Эжен Сю
Luxury - Gluttony: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins
The penetrating glance of Pascal surprised the expression of this feeling on the face of the archduke, and he said to himself, with triumphant disdain: "Here is a prince born on the steps of a throne, a cousin, at least, of all the kings of Europe, a generalissimo of an army of a hundred thousand soldiers, here he is in all the glory of his battle uniform, adorned with all the insignia of honour and war. This highness, this man, despises me in his pride of a sovereign race. He hates me because he has need of me, and knows well that he must humiliate himself; nevertheless, this man, in spite of his contempt, in spite of his hatred, I hold in my power, and I intend to make him feel it keenly, for to-day my heart is steeped in gall."
CHAPTER III
M. Pascal, having seated himself in the gilded armchair on the side of the table opposite the prince, first seized a mother-of-pearl paper-cutter that he found under his hand, and, whirling it incessantly, said:
"Monseigneur, if it is agreeable to you, let us talk of business, for at a certain hour I must be in the Faubourg St. Marceau, at the house of a manufacturer, who is one of my friends."
"I wish to inform you, monsieur," replied the prince, restraining himself with difficulty, "that I have already postponed until to-morrow other audiences that should have taken place to-day, that I might devote all my time to you."
"That is very kind of you, monseigneur, but let us come to the point."
The prince took up from the table a long sheet of official paper, and, handing it to M. Pascal, said to him:
"This note will prove to you, monsieur, that all the parties interested in the transfer that is proposed to me not only authorise me formally to accept it, but willingly offer their pledges, and even protect all the accidents of my acceptance."
M. Pascal, without moving from his armchair, extended his hand from one side of the table to the other, to receive the note, and, taking it, said:
"There was absolutely nothing to be done without this security."
And he began to read slowly, nibbling the while the mother-of-pearl knife, which he did not surrender for a moment.
The prince fixed an anxious, penetrating glance on Pascal, trying to divine, from the expression of his face, if his visitor had confidence in the security offered.
At the end of a few moments, M. Pascal discontinued his reading, saying between his teeth, with an offended air, as if he were talking to himself:
"Ho! ho! This Article 7 does not suit me at all, — not at all!"
"Explain yourself, monsieur," said the prince, seriously annoyed.
"However," continued M. Pascal, taking up his reading again, without replying to the archduke, and pretending to be talking to himself, "this Article 7 is corrected by Article 8, — yes, — and, in fact, it is quite good, — it is very good."
The countenance of the prince seemed to brighten, for, earnestly occupied with the powerful interests of which M. Pascal had necessarily become the umpire, he forgot the impertinence and calculated wickedness of this man, who found a savage delight in making his victim pass through all the perplexities of fear and hope.
At the end of a few moments, each one of which brought new anxiety to the prince, M. Pascal exclaimed:
"Impossible, that! impossible! For me everything would be annulled by this first supplementary article. It is a mockery!"
"Monsieur," cried the prince, "speak more clearly!"
"Pardon me, monseigneur, at that moment I was reading to myself. Well and good, if you wish, I will read for both of us."
The archduke bowed his head, turned red with suppressed indignation, appeared discouraged, and leaned his head on his hand.
M. Pascal, continuing his perusal of the paper, threw a glance by stealth at the prince, and replied after a few moments, in a more satisfied tone:
"This is a sure, incontestable security."
Then, as the prince seemed to regain hope, he added:
"Unfortunately, this security is apart from — "
He did not finish, but continued his reading in silence.
Never a solicitor in distress imploring a haughty and unfeeling protector, never a despairing borrower humbly addressing a dishonest and whimsical usurer, never accused seeking to read his pardon or condemnation in the countenance of his judge, experienced the torture felt by the prince while M. Pascal was reading the note which he had examined and which he now laid on the table.
"Well, monsieur," said the prince, swallowing his impatience, "what do you decide?"
"Monseigneur, will you have the kindness to lend me a pen and some paper?"
