Book: Zibeline, Complete

P >> Phillipe de Massa >> Zibeline, Complete



ZIBELINE

By PHILIPPE DE MASSA

Translated by D. KNOWLTON RANOUS




ALEXANDRE-PHILIPPE-REGNIER DE MASSA

MARQUIS DE MASSA, soldier, composer, and French dramatist, was born in
Paris, December 5, 1831. He selected the military career and received a
commission in the cavalry after leaving the school of St. Cyr. He served
in the Imperial Guards, took part in the Italian and Franco-German Wars
and was promoted Chief of Squadron, Fifth Regiment, Chasseurs a Cheval,
September 10, 1871. Having tendered his resignation from active service,
he was appointed a lieutenant-colonel in the territorial army February 3,
1880. He has been decorated with the Legion of Honor.

The Marquis de Massa is known as a composer of music and as a dramatic
author and novelist. At the Opera Comique there was represented in 1861
Royal-Cravate, written by him. Fragments of two operas by him were
performed at the Paris Conservatory of Music in 1865, and in 1868. The
list of his principal plays follows: 'Le Service en campagne, comedy
(1882); La Cicatrice, comedy (1885); Au Mont Ida, Fronsac a La Bastille,
and La Coeur de Paris, all in 1887; La Czarine and Brouille depuis
Magenta (1888), and La Bonne Aventure--all comedies--1889. Together with
Petipa he also wrote a ballet Le Roi d'Yvetot (1866); music by Charles
Labarre. He further wrote Zibeline, a most brilliant romance (1892) with
an Introduction by Jules Claretie; crowned by the Academie Francaise.
This odd and dainty little story has a heroine of striking originality,
in character and exploits. Her real name is Valentine de Vermont, and she
is the daughter of a fabulously wealthy French-American dealer in furs,
and when, after his death, she goes to Paris to spend her colossal
fortune, and to make restitution to the man from whom her father won at
play the large sum that became the foundation of his wealth, certain
lively Parisian ladies, envying her her rich furs, gave her the name of
Zibeline, that of a very rare, almost extinct, wild animal. Zibeline's
American unconventionality, her audacity, her wealth, and generosity, set
all Paris by the ears. There are fascinating glimpses into the
drawing-rooms of the most exclusive Parisian society, and also into the
historic greenroom of the Comedie Francaise, on a brilliant "first
night." The man to whom she makes graceful restitution of his fortune is
a hero of the Franco-Mexican and Franco-Prussian wars, and when she gives
him back his property, she throws her heart in with the gift. The story
is an interesting study of a brilliant and unconventional American girl
as seen by the eyes of a clever Frenchman.

Later came 'La Revue quand meme, comedy, (1894); Souvenirs et Impressions
(1897); La Revue retrospective, comedy (1899); and Sonnets' the same
year.

PAUL HERVIEU
de l'Academe Francaise.




LETTER FROM JULES CLARETIE TO THE AUTHOR

MY DEAR FRIEND:

I have often declared that I never would write prefaces! But how can one
resist a fine fellow who brings one an attractive manuscript, signed with
a name popular among all his friends, who asks of one, in the most
engaging way, an opinion on the same--then a word, a simple word of
introduction, like a signal to saddle?

I have read your Zibeline, my dear friend, and this romance--your
first--has given me a very keen pleasure. You told me once that you felt
a certain timidity in publishing it. Reassure yourself immediately. A man
can not be regarded as a novice when he has known, as you have, all the
Parisian literary world so long; or rather, perhaps, I may more
accurately say, he is always a novice when he tastes for the first time
the intoxication of printer's ink.

You have the quickest of wits and the least possible affectation of
gravity, and you have made as well known in Mexico as in Paris your
couplets on the end of the Mexican conflict with France. 'Tout Mexico y
passera!' Where are they, the 'tol-de-rols' of autumn?

Yesterday I found, in a volume of dramatic criticism by that terrible and
charming Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly, an appreciation of one of your
comedies which bears a title very appropriate to yourself: 'Honor.' "And
this play does him honor," said Barbey d'Aurevilly, "because it is
charming, light, and supple, written in flowing verse, the correctness of
which does not rob it of its grace."

That which the critic said of your comedy I will say of your romance. It
is a pretty fairy-story-all about Parisian fairies, for a great many
fairies live in Paris! In fact, more are to be found there than anywhere
else! There are good fairies and bad fairies among them. Your own
particular fairy is good and she is charming. I am tempted to ask whether
you have drawn your characters from life. That is a question which was
frequently put to me recently, after I had published 'L'Americaine.' The
public longs to possess keys to our books. It is not sufficient for them
that a romance is interesting; it must possess also a spice of scandal.

