Ferragus | Page 5

their
legitimate king, always a king for them. Thus we see the romantic
prestige attaching to the name of Ferragus and to that of the Devorants
completely dissipated.
As for the THIRTEEN, they were all men of the stamp of Trelawney,
Lord Byron's friend, who was, they say, the original of his "Corsair."
They were all fatalists, men of nerve and poesy, weary of leading flat
and empty lives, driven toward Asiatic enjoyments by forces all the
more excessive because, long dormant, they awoke furious. One of
them, after re-reading "Venice Preserved," and admiring the sublime
union of Pierre and Jaffier, began to reflect on the virtues shown by
men who are outlawed by society, on the honesty of galley-slaves, the
faithfulness of thieves among each other, the privileges of exorbitant
power which such men know how to win by concentrating all ideas into
a single will. He saw that Man is greater than men. He concluded that
society ought to belong wholly to those distinguished beings who, to
natural intelligence, acquired wisdom, and fortune, add a fanaticism hot
enough to fuse into one casting these different forces. That done, their
occult power, vast in action and in intensity, against which the social
order would be helpless, would cast down all obstacles, blast all other
wills, and give to each the devilish power of all. This world apart
within the world, hostile to the world, admitting none of the world's
ideas, not recognizing any law, not submitting to any conscience but

that of necessity, obedient to a devotion only, acting with every faculty
for a single associate when one of their number asked for the assistance
of all,--this life of filibusters in lemon kid gloves and cabriolets; this
intimate union of superior beings, cold and sarcastic, smiling and
cursing in the midst of a false and puerile society; this certainty of
forcing all things to serve an end, of plotting a vengeance that could not
fail of living in thirteen hearts; this happiness of nurturing a secret
hatred in the face of men, and of being always in arms against this; this
ability to withdraw to the sanctuary of self with one idea more than
even the most remarkable of men could have,--this religion of pleasure
and egotism cast so strong a spell over Thirteen men that they revived
the society of Jesuits to the profit of the devil.
It was horrible and stupendous; but the compact was made, and it lasted
precisely because it appeared to be so impossible.
There was, therefore, in Paris a brotherhood of THIRTEEN, who
belonged to each other absolutely, but ignored themselves as absolutely
before the world. At night they met, like conspirators, hiding no
thought, disposing each and all of a common fortune, like that of the
Old Man of the Mountain; having their feet in all salons, their hands in
all money-boxes, and making all things serve their purpose or their
fancy without scruple. No chief commanded them; no one member
could arrogate to himself that power. The most eager passion, the most
exacting circumstance, alone had the right to pass first. They were
Thirteen unknown kings,--but true kings, more than ordinary kings and
judges and executioners,--men who, having made themselves wings to
roam through society from depth to height, disdained to be anything in
the social sphere because they could be all. If the present writer ever
learns the reasons of their abdication of this power, he will take
occasion to tell them.[*]
[*] See Theophile Gautier's account of the society of the "Cheval
Rouge." Memoir of Balzac. Roberts Brothers, Boston.
Now, with this brief explanation, he may be allowed to begin the tale of
certain episodes in the history of the THIRTEEN, which have more
particularly attracted him by the Parisian flavor of their details and the
whimsicality of their contrasts.

FERRAGUS, CHIEF OF THE DEVORANTS

CHAPTER I
MADAME JULES
Certain streets in Paris are as degraded as a man covered with infamy;
also, there are noble streets, streets simply respectable, young streets on
the morality of which the public has not yet formed an opinion; also
cut-throat streets, streets older than the age of the oldest dowagers,
estimable streets, streets always clean, streets always dirty, working,
laboring, and mercantile streets. In short, the streets of Paris have every
human quality, and impress us, by what we must call their
physiognomy, with certain ideas against which we are defenceless.
There are, for instance, streets of a bad neighborhood in which you
could not be induced to live, and streets where you would willingly
take up your abode. Some streets, like the rue Montmartre, have a
charming head, and end in a fish's tail. The rue de la Paix is a wide
street, a fine street, yet it wakens none of those