The Son of Clemenceau written by Alexandre (fils) Dumas
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Alexandre (fils) Dumas >> The Son of Clemenceau
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He exchanged the time of day with the clerks hurrying to the railroad
station; he did not disdain to ask the roadmender, seated on a pile of
stones, how his labor was getting on, and where he would work next week;
he leaned on the gate to listen as if enrapt to the groom and gardener
of a neighbor of Clemenceau's, regretting that the hubbub of cracking
guns and other ominous explosions was driving their master from home.
Then, rattling his loose silver, and whistling a fisher's song, which he
must have picked up off the Hyeres, he paused before the gateway of the
house which had become the Ogre's Cave of Montmorency, and read half
aloud the placard nailed on a board to a tree and announcing that the
property was in the open market.
"The Reine-Claude Villa, eh!" muttered he to himself. "The name pleases
me! I must go in and see if it is worth the money. To say nothing," he
added still more secretly, "of the mistress having returned this
morning. I wonder how she had the courage to walk along the road in the
dawn, when she might have met the ghost of our poor Gratian von
Linden-hohen-Linden!"
This acquaintance with the unpublished story of Madame Clemenceau rather
contradicted the aspect and accent of a Marseillais, and, although the
black whiskers did not remind one of Von Sendlingen when we saw him at
Munich, than of his clear shaven, wrinkled face as the Marchioness de
Letourlagneau pianist, it was not so with the burly figure, more robust
than corpulent.
He opened the gate without ringing and stepped inside on the gravel path
winding up to the pretty but not lively house.
"Attention," he muttered suddenly, in a military tone. "Here is our own
little spy in the camp--Hedwig. It will be as well she does not
recognize me without my cue."
Running his large red hand over his whiskers, he jovially accosted the
girl, after adjusting his formidable accoutrement field-glass,
guide-book, case and heavy watch chain, adorned with a compass and a
pedometer. She stood on the porch before the windows of the room into
which her mistress had entered so early in the morning.
"What do you seek, monsieur?" she challenged, after an unfavorable
glance upon the stranger who had greatly offended her idea of dignity by
not ringing and waiting at the portals to be officially admitted.
"Pardon me, young lady," the man said, with the southern accent so
strong that a flavor of garlic at once pervaded the air, "but I did not
think that your papa and mamma and the family were in the house, seeing
that it is for sale."
"Young lady? My papa? Let me tell you that I am the housemaid here and
if you have intended to jest--"
"Jest! purchasing a house, and rather large gardens, is no jest, not in
the environs of Paris!" returned the visitor. "Is it you who are to show
the property?"
"No. If you will wait, I will tell master," said Hedwig, not at all
flattered by being pretendedly taken for "the daughter of the house."
She turned round, made the half-circuit of the house, and entered the
breakfast-room where the three gentlemen were still in debate.
"A gentleman, to see the house, with a view to purchase, eh?" said
Clemenceau. "Very well, I will go into the drawing-room and speak with
him. Is your mistress having a nap?"
"No, monsieur."
"Then, be so good as to tell her that somebody has come about the house,
and as such inquirers are sure to be supplied by their wives with
formidable lists of questions about domestic details, I should be
obliged by her coming down to send the person away satisfied."
He followed Hedwig on the way up through the house as far as the
drawing-room door, where his path branched off. Entering, he threw open
the double window-sashes and politely asked the gentleman to make use of
this direct road, with an apology for suggesting it. But he had seen at
a glance that this kind of happy-go-lucky tourist was not of the
ceremonious strain.
"It is you, monsieur," began the latter, taking the seat pointed out to
him and immediately swinging one leg, mounted on the other knee, with
the utmost nonchalance, "it is you who are the proprietor of this pretty
place?"
"Yes; my name is Clemenceau, at your service."
"Then, monsieur, I am--where the plague have I put my card-case--I am
Guillaume Cantagnac, lately in business as a notary, but for the
present, at the head of an enterprise for the purchase of landed
estates, and their development by high culture for the ground and
superior structures instead of their antiquated houses. I read in the
_Moniteur des Ventes_, and on the placard at your gates, that you are
willing to dispose of this residence and the land appertaining
thereunto. I am not on business this morning, but taking a little
pleasure-trip--no, not pleasure-trip--God forbid I should find any
pleasure now! I mean a little tour for distraction after a great sorrow
that has befallen me."
