined to treat of their union by correspondence, so as to win from her an autograph promise. Bankers have no faith in anything less than a promissory note.

So one morning early in the year he rose early, locked himself into his room, and composed the following letter in very good French; for though he spoke the language very badly, he could write it very well:--

"DEAR ESTHER, the flower of my thoughts and the only joy of my life, when I told you that I loved you as I love my daughter, I deceived you, I deceived myself. I only wished to express the holiness of my sentiments, which are unlike those felt by other men, in the first place, because I am an old man, and also because I have never loved till now. I love you so much, that if you cost me my fortune I should not love you the less.

"Be just! Most men would not, like me, have seen the angel in you; I have never even glanced at your past. I love you both as I love my daughter, Augusta, and as I might love my wife, if my wife could have loved me. Since the only excuse for an old man's love is that he should be happy, ask yourself if I am not playing a too ridiculous part. I have taken you to be the consolation and joy of my declining days. You know that till I die you will be as happy as a woman can be; and you know, too, that after my death you will be rich enough to be the envy of many women. In every stroke of business I have effected since I have had the happiness of your acquaintance, your share is set apart, and you have a standing account with Nucingen's bank. In a few days you will move into a house, which sooner or later, will be your own if you like it.

Now, plainly, will you still receive me then as a father, or will you make me happy?

"Forgive me for writing so frankly, but when I am with you I lose all courage; I feel too keenly that you are indeed my mistress. I have no wish to hurt you; I only want to tell you how much I suffer, and how hard it is to wait at my age, when every day takes with it some hopes and some pleasures. Besides, the delicacy of my conduct is a guarantee of the sincerity of my intentions. Have I ever behaved as your creditor? You are like a citadel, and I am not a young man. In answer to my appeals, you say your life is at stake, and when I hear you, you make me believe it; but here I sink into dark melancholy and doubts dishonorable to us both. You seemed to me as sweet and innocent as you are lovely; but you insist on destroying my convictions. Ask yourself!--You tell me you bear a pa.s.sion in your heart, an indomitable pa.s.sion, but you refuse to tell me the name of the man you love.--Is this natural?

"You have turned a fairly strong man into an incredibly weak one.

You see what I have come to; I am induced to ask you at the end of five months what future hope there is for my pa.s.sion. Again, I must know what part I am to play at the opening of your house.

Money is nothing to me when it is spent for you; I will not be so absurd as to make a merit to you of this contempt; but though my love knows no limits, my fortune is limited, and I care for it only for your sake. Well, if by giving you everything I possess I might, as a poor man, win your affection, I would rather be poor and loved than rich and scorned by you.

"You have altered me so completely, my dear Esther, that no one knows me; I paid ten thousand francs for a picture by Joseph Bridau because you told me that he was clever and unappreciated. I give every beggar I meet five francs in your name. Well, and what does the poor man ask, who regards himself as your debtor when you do him the honor of accepting anything he can give you? He asks only for a hope--and what a hope, good G.o.d! Is it not rather the certainty of never having anything from you but what my pa.s.sion may seize? The fire in my heart will abet your cruel deceptions.

You find me ready to submit to every condition you can impose on my happiness, on my few pleasures; but promise me at least that on the day when you take possession of your house you will accept the heart and service of him who, for the rest of his days, must sign himself your slave,

"FREDERIC DE NUCINGEN."

"Faugh! how he bores me--this money bag!" cried Esther, a courtesan once more. She took a small sheet of notepaper and wrote all over it, as close as it could go, Scribe's famous phrase, which has become a proverb, "Prenez mon ours."

A quarter of an hour later, Esther, overcome by remorse, wrote the following letter:--

"MONSIEUR LE BARON,--

"Pay no heed to the note you have just received from me; I had relapsed into the folly of my youth. Forgive, monsieur, a poor girl who ought to be your slave. I never more keenly felt the degradation of my position than on the day when I was handed over to you. You have paid; I owe myself to you. There is nothing more sacred than a debt of dishonor. I have no right to compound it by throwing myself into the Seine.

"A debt can always be discharged in that dreadful coin which is good only to the debtor; you will find me yours to command. I will pay off in one night all the sums for which that fatal hour has been mortgaged; and I am sure that such an hour with me is worth millions--all the more because it will be the only one, the last.

I shall then have paid the debt, and may get away from life. A good woman has a chance of restoration after a fall; but we, the like of us, fall too low.

"My determination is so fixed that I beg you will keep this letter in evidence of the cause of death of her who remains, for one day, your servant,

"ESTHER."

Having sent this letter, Esther felt a pang of regret. Ten minutes after she wrote a third note, as follows:--

"Forgive me, dear Baron--it is I once more. I did not mean either to make game of you or to wound you; I only want you to reflect on this simple argument: If we were to continue in the position towards each other of father and daughter, your pleasure would be small, but it would be enduring. If you insist on the terms of the bargain, you will live to mourn for me.

"I will trouble you no more: the day when you shall choose pleasure rather than happiness will have no morrow for me.--Your daughter,

"ESTHER."

On receiving the first letter, the Baron fell into a cold fury such as a millionaire may die of; he looked at himself in the gla.s.s and rang the bell.

"An hot bat for mein feet," said he to his new valet.

While he was sitting with his feet in the bath, the second letter came; he read it, and fainted away. He was carried to bed.

When the banker recovered consciousness, Madame de Nucingen was sitting at the foot of the bed.

"The hussy is right!" said she. "Why do you try to buy love? Is it to be bought in the market!--Let me see your letter to her."