The prince pushed an inkstand, a pen, and some paper before M. Pascal, who began a long series of figures, sometimes lifting his eyes to the ceiling, as if to make a calculation in his head, sometimes muttering incomplete sentences, such as —
"No — I am mistaken because — but I was about to forget — it is evident — the balance will be equal if — "
After long expectation on the part of the prince, M. Pascal threw the pen down on the table, plunged both hands in the pockets of his trousers, threw his head back, and shut his eyes, as if making a last mental calculation, then, holding his head up, said in a short, peremptory voice:
"Impossible, monseigneur."
"What, monsieur!" cried the prince, dismayed. "You assured me in our first interview that the operation was practicable."
"Practicable, monseigneur, but not accomplished."
"But this note, monsieur, this note, joined to the securities I have offered you?"
"This note completes, I know, the securities indispensable to such an operation."
"Then, monsieur, how do you account for your refusal?"
"For particular reasons, monseigneur."
"But, I ask again, do I not offer all the security desirable?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I will say that I regard the operation not only feasible, but sure and advantageous to one who is willing to undertake it; so, I do not doubt, monseigneur, you can find — "
"Eh! monsieur," interrupted the prince, "you know that in the present financial crisis, and for other reasons which you understand as well as I, that you are the only person who can undertake this business."
"The preference of your Royal Highness honours and flatters me infinitely," said Pascal, with an accent of ironical recognition, "so I doubly regret my inability to meet it."
The prince perceived the sarcasm, and replied, feigning offence at the want of appreciation his kindness had met:
"You are unjust, monsieur. The proof that I adhered to my agreement with you in this affair is that I have refused to entertain the proposition of the house Durand."
"I am almost certain that it is a lie," thought M. Pascal, "but no matter, I will get information about the thing; besides, this house sometimes disturbs and cramps me. Fortunately, thanks to that knave, Marcelange, I have an excellent means of protecting myself from that inconvenience in the future."
"Another proof that I adhered directly to my personal agreement with you, M. Pascal," continued the prince, in a deferential tone, "is that I have desired no agent to come between us, certain that we would understand each other as the matter should be understood. Yes," added the archduke, with a still more insinuating tone, "I hoped that this just homage rendered to your financial intelligence, so universally recognised — "
"Ah, monseigneur."
"To your character as honourable as it is honoured — "
"Monseigneur, really, you overwhelm me."
"I hoped, I repeat, my dear M. Pascal, that in coming frankly to you to propose — what? — an operation whose solidity and advantage you recognise, you would appreciate my attitude, since it appeals to the financier as much as to the private citizen. In short, I hoped to assure you, not only by pecuniary advantage, but by especial testimony, of my esteem and gratitude."
"Monseigneur — "
"I repeat it, my dear M. Pascal, of my gratitude, since, in making a successful speculation, you would render me an immense service, for you cannot know what the results of this loan I solicit from you would be to my dearest family interests."
"Monseigneur, I am ignorant of — "
"And when I speak to you of family interests," said the prince, interrupting M. Pascal, whom he hoped to bring back to his views, "when I speak of family interests, it is not enough; an important question of state also attaches to the transfer of the duchy that is offered me, and which I can acquire only through your powerful financial aid. So, in rendering me a personal service, you would be greatly useful to my nation, and you know, my dear M. Pascal, how great empires requite services done to the state."
"Excuse my ignorance, monseigneur, but I am altogether ignorant of the whole thing."
The prince smiled, remained silent a moment, and replied, with an accent he believed irresistible:
"My dear M. Pascal, are you acquainted with the celebrated banker, Tortolia?"
"I know him by name, monseigneur."
"Do you know that he is a prince of the Holy Empire?"
"Prince of the Holy Empire, monseigneur!" replied Pascal, with amazement.
"I have my man," thought the prince, and he replied aloud: "Do you know that the banker, Tortolia, is a great dignitary in one of the most coveted orders?"
"It would be possible, monseigneur."
"It is not only possible, but it is an actual fact, my dear M. Pascal. Now, I do not see why what has been done for M. Tortolia cannot be done for you."
"Could that be, monseigneur?"