Portraits? You have not drawn any--neither in the drawing-rooms where
Zibeline scintillates, nor in the foyer of the Comedie Francaise, where
for so long a time you have felt yourself at home. Your women are visions
and not studies from life--and I do not believe that you will object to
my saying this.

You should not dislike the "romantic romance," which every one in these
days advises us to write--as if that style did not begin as far back as
the birth of romance itself: as if the Princess of Cleves had not
written, and as if Balzac himself, the great realist, had not invented,
the finest "romantic romances" that can be found--for example, the
amorous adventure of General de Montriveau and the Duchesse de Langlais!

Apropos, in your charming story there is a General who pleases me very
much. How was it that you did not take, after the fashion of Paul de
Molenes, a dashing cavalry officer for your hero?--you, for whom the
literary cavalier has all the attractions of a gentleman and a soldier?

Nothing could be more piquant, alert, chivalrous--in short, worthy of a
Frenchman--than the departure of your hero for the war after that
dramatic card-party, which was also a battle--and what a battle!--where,
at the end of the conflict, he left his all upon the green cloth. That is
an attractive sketch of the amiable comedienne, who wishes for fair
weather and a smooth sea for the soldier lover who is going so far away.
It seems to me that I have actually known that pretty girl at some time
or another! That chapter is full of the perfume of pearl powder and iris!
It is only a story, of course, but it is a magnificent story, which will
please many readers.

The public will ask you to write others, be sure of that; and you will do
well, my dear friend, for your own sake and for ours, to follow the
precept of Denis Diderot: "My friends, write stories; while one writes
them he amuses himself, and the story of life goes on, and that is less
gay than the stories we can tell."

I do not know precisely whether these last words, which are slightly
pessimistic, are those of the good Diderot himself. But they are those of
a Parisian of 1892, who has been able to forget his cares and annoyances
in reading the story that you have told so charmingly.

With much affection to you, and wishing good luck to Zibeline, I am

Your friend,
JULES CLARETIE
de l'Academie Francaise.
APRIL 26, 1892.




ZIBELINE




BOOK 1




CHAPTER I

LES FRERES-PROVENCAUX

In the days of the Second Empire, the Restaurant des Freres-Provencaux
still enjoyed a wide renown to which its fifty years of existence had
contributed more than a little to heighten its fame.

This celebrated establishment was situated near the Beaujolais Gallery of
the Palais-Royal, close to the narrow street leading to the Rue Vivienne,
and it had been the rendezvous of epicures, either residents of Paris or
birds of passage, since the day it was opened.

On the ground floor was the general dining-room, the gathering-place for
honest folk from the provinces or from other lands; the next floor had
been divided into a succession of private rooms, comfortably furnished,
where, screened behind thick curtains, dined somewhat "irregular"
patrons: lovers who were in either the dawn, the zenith, or the decline
of their often ephemeral fancies. On the top floor, spacious salons,
richly decorated, were used for large and elaborate receptions of various
kinds.

At times the members of certain social clubs gave in these rooms
subscription balls of anacreontic tendencies, the feminine element of
which was recruited among the popular gay favorites of the period.
Occasionally, also, young fellows about town, of different social rank,
but brought together by a pursuit of amusement in common, met here on
neutral ground, where, after a certain hour, the supper-table was turned
into a gaming-table, enlivened by the clinking of glasses and the rattle
of the croupier's rake, and where to the excitement of good cheer was
added that of high play, with its alternations of unexpected gains and
disastrous losses.

It was at a reunion of this kind, on the last evening in the month of
May, 1862, that the salons on the top floor were brilliantly illuminated.
A table had been laid for twenty persons, who were to join in a banquet
in honor of the winner of the great military steeplechase at La Marche,
which had taken place a few days before. The victorious gentleman-rider
was, strange to say, an officer of infantry--an unprecedented thing in
the annals of this sport.

Heir to a seigneurial estate, which had been elevated to a marquisate in
the reign of Louis XII, son of a father who had the strictest notions as
to the preservation of pure blood, Henri de Prerolles, early initiated
into the practice of the breaking and training of horses, was at eighteen
as bold and dashing a rider as he was accomplished in other physical
exercises; and although, three years later, at his debut at St. Cyr, he
expressed no preference for entering the cavalry service, for which his
early training and rare aptitude fitted him, it was because, in the long
line of his ancestors--which included a marshal of France and a goodly
number of lieutenants-general--all, without exception, from Ravenna to
Fontenoy, had won renown as commanders of infantry.

