"He is a remarkable man. He could be very useful to us if it were not for his religious whims. They are very well for the ignorant, but useless for enlightened men."

"Yes," replied Simon; "religion for you is cabbage soup for the poor.

You prefer turtle soup."

"This mania will pa.s.s," added Segel; "the princ.i.p.al causes are his youthful enthusiasm, his poetic and devout spirit. Let us persuade him to engage in some useful and lucrative business; it is the best way to keep him from proclaiming himself Jew so often."

New visitors arrived; Mathilde was at the piano, and Jacob listened, all absorbed.

CHAPTER X.

THE PURSUIT OF A HUSBAND.

A short distance from the mansion of Segel, separated only by their gardens, was a pretty little stone villa covered with ivy and other climbing vines. The low windows opened on a veranda, and sculptured ornaments of wood and stone gave it an attractive appearance, although it was a little deteriorated by the dampness, and there was about it a general air of neglect.

The proprietor of this villa was a man who could not live in it on account of the expense he had incurred in building it. His puerile fancy had ruined him, and he was reduced to living in a garret. The plaything was let during the summer, and during the rest of the year it remained empty.

This dwelling lacked a master who would love it and care for it; such was the air of neglect it had taken on.

For several months it had been occupied by Madame Wtorkowska and her daughter. This lady was the widow of a speculator who had been unfortunate in business, and had died in debt. His wife had succeeded in concealing from the creditors some portions of the estate. She lived on this with a certain elegance, and aspired to move in the best society. She went sometimes to Ems, to Spa, or to Paris, and hoped everything from her only daughter, whom she considered a marvel.

Mademoiselle Emma was really charming. She was twenty-two years old and owned to twenty, but no one had yet offered her his name and fortune.

Although the mother was persuaded that a king or a prince of the blood would have been fortunate to possess such a treasure, the simple gentlemen found that this pearl was exacting, and had luxurious tastes a little too costly for men of moderate fortunes.

That was why, in her despair, Madame Wtorkowska, _nee_ Weinberg, went back to her Israelite friends, among whom she hoped to find a rich merchant who would marry her daughter.

Emma was very beautiful, of that ideal type taken by the painters for Rachel or Rebecca. She was a dark-eyed blonde, with a snowy complexion, features which were like sculptured marble, large, black eyes full of a mysterious fascination, and rosy lips whose charming smiles displayed teeth of pearl. Nature had made her an actress, and her mother had developed in her the art of simulating all emotions and playing all roles.

This mother knew excellently how to appear a literary woman, without having read much. She gave herself out as an accomplished musician, though she hardly knew the notes. She posed as a lady of high degree, although she had seen the best society only _en neglige_ at the baths and in some salons of doubtful distinction, and she masked her poverty under a deceitful elegance and an appearance of wealth.

Emma, of which the Polish is Emusia, called herself, for short, Musia, which she further transformed into the French, Muse, which gave her a stamp of originality, and expressed by a name her diverse talents and her dazzling accomplishments. At an early age she learned to play the piano, and initiated herself in light and easy literature. Provided that the book was written in French, in an elegant style, her mother asked no more; as for the morals they inculcated she was utterly indifferent. "This is not suitable. That can harm you. You must guard yourself well from this or from that." These were the rules of conduct that Madame Wtorkowska gave to her daughter, who soon became accomplished in all her refinements: the art of dissimulation, habitual and unblushing falsehood, elegant and perfumed deceit. She had a great natural talent for music. At six years she pa.s.sed for a little prodigy, at twelve she played in public, and at eighteen she was proclaimed Chopin's most clever interpreter. She had so enchanted Liszt at Ems, to believe her mother, that he would have married her then and there had it not been for the double obstacles of the princess ... and his priesthood. Muse, the better to attract attention, had adopted a very beautiful, although somewhat eccentric, toilet. Her mother lost no occasion to show her beautiful daughter at the theatre, at charity concerts, at the industrial exhibitions, and at the art galleries. She also added the publicity of the press, by procuring, from time to time, a flattering mention of the beauty and talents of Muse in the _Courrier de Varsovie_.

In spite of all, she had no luck so far; all the artifices of coquetry had not obtained a proposal of marriage worthy of being taken into consideration. Two aspirants only had presented themselves in a legitimate and honourable manner: a youth of eighteen years all fire and flame, and an old man foolishly in love. As neither of them had any money they were quickly refused.