"I say," repeated the prince, with emphasis, "I say I do not see why an illustrious title and high dignities should not recompense you also."
"Me, monseigneur?"
"You."
"Me, monseigneur, I become Prince Pascal?"
"Why not?"
"Come, come, monseigneur is laughing at his poor servant."
"No one has ever doubted my promise, monsieur, and it is almost an offence to me to believe me capable of laughing at you."
"Then, monseigneur, I would laugh at myself, very heartily and very long, if I were stupid enough to desire to pose as a prince, or duke, or marquis, in Europe's carnival of nobility! You see, monseigneur, I am only a poor devil of a plebeian, — my father was a peddler, and I have been a day-labourer. I have laid up a few cents, in attending to my small affairs. I have only my common sense, but this good common sense, monseigneur, will always prevent my decking myself out as the Marquis de la Janotière — that is a very pretty story by Voltaire, you ought to read it, monseigneur! — or making myself the laughing-stock of those malicious people who amuse themselves by creating marquises and princes out of poor folk."
The archduke was far from expecting this refusal and this bitter retort; however, he put a good face on it, and replied, significantly:
"M. Pascal, I admire this rough sincerity; I admire this disinterestedness. Thank God, there are other means of proving to you my gratitude, and, one day, my friendship."
"Your friendship, monseigneur?"
"It is because I know its worth," added the prince, with imposing dignity, "that I assure you of my friendship, if — "
"Your friendship for me, monseigneur," replied Pascal, interrupting the prince, "your friendship for me, who have, as the wicked ones say, increased my little possessions a hundredfold by dangerous methods, although I have come out of these calumniating accusations as white as a young dove?"
"It is because you have, as you say, monsieur, come out of these odious calumnies, by which all who elevate themselves by labour and merit are pursued, that I would assure you of my affectionate gratitude, if you render me the important service I expect of you."
"Monseigneur, I could not be more impressed or more flattered by your kindness, but unfortunately business is business," said M. Pascal, "and this affair you air does not suit me at all. I need not say how much it costs me to renounce the friendship of which your Royal Highness has desired to assure me."
At this response, bitter and humiliating in its insulting irony, the prince was on the point of flying into a passion, but, reflecting upon the shame and futility of such a transport of rage, he controlled himself, and, desiring to attempt a final effort, he said, in an aggrieved tone:
"So, M. Pascal, it will be said that I prayed, supplicated, and implored you in vain."
These words, "prayed, supplicated, implored," uttered in a tone of sincere distress, appeared in the eyes of the prince to make an impression on M. Pascal, and, in fact, did make a decided impression, inasmuch as, up to that moment, the archduke had not entirely abased himself, but seeing this royal person, after such obstinate refusal, willing to descend to further supplication, M. Pascal experienced an intensity of happiness that he had never known before.
The prince, observing his silence, believed his purpose was shaken, and added, readily:
"Come, my dear M. Pascal, I cannot appeal to your generous heart in vain."
"Really, monseigneur," replied the bloodthirsty villain, who, knowing the speculation to be a good one, was at heart disposed to undertake it, but wanted to realise pleasure as well as profit from it, "you have such a way of putting things. Business, I repeat, ought to be business only, but see now, in spite of myself, I yield like a child to sentiment I am so weak — "
"You consent?" interrupted the prince, radiant with joy, and he seized both hands of the financier in his own. "You consent, my worthy and kind M. Pascal?"
"How can I resist you, monseigneur?"
"At last!" cried the archduke, drawing a long breath of profound satisfaction, as if he had just escaped a frightful danger. "At last!"
"But, monseigneur," replied Pascal, "I must make one little condition."
"Oh, I shall not stand on that, whatever it may be. I subscribe to it beforehand."
"You pledge yourself to more, perhaps, than you think, monseigneur."
"What do you mean?" asked the prince, somewhat disquieted. "What condition do you speak of?"
"In three days, monseigneur, to the hour, I will inform you."
"What!" exclaimed the prince, astonished and crestfallen; "more delays. Do you not give me your positive promise?"