The stout man, though he could have felled a bull with a blow of his
leg-of-mutton fist, seemed about to break down in tears. But, burying
his empurpled nose in a large red handkerchief, he passed off his
emotion in a potent blast which made the ornaments on the mantel-shelf
quake, and resumed in an unsteady voice:
"I would have made a note and deferred to another day seeing the
property you offer and learning its area, value, situation, advantages
and defects--for there is always some flaw in a terrestrial paradise,
ha, ha! But your hospitable gate was on the latch--such an inviting
expression was on the face of a rather pretty servant girl on your
porch--faith! I could not resist the temptation to make the acquaintance
of the happy owner of this Eden! and lo! I am rewarded by the power to
go home to Marseilles and tell my companion domino-players in the Cafe
Dame de la Garde that I saw the renowned constructor of the new
cannon--M. Felix Clemenceau, with whom the Emperor has spoken about the
defense of our beloved country!"
Clemenceau could only bow under this deluge of words.
"M. Clemenceau, will you honor me with the clasp of the hand?"
The host allowed his hand to disappear from view in the enormous one
presented, timidly.
"Ah! in case of the universal European War, they are talking about,
France will have need of such men as you!"
The embarrassing situation for the modest inventor was altered for the
better by the entrance of Antonino, who darted a keen glance upon the
genial stranger.
"How do you do?" cried the latter, nodding kindly. "Your son, I suppose,
M. Clemenceau?"
"By adoption. I am hardly of the age to have a son as old as that!"
"I beg your pardon! I see now, that it is brain-work that has worn you
out a little. But, bless you, that will all get smoothed out when you
begin to enjoy the windfall of fortune! I dare say now you are selling
out because the Emperor offers you a piece of one of his parks, wanting
you to live near him. And I presume this bright young gentleman is of
the same profession? Has he, too, invented a great gun?"
"He is the author of several not inconsiderable inventions," replied
Clemenceau for Antonino, who was not delighted with the stranger's ways,
had gone to look out of the nearest window, although it necessitated his
rudely turning his back on him.
"Any cannon among them?"
"No, M. Cant--Cant--"
"Cantagnac--"
"Cantagnac; only a very notable bullet of novel shape."
"A bullet, dear me! a bullet! a novel bullet! what an age we are living
in, to be sure! I applaud you, young man, and you must allow me to say
to my companions in the Cafe de la Garde at Marseilles, that I shook the
hand of the inventor of the new bullet!" But as Antonino did not make a
responsive movement, he had to add, unabashed: "before I go, I mean!
But allow me to say, gentlemen, that though I am only a commonplace
notary, and a retired one, at that, ha, ha! a buyer of houses to
modernize, and land to improve in cultivation; though lowly, and very
ill-informed on the great questions which occupy you, yet I venture to
assert that I take the greatest interest in your labors. I would give
half--aye, three-quarters of my possessions toward your success. My life
should be yours if it were useful in any way, although that would be a
small gift, as it has no value in my own eyes. I had a son, M.
Clemenceau--an only son, tall, dark, handsome and, though he took after
me, bright--like this young gentleman of talent here!" He flourished the
voluminous red handkerchief again. "In an evil hour, I let him go on a
holiday excursion and he chose the Rhine. His boyish gallantry caused
him to champion a waitress on a steamboat, whom a bullying German
officer of the Landsturm had chucked under the chin. High words were
exchanged--my boy challenged the giant, who did not understand our way
among gentlemen of settling such matters--he knocked my hopeful one
overboard--no, gentlemen, he was not drowned, but he never recovered
from the mortification of being laughed at. He came home but to die--in
the following year, poor, sensitive soul! His mother never held her head
up again, and I--" he blew his nose with a tremendous peal, "I--I beg
your pardon for forgetting my business, again."
"Not at all!" exclaimed Clemenceau, while Antonino, angry at having
misjudged the bereaved parent, offered him the hand he had previously
refused.
"I thank you both," said M. Cantagnac, hastening to dry his tears which
might have seemed of the crocodile sort when they had time to remember
he had been a notary. "This is not my usual bearing! Three years ago I
was called the Merry One, for I was always laughing, but now"--he gave a
great gulp at a sob like a rosy-gilled salmon taking in a fly and
abruptly said:
"So you want to sell your house, with all belongings? Which are--"
"About twelve acres, mostly young wood, but some rocky ground ornamental
enough, which will never be productive. Do you mind getting the plan,
Antonino? It is hanging up in my study."
