Jacques the Fatalist: And His Master (18 page)

HOSTESS
: While our two church-goers were offering so edifying a spectacle and becoming known for the odour of sanctity and piety in which they lived, Mme de La Pommeraye continued to show the Marquis the same outward tokens of esteem, friendship and the most perfect trust. Always welcome, never scolded, never sulked at, even after long absences, he would tell her all about his latest little conquests and she would seem to take a straightforward pleasure in hearing about them. She would give him her advice when success seemed more difficult. She even spoke to him of marriage sometimes, but in such a disinterested manner that one could never suspect her of speaking on her own behalf. If the Marquis sometimes addressed her in the language of sentiment and gallantry which is unavoidable with a woman one has had an affair with she would either smile, or let it go. If she were to be believed hers was a happy heart and – this is something she would never have imagined – she found that a friend such as him was all she needed to make her happy. But then she was no longer in the first flower of youth and her desires were less sharp.

‘What! Have you really nothing to confide in me?’

‘No.’

‘But what about my friend the little count, who was pursuing you so avidly in my day?’

‘I have shut my doors to him and I no longer see him.’

‘What strange behaviour! Why did you send him away?’

‘Because I don’t like him.’

‘Ah! Madame, I think I know what it is. You are still in love with me.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You are counting on a reconciliation.’

‘Why not?’

‘And you are making sure of the moral advantage your blameless conduct would give you over me.’

‘I believe so.’

‘And if I had the fortune or the misfortune to take up with you again you would at the very least be able to take credit for the silence you would maintain over my conduct.’

‘You must believe me to be extremely delicate and very generous.’

‘My friend, after what you have done, there is no sort of heroism of which you are not capable.’

‘I’m quite happy that you should have such an opinion of me.’

‘By God, I’m in great danger from you, that I’m sure of.’

‘And so am I.’

For about the next three months things were much the same, until Mme de La Pommeraye decided that the time had come to set her great schemes in motion. One summer’s day when the weather was good and she was expecting the Marquis to lunch, she sent word to the d’Aisnon and her daughter to go to the Royal Botanical Gardens. The Marquis came. Lunch was served in good time. They dined. They dined happily. After lunch Mme de La Pommeraye suggested to the Marquis that they should go for a walk if he didn’t have anything more enjoyable to do. That day there was nothing on at the opera or the theatre, as the Marquis remarked, and so as to make up for the loss of entertainment by an instructive outing chance had it that it was the Marquis himself who invited the Marquise to go and see the Royal Collection. The invitation was not refused, as you can well imagine. The horses were harnessed and they left. When they arrived at the Royal Botanical Gardens they mingled with the crowd, looking all around them and seeing nothing, just like everybody else.

Reader, I have forgotten to describe to you the positions of the three characters we are concerned with here – Jacques, his master, and their hostess. Because of this oversight you have heard them speak but you have not been able to picture them. Better late than never. On the left Jacques’ master, in his night-cap and dressing-gown, was nonchalantly stretched out in a large tapestry work armchair, his handkerchief thrown over one of its arms and his snuff-box in his hand. At the end, opposite the door, and near the table, was their hostess, her glass in front of her. And, on her right, Jacques, without a hat, his elbows on the table, his head leaning forward between two empty bottles, and two more on the floor beside him.

HOSTESS
: On leaving the Royal Collection, the Marquis and his good friend went for a walk in the garden. They followed the first path to the right as you go in near the arboretum when Mme de La Pommeraye suddenly cried out in surprise: ‘I am not mistaken. I think it’s… yes, it is, it’s them,’ and immediately left the Marquis to go over and meet our two saintly ladies. The d’Aisnon girl looked stunning in a simple dress, which, without attracting attention, made her the centre of attraction.

‘Ah! Is it you, Madame?’

‘Yes, it is I.’

‘And how have you been keeping and what has become of you after all this time?’

‘You know our misfortunes. We have had to resign ourselves to them and we lead a withdrawn life as befits our meagre fortune. When one can no longer continue to show oneself decently, one must withdraw from social life.’

‘But me, leave me? I am not of society and I have always had the wit to see how tedious it is.’

‘One of the bad things about misfortune is the suspicion it inspires. Those in misfortune are always afraid of being unwelcome.’

‘You, unwelcome to me! That suspicion is a terrible insult.’

‘Madame, I am innocent of it. I reminded Maman of you at least ten times, but she always said: “Nobody thinks of us anymore, not even Mme de La Pommeraye.” ’

‘What an injustice! Let us sit down and chat. This is M. le Marquis des Arcis. He is my friend and his presence here need not disturb us. How Mademoiselle has grown! How pretty she has become since the last time we saw each other!’