"In three days, monseigneur, I will give it to you, provided you accept my condition."
"But, pray, tell me this condition now."
"Impossible, monseigneur."
"My dear M. Pascal — "
"Monseigneur," replied Pascal, with ironical gravity, "it is not my habit to be weak twice in succession during one interview. It is now the hour for my appointment in the Faubourg St. Marceau; I have the honour of presenting my respectful compliments to your Royal Highness."
M. Pascal, leaving the prince full of vexation and concern, walked to the door, then turned, and said:
"To-day is Monday; on Thursday, at eleven o'clock, I shall have the honour of seeing your Royal Highness again, and will then submit my little condition."
"Very well, monsieur; on Thursday."
M. Pascal bowed profoundly, and went out.
When he passed through the parlour where the officials were assembled all rose respectfully, recognising the importance of the person whom the prince had just received. M. Pascal returned their courtesy with a patronising inclination of the head, and left the palace as he had entered it, both hands in his pockets, not denying himself the pleasure — for this man lost nothing — of stopping a minute before the lodge of the porter and saying to him:
"Well, scoundrel, will you recognise me another time?"
"Oh, I shall recognise monsieur hereafter! I beg monsieur to pardon my mistake."
"He begs me," said Pascal, half aloud, with a bitter smile. "They know how to beg from the Royal Highness to the porter."
M. Pascal, as he went out of the Élysée, fell again into painful reflections upon the subject of the young girl whose secret meeting with Count Frantz de Neuberg he had surprised. Wishing to know if she lived in the house contiguous to the palace, he was going to make inquiries, when, remembering that such a course might perhaps compromise his plans, he prudently resolved to wait until evening.
Seeing a hackney coach, he called the driver, entered the carriage, and said to him:
"Faubourg St. Marceau, fifteen; the large factory whose chimney you see from the street."
"The factory belonging to M. Dutertre? I know, citizen, I know; everybody knows that."
The coachman drove down the street.
CHAPTER IV
M. Pascal, as we have said, had spent a part of his life in a subordinate and precarious position, enduring the most ignominious treatment with a patience full of bitterness and hatred.
Born of a peddler who had amassed a competency by dint of privation and illicit or questionable traffic, he had commenced his business career as a day-labourer in the house of a provincial usurer, to whom Pascal's father had entrusted the care of his money.
The first years of our hero were passed in a state of servitude as hard as it was humiliating. Nevertheless, as he was endowed with considerable intelligence and unusual ingenuity, and as his despotic will could, upon necessity, hide itself under an exterior of insinuating meanness, — a dissimulation which was the result of his condition, — Pascal, without the knowledge of his master, learned to read, write, and draw up accounts, the faculty for financial calculation developing in him spontaneously with marvellous rapidity. Foreseeing the value of these acquirements, he resolved to conceal them, using them only for his own advantage, and as a dangerous weapon against his master, whom he detested. After mature reflection, Pascal finally thought it his interest to reveal the knowledge he had secretly acquired. The usurer, struck with the ability of the man who was his drudge, then took him as his bookkeeper at a reduced salary, increased his meagre pay by the smallest possible amount, continued to treat him with brutal contempt, vilifying him more than ever that he might not suspect the use that he made of his new services.
Pascal, earnest, indefatigable in work, and eager to further his financial education, continued to submit passively to the outrages heaped upon him, redoubling his servility in proportion as his master redoubled disdain and cruelty.
At the end of a few years thus passed, he felt sufficiently strong to leave the province, and seek a field more worthy of his ability. He entered into a business correspondence with a banker in Paris, to whom he offered his services. The banker had long appreciated Pascal's work, accepted his proposition, and the bookkeeper left the little town, to the great regret of his former master, who tried too late to retain him in his own interests.
The new patron of our hero was at the head of one of those rich houses, morally questionable, but — and it is not unusual — regarded, in a commercial sense, as irreproachable; because, if these houses deal in speculations which sometimes touch upon robbery and fraud, and enrich themselves by ingenious and successful bankruptcy, they, to use their own pretentious words, honour their signature, however dishonourable that signature may be in the opinion of others.