Antonino went out, not sorry to be beyond earshot of the boisterous
negotiator.
"Young wood, eh?" repeated the latter, "humph! lots of stony ground!
ahem! yet it is pretty and so near town. I wonder you sell it."
"I want ready money," returned Clemenceau, bluntly.
"So we all do, ha, ha! But you surely could raise on it by mortgage."
"I have tried that."
"The deuce you have! That's strange, when the Emperor said your
discovery--"
"It is a gold mine, but like gold mines, it has plunged the discoverer
into debt."
"I dare say it would! and I suppose it is not so certain-sure as the
newspapers assert--"
"I beg your pardon, it is beyond all doubt," replied Clemenceau,
sharply.
CHAPTER XVI.
STRIKE NOT WOMAN, EVEN WITH ROSES.
"Stop a bit," said M. Cantagnac, pulling a newspaper out of his pocket.
"This is a journal I picked up in the cars. I always do that. There is
sure to be some passenger to throw them down and so I never buy any
myself when I am traveling, ha, ha! Well, in this very sheet, there is a
long article about you. It is called 'The Ideal Cannon' and the writer
declares that the experiment was a great hit, ha, ha! and he undertakes
to explain the new system."
Clemenceau smiled contemptuously. He was not one of those to make a
secret public property on which a nation's salvation might depend. In
such momentous matters, he would have had arsenals, armories, navy yards
and military museums labeled over the door:
"Speech is silver, silence is of gold;
Death unto him who dares the tale unfold!"
"Ah, he wouldn't know everything, of course. However, he makes out that
you obtain the wonderful result by fixing essential oils in a special
magazine and that you managed to project a solid shot to the prodigious
distance of--of--" he referred to the newspaper--"fifteen miles by means
of--of--I do not understand these jaw-breaking scientific terms. Is it
not nitroglycerine?"
"I do not use them myself," remarked Clemenceau, dryly.
"But he adds--look here!" continued the worthy Man from Marseilles,
regretfully, "that what you managed to perform with your model and
material, specially prepared by yourself, could not be attained on the
proper scale in a war campaign. He goes on to say that the scientific
world await the explanation of the means to obtain such power as,
heretofore, the pressure of liquefied gases has been but some five
hundred pounds to the square inch, about a tenth of that of explosives
now used. It is admitted, however, that there may be something in your
increase of effectiveness by reiterated emissions--" He began to
stammer, as if he were speaking too glibly, but his auditor took no
alarm. "He continues that, up to this day, gases have failed as
propelling powers from their instantaneous explosions."
"The writer is correct," said Clemenceau, a little warmed, "or, rather,
he had foundation for his criticism when he wrote. The powerful agent
was not perfectly controllable at the period of my last official
experiments, but that is not the case at present. This enormous, almost
incalculable power is so perfectly under my thumb, monsieur, that not
only is it manageable in the largest cannon, but it is suitable for a
parlor pistol, which a child might play with."
"Wonderful!" ejaculated Cantagnac, with undoubted sincerity, for his
eyes gleamed.
"In solving that last enigma, I found the power became more strong when
curbed. Consequently, the gun that would before have carried fifteen
miles, may send twenty, and the ball, if not explosible, might ricochet
three."
"Wonderful!" cried the Marseillais again, who displayed very deep
interest in the abstruse subject for a retired notary.
"The bullet, or shell, or ball--all the projectiles are perfected now!"
went on Clemenceau, triumphantly, "and were I surrounded by a million of
men, or had I an impregnable fortress before me, a battery of my cannon
would finish the struggle in not more than four hours."
"Why, this is a force of nature, not man's work," said Cantagnac,
through his grating teeth, as though the admiration were extracted from
him. "I do not see how any army or any fort could resist such
instruments."
"No, monsieur, not one."
"Would not all the other nations unite against your country?"
"What would that matter, when, I repeat, the number of adversaries would
not affect the question?"
"What a dreadful thing! I beg your pardon, but I go to church and I have
had 'Love one another!' dinned into my ears. What is to become of that
precept, eh?"
"It is what I should diffuse by my cannon," returned Clemenceau.
"By scattering the limbs of thousands of men, ha, ha!" but his laugh
sounded very hollow, indeed.