At the outbreak of the French Revolution, Henri's grandfather, who had
distinguished himself in the American War for Independence, left his
native land only when he was in the last extremity. As soon as
circumstances permitted, he reentered France with his son, upon whom
Napoleon conferred a brevet rank, which the recipient accepted of his
free will. He began his military experience in Spain, returned safe and
well from the retreat from Russia, and fought valiantly at Bautzen and at
Dresden. The Restoration--by which time he had become chief of his
battalion--could not fail to advance his career; and the line was about
to have another lieutenant-general added to its roll, when the events of
1830 decided Field-Marshal the Marquis de Prerolles to sheathe his sword
forever, and to withdraw to his own estate, near the forest of
l'Ile-d'Adam, where hunting and efforts toward the improvement of the
equine race occupied his latter years.

He died in 1860, a widower, leaving two children: Jeanne, recently
married to the Duc de Montgeron, and his son Henri, then a pupil in a
military school, who found himself, on reaching his majority, in
possession of the chateau and domains of Prerolles, the value of which
was from fifteen to eighteen hundred thousand francs.

Having been made sub-lieutenant by promotion on the first day of October,
1861, the young Marquis, already the head of his house and a military
leader, asked and obtained the favor of being incorporated with a
battalion of chasseurs garrisoned at Vincennes.

Exact in the performance of his military duties, and at the same time
ardent in the pursuit of pleasure, he was able, thanks to his robust
health, to conciliate the exigencies of the one with the fatigues of the
other.

Unfortunately, Henri was fond of gaming, and his natural impetuosity,
which showed itself by an emulation of high standards in his military
duties, degenerated into recklessness before the baccarat-table. At the
end of eighteen months, play, and an expensive liaison with an actress,
had absorbed half his fortune, and his paternal inheritance had been
mortgaged as well. The actress was a favorite in certain circles and had
been very much courted; and this other form of rivalry, springing from
the glitter of the footlights, added so much the more fuel to the
prodigalities of the inflammable young officer.

Affairs were in this situation when, immediately after Henri's triumph at
the race-track, a bettor on the opposite side paid one of his wagers by
offering to the victor a grand dinner at the Freres-Provencaux.




CHAPTER II

BIRDS OF PREY

The hero of the night was seated at the middle of one side of the table,
in the place of honor. For his 'vis-a-vis' he had his lively friend Fanny
Dorville, star of the Palais Royal, while at his right sat Heloise Virot,
the "first old woman," or duenna, of the same theatre, whose well known
jests and eccentricities added their own piquancy to gay life in Paris.
The two artists, being compelled to appear in the after-piece at their
theatre that evening, had come to the dinner made up and in full stage
costume, ready to appear behind the footlights at the summons of the
call-boy.

The other guests were young men accustomed to the surroundings of the
weighing-stand and the betting-room, at a time when betting had not yet
become a practice of the masses; and most of them felt highly honored to
rub elbows with a nobleman of ancient lineage, as was Henri de Prerolles.

Among these persons was Andre Desvanneaux, whose father, a churchwarden
at Ste.-Clotilde, had attained a certain social prestige by his good
works, and Paul Landry, in his licentiate in a large banking house in
Paris. The last named was the son of a ship-owner at Havre, and his
character was ambitious and calculating. He cherished, under a quiet
demeanor, a strong hope of being able to supply, by the rapid acquisition
of a fortune, the deficiencies of his inferior birth, from which his
secret vanity suffered severely. Being an expert in all games of chance,
he had already accumulated, while waiting for some brilliant coup, enough
to lead a life of comparative elegance, thus giving a certain
satisfaction to his instincts. He and Henri de Prerolles never yet had
played cards together, but the occasion was sure to come some day, and
Paul Landry had desired it a long time.

The company, a little silent at first, was becoming somewhat more
animated, when a head-waiter, correct, and full of a sense of his own
importance, entered the salon, holding out before him with both hands a
large tray covered with slender glasses filled with a beverage called
"the cardinal's drink," composed of champagne, Bordeaux, and slices of
pineapple. The method of blending these materials was a professional
secret of the Freres-Provencaux.

Instantly the guests were on their feet, and Heloise, who had been served
first, proposed that they should drink the health of the Marquis, but,
prompted by one of her facetious impulses, instead of lifting the glass
to her own lips, she presented it to those of the waiter, and, raising
her arm, compelled him to swallow the contents. Encouraged by laughter
and applause, she presented to him a second glass, then a third; and the
unhappy man drank obediently, not being able to push away the glasses
without endangering the safety of the tray he carried.

