Serge Panine Part 15

This sumptuous dwelling, on the evening of the 14th of July, was in its greatest splendor. The trees of the park were lit up by brilliant Venetian lanterns; little boats glided on the water of the lake carrying musicians whose notes echoed through the air. Under a marquee, placed midway in the large avenue, the country lads and la.s.ses were dancing with spirit, while the old people, more calm, were seated under the large trees enjoying the ample fare provided. A tremendous uproar of gayety reechoed through the night, and the sound of the cornet attracted the people to the ball.

It was nine o'clock. Carriages were fast arriving with guests for the mansion. In the centre of the handsome hall, illuminated with electric light, stood Madame Desvarennes in full dress, having put off black for one day, doing honor to the arrivals. Behind her stood Marechal and Savinien, like two aides-de-camp, ready, at a sign, to offer their arms to the ladies, to conduct them to the drawing-rooms. The gathering was numerous. Merchant-princes came for Madame Desvarennes's sake; bankers for Cayrol's; and the aristocrats and foreign n.o.bility for the Prince's.

An a.s.semblage as opposed in ideas as in manners: some valuing only money, others high birth; all proud and elbowing each other with haughty a.s.surance, speaking ill of each other and secretly jealous.

There were heirs of dethroned kings; princes without portions, who were called Highness, and who had not the income of their fathers' former chamberlains; millionaires sprung from nothing, who made a great show and who would have given half of their possessions for a single quartering of the arms of these great lords whom they affected to despise.

Serge and Cayrol went from group to group; the one with his graceful and delicate elegance; the other with his good-humor, radiant and elated by the consciousness of his triumphs. Herzog had just arrived, accompanied by his daughter, a charming girl of sixteen, to whim Marechal had offered his arm. A whispering was heard when Herzog pa.s.sed. He was accustomed to the effect which he produced in public, and quite calmly congratulated Cayrol.

Serge had just introduced Micheline to Count Soutzko, a gray-haired old gentleman of military appearance, whose right sleeve was empty. He was a veteran of the Polish wars, and an old friend of Prince Panine's, at whose side he had received the wounds which had so frightfully mutilated him. Micheline, smiling, was listening to flattering tales which the old soldier was relating about Serge. Cayrol, who had got rid of Herzog, was looking for Jeanne, who had just disappeared in the direction of the terrace.

The rooms were uncomfortably warm, and many of the visitors had found their way to the terraces. Along the marble veranda, overlooking the lake, chairs had been placed. The ladies, wrapped in their lace scarfs, had formed into groups and were enjoying the delights of the beautiful evening. Bursts of subdued laughter came from behind fans, while the gentlemen talked in whispers. Above all this whispering was heard the distant sound of the cornet at the peasants' ball.

Leaning over the bal.u.s.trade, in a shady corner, far from the noise which troubled him and far from the fete which hurt him, Pierre was dreaming.

His eyes were fixed on the illuminations in the park, but he did not see them. He thought of his vanished hopes. Another was beloved by Micheline, and in a few hours he would take her away, triumphant and happy. A great sadness stole over the young man's spirit; he was disgusted with life and hated humanity. What was to become of him now?

His life was shattered; a heart like his could not love twice, and Micheline's image was too deeply engraven on it for it ever to be effaced. Of what use was all the trouble he had taken to raise himself above others? A worthless fellow had pa.s.sed that way and Micheline had yielded to him. Now it was all over!

And Pierre asked himself if he had not taken a wrong view of things, and if it was not the idle and good-for-nothing fellows who were more prudent than he. To waste his life in superhuman works, to tire his mind in seeking to solve great problems, and to attain old age without other satisfaction than unproductive honors and mercenary rewards. Those who only sought happiness and joy--epicureans who drive away all care, all pain, and only seek to soften their existence, and brighten their horizon--were they not true sages? Death comes so quickly! And it is with astonishment that one perceives when the hour is at hand, that one has not lived! Then the voice of pride spoke to him: what is a man who remains useless, and does not leave one trace of his pa.s.sage through the world by works or discoveries? And, in a state of fever, Pierre said to himself:

"I will throw myself heart and soul into science; I will make my name famous, and I will make that ungrateful child regret me. She will see the difference between me and him whom she has chosen. She will understand that he is n.o.body, except by her money, whereas she would have been all by me."

A hand was placed on his shoulder; and Marechal's affectionate voice said to him:

"Well! what are you doing here, gesticulating like that?"

Pierre turned round.

Lost in his thoughts he had not heard his friend approaching.