‘The good thing about our position is that it deprives us of everything
which could be harmful to our health. Look at her face! Look at her arms! Look at what one gains by a frugal well-ordered life, sleep, work, and a happy conscience. It is certainly something…’

They sat down and conversed warmly. The d’Aisnon mother spoke a lot, her daughter hardly at all. The tone of each was that of devotion without being contrived or prudish. Long before nightfall our two church-goers got up. In spite of protests that it was still early, the d’Aisnon mother whispered to Mme de La Pommeraye loudly enough to be heard that they still had an office of devotion to fulfil, and that it was not possible for them to stay any longer. They were already some way off when Mme de La Pommeraye reproached herself for not having learnt where they lived and not having told them where she lived. It was a fault, she added, which she would not have committed in earlier days. The Marquis ran after them to make amends. They accepted the address of Mme de La Pommeraye but no matter how hard the Marquis insisted he could not obtain theirs. He did not dare to offer them his coach although he admitted to Mme de La Pommeraye that he had been tempted. The Marquis did not fail to ask Mme de La Pommeraye who these two women were.

‘Two people who are happier than we are. Can you not see the good health they enjoy! Their serenity of expression! The innocence, the decency which governs their every word! One does not see or hear any of that in the circles we move in. We pity the devout and they pity us, but all in all I am inclined to think that they are right.’

‘But, Marquise, are you tempted to become devout?’

‘Why not?’

‘Take care, I would not want the end of our relationship – if that is what it is – to drive you to that.’

‘Would you rather I reopened my doors to the little count?’

‘Much rather.’

‘Would you advise me to do that?’

‘Without hesitation.’

Madame de La Pommeraye told the Marquis what she knew of the name, the origins, the earlier status and the court case of our two devout ladies, making the story as interesting and as touching as possible.

‘They are two women of rare merit – the daughter above all. You must admit that with looks like hers one would lack for nothing if one wished to exploit them. But they have preferred honest poverty to shameful luxury. What they have left is so little that in all honesty, I cannot imagine how they can live on it. They work night and day. Plenty of people know how to put up
with poverty when they are born into it, but to fall from opulence into the direst necessity and somehow find contentment and happiness is something which I cannot understand. That is what religion does. No matter what our philosophers say, religion is a good thing.’

‘Especially for the unfortunate.’

‘And who isn’t more or less?’

‘I’m damned if you’re not turning devout.’

‘What’s so tragic about that? This life is so insignificant when one compares the eternity to come!’

‘But you sound like a missionary already.’

‘I speak like a convinced woman. Now, Marquis, give me an honest answer. Would not all our riches appear to us to be mere baubles if we were more affected by the anticipation of future reward and fear of future punishment? If someone were to seduce a young girl or a woman devoted to her husband, while believing that if he should die in her arms he would be plunged immediately into endless tortures, you must admit that would be the height of folly.’

‘However, it happens every day.’

‘Because people have no faith, because they allow themselves to be distracted.’

‘It’s because our religious opinions have very little influence over our morals. But, my friend, I tell you that you are going the quickest route to the confessional.’

‘That would be the best thing for me.’

‘Come on, you are mad. You’ve got another twenty or so years of happy sinning ahead of you. Don’t miss out on it. After that you will be able to repent, and you can go and parade your repentance at the feet of a priest if that is what you want… But this is a very serious conversation. Your imagination is becoming terribly morbid and it is because of this dreadful solitude you have driven yourself into. Believe me, call back the little count as soon as possible and you will see no more devil or hell and you will be as charming as you were before. You are afraid that I will reproach you for it if ever we take up again. But in the first place, we may never be reconciled, and because of your apprehension which may or may not be well founded you are depriving yourself of the most delightful of pleasures. In all honesty, the merit of being morally superior to me is not worth the sacrifice.’

‘What you say is true, but that is not what is holding me back…’

They also said many other things which I cannot remember.

HOSTESS
: Let’s have a drink… After a few turns around the gardens, Mme de La Pommeraye and the Marquis got back into the carriage and Mme de La Pommeraye said: ‘How she ages me! When she first came to Paris she was no higher than a cabbage!’

‘You are speaking of the daughter of the lady we met on our walk?’

‘Yes, it is just like a garden where the faded roses make place for the new ones. Did you look at her?’

‘I could not fail to.’

‘How did you find her?’

‘The face of a Raphael virgin on the body of his Galatea, and such softness of voice!’

‘Such a modest look!’

‘Such propriety in her bearing!’

‘And a refinement in what she says such as I have seen in no other young woman. That is what education does.’

‘When there is good material there to start with.’

The Marquis left Mme de La Pommeraye at her door. Madame de La Pommeraye hastened to tell our two devout ladies how satisfied she was with the way they had played their roles.