Fanny Dorville interceded in vain for the victim; the inexorable duenna
had already seized a fourth glass, and the final catastrophe would have
been infallibly brought about, had not providence intervened in the
person of the call-boy, who, thrusting his head through the half-open
doorway, cried, shrilly:

"Ladies, they are about to begin!"

The two actresses hastened away, escorted by Andre Desvanneaux, a modern
Tartufe, who, though married, was seen everywhere, as much at home behind
the scenes as in church.

Coffee and liqueurs were then served in a salon adjoining the large
dining-room, which gave the effect of a private club-room to this part of
the restaurant.

Cigars were lighted, and conversation soon turned on feminine charms and
the performances of various horses, particularly those of Franc-Comtois,
the winner of the military steeplechase. This animal was one of the
products of the Prerolles stud, and was ordinary enough on flat ground,
but a jumper of the first rank.

At last the clock struck the half hour after eleven, and some of the
guests had already manifested their intention to depart, when Paul
Landry, who had been rather silent until then, said, carelessly:

"You expect to sleep to-night in Paris, no doubt, Monsieur de Prerolles?"

"Oh, no," Henri replied, "I am on duty this week, and am obliged to
return to Vincennes early in the morning. So I shall stay here until it
is time for me to go."

"In that case, might we not have a game of cards?" proposed Captain
Constantin Lenaieff, military attache to the suite of the Russian
ambassador.

"As you please," said Henri.

This proposal decided every one to remain. The company returned to the
large dining-room, which, in the mean time, had been again transformed
into a gaming-hall, with the usual accessories: a frame for the
tally-sheet, a metal bowl to hold rejected playing-cards set in one end
of the table, and, placed at intervals around it, were tablets on which
the punter registered the amount of the stakes.

On reentering this apartment, Henri de Prerolles approached a sort of
counter, and, drawing from his pocket thirty thousand francs in
bank-notes, he exchanged them for their value in mother-of-pearl "chips"
of different sizes, representing sums from one to five, ten, twenty-five,
or a hundred louis. Paul Landry took twenty-five thousand francs' worth;
Constantin Unaieff, fifteen thousand; the others, less fortunate or more
prudent, took smaller sums; and about midnight the game began.




CHAPTER III

THE GAME

It began quietly enough, the two principal players waiting, before making
any bold strokes, to see how the luck should run. The first victory was
in favor of Henri, who, at the end of a hand dealt by Constantin
Lenaieff, had won about three hundred Louis. Just at this moment the two
women returned, accompanied by Desvanneaux.

"I had some difficulty in persuading our charming friends to return,"
said he; "Mademoiselle Dorville was determined that some one should
escort her to her own house."

"You, perhaps, Desvanneaux," said Henri, twisting up the ends of his
moustache.

"Not at all," said Fanny; "I wished Heloise to go with me. I have noticed
that when I am here you always lose. I fear I have the evil eye."

"Say, rather, that you have no stomach," said Heloise. "Had you made your
debut, as I made mine, with Frederic Lemaitre in 'Thirty Years in the
Life of an Actor'"

"It certainly would not rejuvenate her," said Henri, finishing the
sentence.

"Marquis, you are very impertinent," said the duenna, laughing. "As a
penalty, you must lend me five louis."

"With the greatest pleasure."

"Thank you!"

And, as a new hand was about to be dealt, Heloise seated herself at one
of the tables. This time Paul Landry put fifteen thousand francs in the
bank.

"Will you do me the favor to cut the cards?" he asked of Fanny, who stood
behind Henri's chair.

"What! in spite of my evil eye, Monsieur?"

"I do not fear that, Mademoiselle. Your eyes have always been too
beautiful for one of them to change now."

Stale as was this compliment, it had the desired effect, and the young
woman thrust vertically into the midst of the pack the cards he held out
to her.

"Play, messieurs," said the banker.

"Messieurs and Madame," corrected Heloise, placing her five chips before
her, while Henri, at the other table, staked the six thousand francs
which he had just won.

"Don't put up more than there is in the bank," objected Paul Landry,
throwing a keen glance at the stakes. Having assured himself that on the
opposing side to this large sum there were hardly thirty louis, he dealt
the cards.

"Eight!" said he, laying down his card.

"Nine!" said Heloise.

"Baccarat!" said Henri, throwing two court-cards into the basket.

The rake rattled on the losing table, but after the small stakes of the
winners had been paid, the greater part of the six thousand francs passed
into the hands of the banker.

Five times in succession, at the first deal, the same thing happened; and
at the sixth round Heloise won six hundred francs, and Henri found
himself with no more counters.