At the baths of Spa or Ems a count also had offered himself, but this n.o.ble had ruined himself by a dissipated life, and, as he could not return to Warsaw on account of his debts, lived "by his wits."

In a moment of discouragement Muse thought of becoming an actress.

"With my beautiful voice and charms of person," said she, "success is certain, and I shall soon be rolling in gold." But this idea was extremely distasteful to her mother, whose ambition was for a solid establishment, and not for the precarious life of the theatre. She wept, and implored her daughter not to think of it, and a.s.sured her that their pecuniary resources were sufficient to keep them in luxury for another year. Much might be accomplished during a twelvemonth. They were sure to secure a rich husband by that time. Why not wait before leaving the social sphere to which they were accustomed? The scenic career would always remain open.

The same day that Jacob dined at the Segels Madame Wtorkowska returned from the city to her villa in radiant humour, and found her daughter at the window reading one of Feval's novels. She contemplated her a moment with admiration.

"How lovely you are to-day," said she; "more beautiful than ever! That is right; your beauty is your capital. I have a magnificent project. We must succeed. Conquer or die is our motto!"

"What has happened now?" asked Muse, throwing down her book and giving a side glance in the mirror.

"I have just learned that Jacob, your old acquaintance, has returned to Warsaw. He will be your husband. I have a presentiment of it. A natural presentiment never deceives. You know the proverb: 'That which a woman wishes'"--

"'The devil wishes,'" replied the girl laughing. "You are in great spirits, but you need not waste your wit on me."

"I have already said that twice in public with great success."

The mother kissed her forehead, and said in French:--

"You are sublime! But listen to me: you must proceed cautiously with this Jacob; you must be prudent, calculating, dignified, and full of tact."

"Never fear," replied the daughter, "I remember him perfectly. I know his peculiarities, and shall not make a false move."

"Be careful when you are near him not to be too gay, too witty, too brilliant. Be grave, modest, and poetical; quote much ideal poetry to him; such are the strategetic man[oe]uvres which will serve you."

"Do you know, mamma, I have been told that he has been already in love?"

"And with whom?"

"With Mathilde, or she with him; it is the same thing. I do not know whether this love still exists or has vanished."

"Several years have pa.s.sed since then. She has had time to fade, to grow ugly; and, furthermore, she is married, so that she is no obstacle for us. His love for her proves that he is capable of pa.s.sion. So much the better. Now-a-days, men have become veritable icebergs. They resist an enchantress like you, and let themselves be devoured by the demimonde"--

"Yes, they do not think of marriage. It is the spirit of the age."

"Jacob, of whom I have heard much from people who know him well, is a serious young man, sentimental, pious, and even fanatic. When you are with him, you must seem to bear the burden of the sufferings of two thousand years; you must sigh, and pretend to be full of tender and elegiac poetry."

"Dear mamma, do I need these lessons?" said Muse, a little piqued.

"No, my child; but a mother's heart is always full of fears. A better match would be difficult to find. Use every means to captivate him; meet him as if by chance, and invite him here. He loves music. We will give two or three entertainments where we will have Kontski and Doprzynski, and you and those two singers will make an adorable trio.

Then will come the supper, when you will be irresistible from the charms of your toilet."

Muse shrugged her shoulders.

"O mamma," said she, "leave it all to me! I know well how to play my cards."

"Listen once more," said Madame Wtorkowska, drawing near her daughter, blushing and a little embarra.s.sed. "We will play our part well. Jacob is a man of honour, sensitive and conscientious. With him, but with him alone, dear Emusia, one can resort to extreme measures to force him into the last intrenchments and bind him to us. He is young, pa.s.sionate. It would be very easy to awaken in him--you understand me?

I would not advise you to go so far with another, but with him it is different."

"Of course I understand you; why not? I am no longer a child," replied Muse, with an offended air. "The means are heroic, but might succeed with a perfectly honest man like Jacob. There was real genius in that idea, mamma."

The mother blushed at this praise, for the idea appeared brazen even to herself, coming from a mother who should have instructed and guided her daughter.

"Our desperate situation only has made me suggest such a thing."

"Why speak of despair? Have we not the theatre as a last resort?"

"To see you an actress; that would be a great sorrow for me."

"And Malibran, and Pasta, and Schroeder, and Grisi, and Sontag, and many others. La Sontag, did she not become a countess and amba.s.sadress?"

"I don't care for that. I do not wish to see you on the stage. I would prefer"--