"All our guests have arrived," continued Marechal. "I have only just been able to leave them and to come to you. I have been seeking you for more than a quarter of an hour. You are wrong to hide yourself; people will make remarks. Come toward the house; it is as well to show yourself a little; people might imagine things which they must not imagine."

"Eh! let them think what they like; what does it matter to me?" said Pierre, sadly. "My life is a blank."

"Your life may be a blank; but it is your duty not to let any one perceive it. Imitate the young Spartan, who smiled although the fox, hidden under his cloak, was gnawing his vitals. Let us avoid ridicule, my friend. In society there is nothing that provokes laughter more than a disappointed lover, who rolls his eyes about and looks woe-begone.

And, then, you-see, suffering is a human law; the world is an arena, life is a conflict. Material obstacles, moral griefs, all hinder and overwhelm us. We must go on, though, all the same, and fight. Those who give in are trodden down! Come, pull yourself together!"

"And for whom should I fight now? A moment ago I was making projects, but I was a fool! All hope and ambition are dead in me."

"Ambition will return, you may be sure! At present you are suffering from weariness of mind; but your strength will return. As to hope, one must never despair."

"What can I expect in the future?"

"What? Why, everything! In this world all sorts of things happen!" said Marechal, gayly. "Who is to prove that the Princess will not be a widow soon?"

Pierre could not help laughing and said,

"Come, don't talk such nonsense!"

"My dear fellow," concluded Marechal, "in life it is only nonsense that is common-sense. Come and smoke a cigar."

They traversed several groups of people and bent their steps in the direction of the chateau. The Prince was advancing toward the terrace, with an elegantly dressed and beautiful woman on his arm. Savinien, in the midst of a circle of dandies, was picking the pa.s.sers-by to pieces in his easy-going way. Pierre and Marechal came behind these young men without being noticed.

"Who is that hanging on the arm of our dear Prince?" asked a little fat man, girt in a white satin waistcoat, and a spray of white lilac in his b.u.t.tonhole.

"Eh! Why, Le Brede, my boy, you don't know anything!" cried Savinien in a bantering, jocose tone.

"Because I don't know that lovely fair woman?" said Le Brede, in a piqued voice. "I don't profess to know the names of all the pretty women in Paris!"

"In Paris? That woman from Paris? You have not looked at her. Come, open your eyes. Pure English style, my friend."

The dandies roared with laughter. They had at once recognized the pure English style. They were not men to be deceived. One of them, a tall, dark fellow, named Du Tremblays, affected an aggrieved air, and said:

"Le Brede, my dear fellow, you make us blush for you!"

The Prince pa.s.sed, smiling and speaking in a low voice to the beautiful Englishwoman, who was resting the tips of her white gloved fingers on her cavalier's arm.

"Who is she?" inquired Le Brede, impatiently.

"Eh, my dear fellow, it is Lady Harton, a cousin of the Prince. She is extremely rich, and owns a district in London."

"They say that a year ago she was very kind to Serge Panine," added Du Tremblays, confidentially.

"Why did he not marry her, then, since she is so rich? He has been quite a year in the market, the dear Prince."

"She is married."

"Oh, that is a good reason. But where is her husband?"

"Shut up in a castle in Scotland. n.o.body ever sees him. He is out of his mind; and is surrounded by every attention."

"And a strait-waistcoat! Then why does not this pretty woman get a divorce?"

"The money belongs to the husband."

"Really!"

Pierre and Marechal had listened, in silence, to this cool and yet terrible conversation. The group of young men dispersed. The two friends looked at each other. Thus, then, Serge Panine was judged by his companions in pleasure, by the frequenters of the clubs in which he had spent a part of his existence. The Prince being "in the market" was obliged to marry a rich woman. He could not marry Lady Harton, so he had sought Micheline. And the sweet child was the wife of such a man! And what could be done? She loved him!

Madame Desvarennes and Micheline appeared on the terrace. Lady Harton pointed to the bride with her fan. The Prince, leaving his companion, advanced toward Micheline.

"One of my English relatives, a Polish lady, married to Lord Harton, wishes to be introduced to you," said Serge. "Are you agreeable?"

"With all my heart," replied the young wife, looking lovingly at her husband. "All who belong to you are dear to me, you know."

The beautiful Englishwoman approached slowly.

"The Princess Panine!" said Serge, gravely, introducing Micheline, who bowed gracefully. Then, with a shade of familiarity: "Lady Harton!"

continued he, introducing his relative.