"This is the proper moment to retire!" said the duenna, rising from the
table. "Are you coming, Fanny?"

"I beg you, let us go now," murmured Mademoiselle Dorville in the ear of
her lover.

Her voice was caressing and full of tender promise. The young man
hesitated an instant. But to desert the game at his first loss seemed to
him an act unworthy of his reputation, and, as between love and pride,
the latter finally prevailed.

"I have only an hour or two more to wait. Can not you go home by
yourself?" he replied to Fanny's appeal, while Heloise exchanged her
counters for tinkling coin, forgetting, no doubt, to reimburse her
creditor, who, in fact, gave no thought to the matter.

Henri accompanied the two women to a coach at the door, which had been
engaged by the thoughtful and obliging Desvanneaux; and, pressing
tenderly the hand of his mistress, he murmured:

"Till to-morrow!"

"To-morrow!" she echoed, her heart oppressed with sad forebodings.

Desvanneaux, whose wife was very jealous of him, made all haste to regain
his conjugal abode.




CHAPTER IV

THE RESULT

Meanwhile, Paul Landry had begun badly, and had had some ill turns of
luck; nevertheless, feeling that his fortune was about to change, he
raised the stakes.

"Does any one take him up?" asked Constantin Lenaeiff.

"I do," said De Prerolles, who had returned to the table.

And, seizing a pencil that lay on the card-table, he signed four cheques
of twenty-five thousand francs each. Unfortunately for him, the next hand
was disastrous. The stakes were increased, and the bank was broken
several times, when Paul Landry, profiting by a heavy gain, doubled and
redoubled the preceding stakes, and beheld mounting before him a pile of
cheques and counters.

But, as often happens in such circumstances, his opponent, Henri de
Prerolles, persisted in his vain battle against ill-luck, until at three
o'clock in the morning, controlling his shaken nerves and throwing down
his cards, without any apparent anger, he said:

"Will you tell me, gentlemen, how much I owe you?"

After all accounts had been reckoned, he saw that he had lost two hundred
and ninety thousand francs, of which two hundred and sixty thousand in
cheques belonged to Paul Landry, and the thirty thousand francs' balance
to the bank.

"Monsieur de Prerolles," said Paul Landry, hypocritically, "I am ashamed
to win such a sum from you. If you wish to seek your revenge at some
other game, I am entirely at your service."

The Marquis looked at the clock, calculated that he had still half an
hour to spare, and, not more for the purpose of "playing to the gallery"
than in the hope of reducing the enormous sum of his indebtedness, he
replied:

"Will it be agreeable to you to play six hands of bezique?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. How much a point?"

"Ten francs, if that is not too much."

"Not at all! I was about to propose that amount myself."

A quick movement of curiosity ran through the assembly, and a circle was
formed around the two opponents in this exciting match.

Every one knows that bezique is played with four packs of cards, and that
the number of points may be continued indefinitely. The essential thing
is to win at least one thousand points at the end of each hand; unless a
player does this he is said to "pass the Rubicon," becoming twice a
loser--that is, the victor adds to his own score the points lost by his
adversary. Good play, therefore, consists largely in avoiding the
"Rubicon" and in remaining master of the game to the last trick, in order
to force one's adversary over the "Rubicon," if he stands in danger of
it. The first two hands were lost by Landry, who, having each time
approached the "Rubicon," succeeded in avoiding it only by the greatest
skill and prudence. Immediately his opponent, still believing that good
luck must return to him, began to neglect the smaller points in order to
make telling strokes, but he became stranded at the very port of success,
as it were; so that, deducting the amount of his first winning, he found
at the end of the fifth hand that he had lost six thousand points.
Notwithstanding his wonderful self-control, it was not without difficulty
that the young officer preserved a calm demeanor under the severe blows
dealt him by Fortune. Paul Landry, always master of himself, lowered his
eyes that their expression of greedy and merciless joy should not be
seen. The nearer the game drew to its conclusion, the closer pressed the
circle of spectators, and in the midst of a profound silence the last
hand began. Favored from the beginning with the luckiest cards, followed
by the most fortunate returns, Paul Landry scored successively "forty,
bezique," five hundred and fifteen hundred. He lacked two cards to make
the highest point possible, but Henri, by their absence from his own
hand, could measure the peril that menaced him. So, surveying the number
of cards that remained in stock, he guarded carefully three aces of
trumps which might help him to avert disaster. But, playing the only ace
that would allow him to score again, Paul Landry announced coldly, laying
on the table four queens of spades and four knaves of diamonds:

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.