"Not so; by destroying warfare," was the inventor's reply. "War is
impious, immoral and monstrous, and not the means employed in it. The
more terrible they are, the sooner will come the millennium. On the day
when men find that no human protection, no rank, no wealth, no
influential connections, nothing can shield them from destruction by
hundreds of thousands, not only on the battlefield, but in their houses,
within the highest fortified ramparts, they will no longer risk their
country, homes, families and bodies, for causes often insignificant or
dishonest. At present, all reflecting men who believe that the divine
law ought to rule the earth, should have but one thought and a single
aim: to learn the truth, speak it and impress it by all possible means
wherever it is not recognized. I am a man who has frittered away too
much of his time on personal tastes and emotions, and I vow that I shall
never let a day pass without meditating upon the destination whither all
the world should move, and I mean to trample over any obstacle that
rises before me. The time is one when men could carouse, amuse
themselves, doze and trifle--or keep in a petty clique. The real society
will be formed of those who toil and watch, believe and govern."
"I see, monsieur, that you cherish a hearty hatred for the enemies of
the student and the worker," said the ex-notary, not without an
inexplicable bitterness, "and that you seek the suppression of the
swordsman."
"You mistake--I hate nobody," loftily answered Clemenceau. "If I thought
that my country would use my discovery to wage an unjust war, I declare
that I should annihilate the invention. But whatever rulers may intend,
my country will never long carry on an unfair war and it is only to make
right prevail that France should be furnished with irresistible power."
While listening, Cantagnac had probably considered that raillery was not
proper to treat such exaltation, for he changed his tone and noisily
applauded the sentiments.
"Capital, capital! that's what I call sensible talk! And do you believe
that I would leave a man, a patriot, in temporary embarrassment when he
has discovered the salvation of our country? Why, this house will become
a sight for the world and his wife to flock unto! I am proud that I have
stood within the walls and I shall tell the domino-players of the
Cafe--but never mind that now! To business! Between ourselves, are you
particularly fond of this house?"
"It is my only French home, where I brought my bride, where my child was
born--where the great child of my brain came forth--"
"Enough! we can arrange this neatly. It is my element to smooth matters
over. Something is in the air about a company to 'work' your minor
inventions in firearms, eh? good! I engage, from my financial
connections, to find you all funds required; I shall charge twenty-five
per cent. on the profits, and never interfere with your scientific
department, which I do not understand, anyway. There is no necessity of
our seeing one another in the business, but I do want to put my shoulder
to the wheel--_wheel_ of Fortune, eh? ha, ha!" and he rubbed his large
hands gleefully till they fairly glowed.
There was no resisting openness like this, and Clemenceau heartily
thanked the volunteer "backer," as is said in monetary circles.
"That's very kind; but the proposal has previously been made to me by an
old friend, an Israelite who also has connections with the principal
bankers. But these transactions take time, on a large scale and to
embrace the world. Meanwhile, although he would readily and easily find
me temporary accommodation, the pressure on me is not acute enough for
me to accept a helping hand."
"I understand: you would not be in difficulties if you were another kind
of man. Let us say no more about it. As the company will be a public
one, I suppose, I can take shares. About this mortgage over our heads,
is some bank holding it?"
"Well, no; my wife has it, as part of the marriage portion, or rather
my gift. I have sent for her to step down to discuss the matter with
you."
"Happy to see the lady," said Cantagnac, pulling out his whiskers and
adjusting the points of his collar. "We will discuss it, with an eye to
your interests, monsieur."
It was clear that M. Cantagnac had not enchanted Antonino, for he had
taken care not to bring the plan of the house; it was brought, but by
another hand. On seeing the lady, the Marseillais bowed with exaggerated
politeness of the old school and stammered his compliments.
"No, no;" Clemenceau hastened to say, "this is not the lady of the
house, but a guest who, however, will show you the place."
It was Rebecca Daniels. As always happens with the Jews, whose long,
oval faces are not improved by mental trouble, she looked less
captivating than when she had shone as the star of the Harmonista
Music-hall; but, nevertheless, she was, for the refined eye, very
alluring. She accepted the task imposed on her with a gentle smile,
although it was evident that in her quick glance she had summed up the
visitor's qualities without much favor for him.
While Cantagnac was bowing again and fumbling confusedly with his hat,
Rebecca laid the plan on the table and whispered to Clemenceau:
"Do you know that she is here again?"
He nodded, whereupon her features, which had been animated, fell back
into habitual calm.