Fervent disciples of that beautiful axiom so universally adopted before the revolution of 1848, — Get rich! — they proudly take their seats in the Chamber of Commerce, heroically assume the name of honourable, and even aim at control of the administration. Why not?
The luxury so much boasted by the old tenants was misery compared to the magnificence of M. Thomas Rousselet.
Pascal, transplanted to this house of absurd and extravagant opulence, suffered humiliations altogether different, but quite as bitter and painful as when he was with the knavish usurer in the province, who, it is true, treated him as a despicable hireling, but had with him in his daily work frequent and familiar relations.
One would seek in vain, among the proudest nobility, the most exclusive aristocracy, anything which could approach the imperious and crushing disdain with which M. and Madame Rousselet treated their subordinates. Shut up in their gloomy offices, from which they saw the sumptuous displays of the Hôtel Rousselet, the persons employed in this house knew only by fairy-like tradition or fabulous legend the gorgeous wonders of these parlours and this dining-room, from which they were absolutely excluded by the dignity of Madame Rousselet, who was as haughty and domineering as the first lady of the chamber to a princess of Lorraine or Rohan.
Although of a new class, these humiliations were not the less galling to Pascal; he now felt more than ever his dependence, his nothingness, and the yoke of the opulent banker chafed him far more than the abuse of the usurer; but our hero, faithful to his plans, hid his wounds, smiled at blows, and licked the varnished boot which sometimes deigned to amuse itself by kicking him, redoubling labour, study, and shrewdness, until he learned the practice of this house, which he considered the perfect pattern of business enterprise, whose motto was:
"Get as much money as possible with the least money possible by all the means possible, carefully protecting yourself from the police and the court."
The margin is a large one, and, as can be easily seen, one can operate there at pleasure.
Thus passed five or six years. The imagination revolts at the accumulation of bitterness, hatred, anger, venom, and malice in the depths of this calculating and vindictive soul, always calm without, like the black and gloomy surface of a poisonous morass.
One day M. Pascal learned the death of his father.
The peddler's savings, considerably increased by skilful financial manipulation, had attained a very high figure. Once possessed of this capital, Pascal swore that he would amass a great fortune by untiring diligence and fortitude, by knowing what to do, and, still more, by knowing how to take; for, argued he, one must risk something, and, if need be, go outside of the straight and narrow path of lawfulness. Our hero kept his oath. He left the house of Rousselet. Ability, chance, fraud, luck, adroitness, and the laws of the time all contributed to his success. He gained important sums, rewarding with cash the friendship of an agent, who, keeping him well informed, put it in his power to handle safely seventy thousand on the Exchange, and lay up almost two millions. A short time afterward an intelligent and adventurous broker, versed in the business of London, helped him to see the possibility of realising immense profit, by boldly engaging in railway speculations, then altogether new in England. Pascal went to London, engaged successfully in an enterprise which soon assumed unheard-of proportions, threw his whole fortune upon one cast of the die, and, realising in time, came back to France with fifteen millions. Then, as cool and prudent as he had been adventurous, and naturally endowed with great financial talent, his only thought was to continually increase this unexpected fortune; he succeeded, availing himself of every opportunity with rare skill, living comfortably, satisfying, at any cost, his numerous sensual desires, but never attracting attention by any exterior display or luxury, and always dining at a public house. In this way he scarcely spent the fifth part of his income, which, furnishing new capital each year, constantly added to the fortune which successful speculation as constantly augmented.
Then, as we have said, came to Pascal his great and terrible day of reprisal.
This soul, hardened by so many years of humiliation and hatred, became implacable, and found a thousand cruel delights in making others feel the weight of the money yoke which he had worn so long.