"She sends word by Hedwig, whom I intercepted, that she wants to see you
before seeing this purchaser of the house. I need not urge you to keep
calm?"
"No!"
"Come this way, please, monsieur," said Rebecca, lightly, as if fully at
ease, and she led Cantagnac out of the room.
Left to himself, with the notification of the important interview
overhanging him, the host pondered. He had at the first loved Rebecca,
and it was strange to him now that he had let Cesarine outshine her. He
had acted like an observer, who takes a comet for a planet shaken out of
its course. Since he loved the Jewess with a holier flame than ever the
Russian kindled, he perceived which was the true love. This is not an
earthly fire, but a divine spirit; not a chance shock, but the union of
two souls in unbroken harmony.
It is possible that Von Sendlingen in transmitting to Clemenceau the
notice by the butler's wife, that the Viscount Gratian was to aid her in
flight, but which as plainly revealed the wife's flight, had expected
the angered husband to execute justice on the betrayer. Human laws could
have absolved him if he had slain the couple at sight, but Clemenceau,
after the example of his father, had resolved not to transgress the
divine mandate again, even in this cause. He would have separated the
congenial spirits of cunning and deceit, but not by striking a blow, and
the rebuke to Cesarine would have been so scathing she would never have
had the impudence to see him again. Not by murder did he mean to
liberate himself.
On seeing that heaven had taken the parting of the gallant and the
wanton into its hand, he had simply forbore to intervene. On the one
hand, he let Gratian's mysterious and stealthy assassins stifle him and
the other, Cesarine, run to the railroad station unhailed. The one
deserved death as the other deserved oblivion.
This woman was of the world and would be a clod when no longer
living--her essence would remain to inspirit some other evil woman--the
same malignity in a beautiful shape which appeared in Lais, Messalina,
Lucrezia Borgia, the Medici, Ninon, Lecouvreur, Iza, not links of a
chain, but the same gem, a little differently set.
But Rebecca's was an ethereal spirit eternal. Thinking of her he could
believe himself young and comely again and loving forever in another
sphere. This was the being whom he would eternally adore, whether he or
she were the first to quit the earth.
Here lay the consolation. Cesarine, like all evil, was transient;
Rebecca, like all good, everlasting.
"Let her come," said he at last, lifting his head slowly and no longer
troubled. "She need not fear. I shall bear in mind the Oriental proverb
Daniels quoted: 'Do not beat a woman, even with roses!'"
Hardly were the words formed in his mind than his wife appeared as
though by that mind reading, frequent in married couples--she had waited
for this assurance of her personal safety to be mentally formed.
In the short time given her toilet, she had performed wonders. Perhaps,
with a surprising effort of her will, she had snatched some rest, for
her eyes wore the fresh, pellucid gleam after prolonged slumber. Her
cheeks were smooth and by artifice, seemed to wear the virginal down.
Easy and graceful as ever, she affected a slight constraint, which
agreed with a pretence of avoiding his glances.
"You must be astonished to see me!" she exclaimed, for he did not say a
word of greeting.
No man could have looked less astonished, and, with the greatest
evenness of tone, he answered:
"You ought to know that nothing you do astonishes me."
"But I remember--I wrote you a long letter explaining my absence and the
necessity of my sudden departure--the despatch from my poor uncle's
secretary--I ordered it to be given you--it explained my sudden
departure--"
"Hedwig gave me the paper," he said shortly.
"But my letter, saying I had nursed him to convalescence and had fallen
ill myself? You had time to reply but you did not do so."
"I received no letter," he said, like a speaking machine.
"Dear, dear, how could that be!" she muttered, tapping her foot on the
head of the tiger-skin rug.
"Perhaps it arises from your never writing me any," he said, but without
bitterness.
"Oh, I could swear--"
"It is of no consequence either way."
"Since you did not reply, I came to you although it was at a great risk.
I would not tell you that I was leaving a sickroom for fear it would
fill you with too great pain or too great hope."
"How witty you are!"
"Would you not be happy if I died?"
"If you were in a dying state, somebody might have written for
you--Madame Lesperon or your uncle," speaking as if the persons were
fabulous creatures.
"Oh, my granduncle is well known at the Russian Embassy, and Madame and
M. Lesperon remember your lamented father distinctly."
He bit his lip as if he detested hearing his father spoken of by her.
"Madame wanted to write to you--she expected you to come for me, like
any other husband, but I knew you were not like other husbands, and
would not come."
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