His keenest suffering had come from the vassalage, the servitude, and complete effacement of self in which he had been held for so long a time under the tyranny of his opulent employers. Now, his pleasure was to impose this servitude on others, — on some, by exercising their natural servility, on others, by compelling them to submit to hard necessity, thus symbolising in himself the almighty power of money, holding all who came within his grasp in absolute slavery, from the petty merchant whom he commanded to the prince of royal blood who humbled himself to obtain a loan. This awful despotism, which the man who lends exercises over the man whose necessities force him to borrow, Pascal wielded and enjoyed with all the refinement and delicacy of an incredible barbarity. We hear often of the power of Satan over souls. M. Pascal was able to destroy or torture as many and more souls than Satan.
Once in his power, through credit, loan, or partnership, — often granted with a show of perfect good-nature, and not unfrequently offered with a duplicity which looked like generosity, though always on solid security, — a man belonged to himself no longer; he had, as was commonly said, sold his soul to Satan-Pascal.
He calculated and arranged his bargains with a skill which seemed infernal.
A commercial crisis would arrive, — capital not be found, or at such exorbitant interest that merchants, at other times solvent and prompt in payment, saw themselves in extreme embarrassment, often upon the brink of failure. M. Pascal, perfectly instructed and certain of covering his advances by merchandise or property, granted or proposed assistance at enormous interest, with the invariable condition that he was to be reimbursed at his will, hastening to add that he would not exercise his right, inasmuch as his own advantage would be gained by keeping his money at interest; but by habit or caprice, as he argued, he always held to this express condition, to be reimbursed at his will.
The alternative was cruel indeed for the unhappy ones whom Satan-Pascal tempted: on one hand, the ruin of a prosperous industry; on the other, an unexpected aid, so easily offered that it might pass for a generous service. The impossibility of finding capital, even at ruinous rates, and the confidence which M. Pascal knew how to inspire, rendered the temptation most powerful, a temptation all the more seductive by the insinuating kindness of the multi-millionaire, who came, as he declared, as a financial providence to the assistance of honest, labouring people.
In a word, everything conspired to stifle suspicion; they accepted. From that time Pascal possessed them.
Beset by the fear of an immediate demand for repayment which must reduce them to a desperate condition from which they could not hope to rise, they had but one aim, to please M. Pascal, but one dread, to displease M. Pascal, who was master of their fate.
It not infrequently happened that our Satan did not at first use his power, and, by a refinement of wicked malice, would play the part of a kind man, a benefactor, taking a fiendish pleasure in hearing the benedictions with which his victims loaded him, leaving them for a long time in the error which led them to adore their benevolent friend; then, by degrees, according to his humour, he revealed himself slowly, never employing threats, rudeness, or passion, but, on the contrary, affecting an insinuating sweetness which in itself became frightful. Circumstances the most insignificant and puerile offered him a thousand means of tormenting the persons he held in his absolute power.
For instance, he would arrive at the house of one of his vassals, so to speak. Perhaps the man was going with his wife and children to some family reunion, long before arranged.
"I have come to dine with you without ceremony to-day, my friends," this Satan would say.
"My God, M. Pascal! how sorry we are! To-day is my mother's birthday, and you see we are just getting ready to go to dine with her. It is an anniversary we never fail to celebrate."
"Ah! that is very provoking, as I hoped to spend my evening with you."
"And do you think it is less annoying to us, dear M. Pascal?"
"Bah! you could very easily give up a family reunion for me. After all, your mother would not die if you were not there."
"Oh, my dear M. Pascal, that is impossible! It would be the first time since our marriage that we failed in this little family ceremony."
"Come, you surely will do that for me."
"But, M. Pascal — "
"I tell you, you will do that for your good M. Pascal, will you not?"
"We would like to do it with all our heart, but — "
"What! you refuse me that — me — the first thing I have ever asked of you?"
And M. Pascal put such an emphasis on the word me that the whole family suddenly trembled; they felt, as is vulgarly said, their master, and knowing of the strange caprice of the capitalist, they submitted sadly rather than offend the dreadful man upon whom their fate depended. They gave up the visit and improvised a dinner. They tried to smile, to have a cheerful air, and not to appear to regret the family festivity which they had renounced. But soon another fear begins to oppress their hearts; the dinner is becoming more and more sad and constrained. M. Pascal professes a sort of pathetic astonishment, as he complains with a sigh:
