THE DANGER OF BEING A TWIN

Otago Witness, Issue 2905, 17 November 1909, Page 88

THE DANGER OF BEING A TWIN

By Leoxard Mehrick.

Confession must begin when I was four yoars old and recovering froai .swollen glands. As I grew well, my twin-brother, Gregoire, whe was some minutes yonnger, wa.s put to bed with the same complaint. "What a misfortune," exclaimed our mother, "that Silvestre is no sooner convalescent than Gregoire falls ill!" The doctor answered : "It. astonishes me that you were not prepared for it, Madame Lapalme — since the children are twins, the thing was to be foreseen ; when the older throw* the malady off, the younger naturally contracts it. Among twins it is nearly always so."

And it always proved to be so with Gregoire and. me. Xo sooner did I throw off whooping-cough than Gregoire began to whoop, though I -vras at home in Vernon and he was staying with our grandmother in Tours. If I bad to .be taken to a dentist, Gregoire would soon afterwards be howling with toothache; as often as I indulged in the pleasures of the table, Gregoire had a bilious attack. The influence 1 exercised upon him was so remarkable that once, when my bicycle ran away with nr.e and broke my arm, our mother consulted three medical men as to whether Gregoire's bicycle was bound to run away with him too. Indeed, my brother was distinctly apprehensive of 't himself.

Of course, the medical men explained that he was susceptible to any. abnormal physical or mental condition of mine, not to the vagaries of my bicycle. " "As an example, n*adaire, if the elder of two twins were killed in - a railway accident, it wou:d be no reoson* for thinking that an accident must befall a by which the yoimge- travelled. What sympathy can thtre be between locomotives? But if the i!der were to die by hi.= own hand, there I< a .-trorig probability that ihe joungct- would commit suicide ai«-o."

However, I have not died by my own band, so Gregoire has had* nothing to reproach me for on that score. As to other grounds — weil, there is much to be said on both sides!

To speak 'truly, that beautiful devotion for which twins are so celebrated in drama and ' romance' has never existed between my brother and myself. Nor was this my faulty I was of a highly sensitive disposition, and from my earliest years it ■ was impressed) upon me that Gxegoire regarded me in the light of a grievance. I could 1 not help having illnesses, yet lie would upbraid 1 me for taking them.. Then, too, he was always our mother's favourite, and instead of there being caresses and condolence for xne when I was indisposed, these was nothing but grief for the indisposition that I was about to cause Gregoire.' This wounded me. ~ ; I Again at college. - I shall not pretend ! that I was a bookworm, or that I shaued> 1 Grsgoire's ambitions ; on the contrary, the i world beyond 1 the .wails looked- such a jolly place to me that the mere eight of- a classroom would sometimes fill me 'with I abhorrence. But, mon Dieu. if other fellows Were wild occasionally, they accepted the penalties, and the" affair was finished ; oil me rested a responsibility — mywildnsss was communicated to Gregoire. Scarcely I had' I resigned myself to dull routine again- [ than Gregoire, the industrious, -would find* I himself unable to study a page, and Vouid ! toommit freaks for which he rebuked me I most stefnly. I swear that my chief remembrance of my college days is Gregoire addressing pompous homilies to me in this fashion, when he was in disgrace with the authorities :

"I ask you to remember, Silvestre, that you have not only your own welfare to consider — you have mine! I am here to qualify myself for an earnest career. Be good enough not to put obstacles in my path. Your levity impels me to distractions which I condemn even while 1 yield to them. I perceive a weakness in your nature that fills me with misgivings for my future ; if you do not learn to resist temptation, to what errors may I not be driven later on — to what outbreaks of frivolity will you not condemn me when•we are men?"

Well, it is no part of my confession to whitewash myself — his misgivings were realised! So far as I liad any serious aspirations' at all, I aspired to be a painter, and, after combatting my family's objections, I entered an art school in Paris. Gregoire,, on the other hand, was destined for the law. During the next few yeans we met infrequently, but that my brother continued to he affected bj, any unusual conditions of my' body -and mind? I knew by - his "letters^- which seldom failed to contain expostulations and entreaties. If he could" have had- his way, indeed, I believe he would' have shut me in a monastery. Upon my word, I was not without consideration for him, but what would you have? To me, also, I think some sympathy was due. Regard the situation with my eyes ! I . was young, popular, an artist; my life was no more frivolous than the lives of others of my set ; yet. in lieu of being; free, like them, to call the tui.-e and dance the measure, I was burdened with aC heavier responsibility than weighs upon the shoulders of any paterfamilias. Let nxe but drink a bottle too much, and Gregoire, the grave, would subsequently manifest all the symptoms of intoxication. Lst me but lose my head about a petticoat, and GregoiTe, tlie vighteajs, would &oon be running after a jjirl instead of attending to his work. I had a conscience — thoughts of the trouble that I was brewing for Gregoire would' come between me and the petticoat and rob it of its charms. His abominable sus-ct-ptibilit3 r to my caprices marred half my pleasures for me. Once when I sat distrait, bowed by such reflections, a woman exclaimed : "Wliat's the matter with you ? 1 One would think you had a family !" "Well." I said. "Ihave a twin!" And j I went away. She was a pretty woman, J too!

Do you suppose that Maitre Lapalme — he was Maitre Lapalme by then, this egregioas Grejroire— do you suppose that he wrote t/> hless me for my sacrifice? 3sfot at all ! Of mv heroisms he knew nothing — h-e was only conscious of mv lapses. To read his letters one would have imagined that I was a reprobate, a creature ■without honour or remorso. I quote from one of them — it is a •lenmen of them all. Can you blame ms if I liad no love for th'a correspondent? — My Brother, The Cueurr.stance» o" Our Birth: —

Your attention is directed to my preceding communications on this subject. I desire to protect against the revelry f rom which you recovered either on the 15th or 16th in^t. On the afternoon of the latter date, while engaged in a conference of the first magnitude, I was seized with an overwhelming desire to dance a quadrille at a public ball. I found it impossible to concentrite my attcrtion en the case concerning which I was consulted : I could no longer express myself with lucidity. Outwardly «edate, reliable, I eat at my desk dizzied by such visions as pursued St. Anthony to his cell. No sooner was I free than I ned fiom Vernon, dined in

Paris, bought a false beard fc and plunged wiloiiy into the vortex of a dancing hall. Scoundrel ! This is past pardou ! •My sensibilities revolt, and- my prudence

shudders. Who shall say but that one night I may be recognised? Who can 1 foretell to what blackmail you may expose me? I, Maitre Lapalme. forbid your profligacies, which devolve upon me ; I forbid etc. Such admissions my brother sent to me in r. disguised handwriting, and unsigned ; perhaps he feared Uiat hib blackmailer might prove to be ir.yself !

Our mother still;- lived in Vernon, . where she contemplated her favourite son's 'sue- ' cess with the profoundest pride: Occa- : sionally I spent a few days with her, sometimes even more, for she always j pressed me. to remain- I think she pressed , me to remain, not from any pleasure in my society,- but^oecause she knew that • while I was at home I could commit no actions that would, corrupt Gregoire. One ! summer, when I 'visited her, I met Slade- . moiaelle Leuillet. ! Mademoiselle Leuillet was the daughter . of a widower, a neighbour. I remember , that when oar servant first announced her, I thought: "What a nuisance; how bored lam going to be!" And then she came in, and in an instant I was spell* bound. I am tempted to describe Berthe Leuillet to you as she entered' our salon- that !. afternoon in a white frock, with a basket s. of roses in her little hands, bat I know, i very well that jm> description of a girl ever pfainted her to anybody yet. Suffice . it that rfie was beautiful as an- angel, that her voice was like the music of the Spheres— more tfoa*u all, that one felt all , the timej "How, good she is, bow good, how. good!" I suppose the impression that she made apoH me wag plainly to be seen, for when , : she had gone my mother remarked : "You i did not say much ; are you always so . «ilent in girls' company?" "No," I answeted; "I .io not often meet such girls." But afterwards 1 often toet Berthe , Leuiilet. Never ainee 1 was * boy had I stayed in Vernoa .for so long as now; never had I repented so bitterly as now the error of my ways. I loved, and it seemed to me sometimes that my attachment wae reciprocated, yet my position forbade me to go to Monsieur. LetriUet and ask boldly for his daughter's hand. While I had remained obscure, artists of my acquaintance whose talent wes no more remarkable than my own, had raised themselves from Bohemia into prosperity. I abused myselt ; I acknowledged that I was- an idler, a, good-for-nothing ; I declared that the punishment that had overtaken me was no more than I de- - served. And then— well', then I owned to Berthe that 1 loved her ! Deliberately I should not have done this before seeking her father's permission, but it happened in the hour of our "<»oodbye," and I" was suffering too deeply to subdue the impulse.-' I owned that I loved her— AntPwhen I left for Paris *w« ,w-ere secretly engaged. Men Ejieu! Now I worked indeed! To win this girl for my own, to ebow myself woi-fcfiy of her innocent faith, supplied me with the most powerful incentive in life. In the 'Quarter they regarded me first with ridicule, then with wonder, and, finally, with respect. For my enthusiasm did not fade. "He has turned over a new leaf," they said. "He means to be famous !" It was understood. , No more excursions for Silvestre, no more junketings and recklessness ! In the morning as soon as the sky was light I was at my easel ; in the evening I studied, I sketched. I wrote to Berthe, and reread her letters. I was another man — my ideal of happiness was now a wife and noire. For a year I lived this new life. I progressed. Men — men , wbcee approval ■was a cachet — began to speak of me as one with a future. In the Salon a picture of mine made something of a stir. How I rejoiced! Hew grateful and sanguine I was ! All Paris sang, "Berthe" to me. The criticisms in the papers, the felicitations of my friends, the nraise of the public — all meant Berthe— Berthe Avith her arms about me, Berthe on my breast ! I said that it was not too soon for me to speak now. I had proved by mettle, and, though I foresaw that her father . would ask more before, 'he gave his con- : sent. I was at least justified in avowing i myself. I telegraphed to my mother to j expect ms. I packed my portmanteau with trembling hands, and threw myself into : a cab. I On the way to the station I noticed the window of a florist's. I bade the driver stop, and Tan in to bear off some lilies for B^th?- The shop was so full of wonderful flowers that, once among them. I found some difficulty in making jmy choice. Hence I missed the train, ■ and returned to my Ftudrio, incensed by I the dela.v. A letter for me had just been delivered. It told me that on the previous morning Berthe had married my brother. I could have welcomed a pistol shot — imv world rocked. Berthe lost, fal?e. Gregoire's wife! I reiterated it. I said it over and over ; I was stricken by it — and yet I could not realise that actually it had happened. It seemed too treacher- i ous. too horrible to be true. j Oh, I made certain of it later, believe ' me. I was no hero of a feuilleton to accept such intelligence without proof! [ a??«red myself of her perfidy, and burnt her lovs letters one by one ; tore her photographs into shreds-^-strove also to tear her image from mv heart. j Ah ! that mocked me, that I could not tear ! A year before 1 should have rushed to the cafes for for^etfulness. but now, as the eubsided, I turned feverishly to work. I told myself that she had ; wrecked my peace, my faith in woman, '< that I hated and despised her ; but I swore that she should t not have the triumph, of wrecking my career, tco. I said that mv art still remained to me — that I would find oblivion in my art. Brave words! But one does not recover from such blows so easily ! ~ For months I persisted, denying myself the smallest respite, clinging to a reriolu- ' tion which proved vainer daily. Were art to be mastered by dojrcred endeavour, j I should have conquered ; but, alas ! though I could compel myself to paint I could not compel myself to paint well. It was the perception^ of this fact that shattered me at last. I had fought temptation for half a year, woiked with my teeth clenched, woiked against Nature, worked w Kile my pulsea beat and

clamoured- for . the draughts of dissipation, T .which promised a speedier release.. , I ] •had wooed Art, not as her lojFer,. but . as a tortured soul may turn to one woman . in the desperate hope of subduing his passion for' another— and Art would' yield nothing to a ;suitor who approached her so. I recognised that my work had been wasted, that the struggle had been useless — I broke down. I need say little of the months that followed ; it would be a record of (degradations and remorse. Alternately I fell, and was ashamed. There were days when I never left the house, when I. was repulsive to myself. I shuddered at -the horrors that I had committed. No saint has loved virtue better than I did doring those long sick days of self-disgust; no man was ever more sure of defying such hideous temptations if they recurred. As my lassitude passed I would take up my brushes and feel confident for an hour, for a week." And then temptation would creep on- me once more — humming in my ears, and' tingling in my veins. And temptation had lost its loathsomeness now. It looked again attractive. It was a siren : it duszed my conscience, and' stupefied my common sense. Back to the mire! " One afternoon when I returned to my rooms, from which I had been absent since the previous day, I heard from the concierge that a visitor awaited me, I climbed tlks stairs without anticipation. My thoughts were sluggish, my limbs leaden, my eyes heavy and bloodshot. Twilight had gathered, and as I entered I discerned merely the figure of a weman. Then she advanced — and all Hell seemed to l«ap flaring to my heart. My visitor was Berthe. I think nearly a minute must have passed whole we looked speechlessly in each other's face — hers convulsed by entreaty, mine dark with hate. "Have you no word: for me? " she whispered. .• v . "Permit me to offer my Congratulations on your marriage, madame," I said. "I. have had no earlier opportunity." " Forgive me," she gasped. ' " I have come to beseech yoor forgiveness! Can you not forget the wrong I did you?" " Do I Jook as if I had forgotten? " "I was inconstant, cruel. I cannot ex-

cvee myself. , But, O Sflvestre, in the ) name of the love you onoe bore me, have pity on us! Reform, abjure' youi evil courses! Do not, I implore -you, condemn my husband to this abyss of .depravity;'do not wreck my married life!" Now I understood what had procured me the honour of a visit from this woman, and I triumphed devilishly that I 'was the elder tw.in. "Madame," I answered, "I think thsff I" owe you no explanations, but I shall say this : the evil courses that you deplore ; were adopted, hot vindictively, but in the effort to munb the agony that you have' me suffer. You but reap as you have J sown." } I "Reform!" she fobbed. She sank on i her knees before me. " Silvestre, in mercy to us, reform !" "I will never, reform," I said inflexibly. "I will grow more abandoned day by day — my past faults shall shine as merits compared with the atrocities .that are to come. False girl, monster of selfishness, you are dragging me to the gutter, and your only grief is that he must share m}' shame! You Rave robbed me of my soul, aawl you have no regret but that my iniquities must react on him ! By the shock that stunned him in the first flush of your honeymoon, you know what I experienced when I received -the news of your deceit ; by the anguish of repentance that overtakes him after each of his orgies, which revolt you, you know that L was capable of being a nobler man. rha degradation that you behold is your )to work. You have- made- me bad, I

and you muet bear the consequence^ — you cannot now make me good^ to save your husband!" I Humbled and despairing, she left me. I I repeat that it is no part of my con- , fession to palliate my guilt; the sight of her had served merely to inflame my resentment — and it was at this stage that . I began deliberately to contemplate re- ' venge. But not the one that I had threatened. Oh, no! I bethought nyself of a vengeance move complete than that! What, after all, were these escapades of his that ■were followed by contrition, that saw him again and again .a penitent at her feet? There should be no more of such trifles ; ehe should be tortured with the torture that she had dealt to me — I would make him adore another woman with all his lieavfr and brain! i It was difficult, for first i must adore, j and tine of another woman myself — as j ; my own passion faded, his would be born. I I 'swore, however, that I vrould compass j it, that I would worship some woman j for a year — two years, as long as possible. Though he would be at peace in th,3 meantime the longer my enslavement lasted the longer Bsrthe would suffer when her punishment began. j For come weeks now I worked again, to provide myself with money. I bought ne-w clothes and made myself present- i I able. When my appearance accorded ! ! better with my plan I paraded Paris, seeking the woman to adore. I Yeu may think Paris ;s; s full of adorable \ women ? Well, so contrary is human nature, that never had t felt such indif-fei-ence towards the sex as during that tedious quest ; never had a pair of brilliant eyes or a well-turned neck appealed to me so little. After a month my search seemed hopeless; I had viewed women by the thousand, but not one with whom I could persuade myself that 1 might fall violently in love. I How true it is that- only the unforeseen comes to pass ! I There was a. model, one Louise, whoso fortune was her back, and who had long ' bored me 133' an evident tenderness. One day this Louise, usually so conetraroed in my presence, appeared in high spirits, and mentioned that .«he was going to be married. J

' The change in, her demeanour interested me; . for the ; first time I perceived that the attractions of Louise were not limited! to her back* , A - Uttie piqued, ;I invited her to dine with me. If she. had skid: " Yes 2 " doubtless that would h*ve been the end of my, interest ; but she refused,. Before I parted from, her I made an ap« pointment for. her to sit to me th© next morning. "So you,- ere going' to be- married, Louise?" I said carelessly asl set ths> pailette. "In troth!""- she answered.; "No regrots!" - "What regrets could I have? He is a very pretty boy, and well to do, believe; " And I am not a pretty boy/ nor well to do, bein,?" " Oh," she laughed, " you- do not care forme!" "Is it .so? " I said. " What' would you say if I told you that I did care? " " I should *ay< that you told- me too late, monsieur,'.' she replied with & shrug. '"Are you ready for me to pose? " And this changed woman turned her peerless back on me without a scruple.- ' A little mortified, I attended; strictly to business for the nest of the morning. ' But I found myself on the lotto wing day waiting for her wilh irapatieno©. And when, is the event to take place ?" t inquired, more eagerly, than j ) chose to acknowledge. This was by no means, the sort oi enchantress that I had heen seeking, you understand. 'f "In the spring," she said. " Look at the- ring he has giver to me, monsieur; is it next beautiful?" - I rei&aarked that Louise's bands were very "well shaped, and, indeed, happiness - had brought a certain charm to her face. " Do you know, Loudse, that I am eorfy that you ,are going to marry?** I „ ex-; claimed. "t>h, get out'.J' she laughed, pushing n»~>w*y..> '-It, is no good your talking nonsense to me now, don't flatter your--Pou<jfhih, ite&" sculptor, happened to come in at that moment. "Oho!" ho shouted; "what chaagfes >ai>e to be seen! The nose of our brave Jsilvesti?e is out of joint now we are affianced, hem?" She joined 1 in his laughter against' me, &jnd I picked up my brush again in a vile humour. Well, as I have said, she was not the kind of woman I had contemplated, but theee things arrange themselves — I became seOTcusly enamoured of . her. Arc 1 , recognising, thai Fate- works - with, her own instruments, I did not struggle. For. months I was at Louise's heels ; I was t!ne sport of her whims, send her slights, sometimes even of her insults. 1 actually, made her an" offer of marriage, at which she snapped her white fingers .with " » grimace — and the more she. flouted riw the moie fascinated I «rew,,_ In ibat- ranturous hour when her insolent eyes softened to sentiment, when her mocking mouth.* melted to a. kis?, I was In Paradise. My ecstasy was so supreme that I forgot to triumph at my approaching vengeance. So I married Louise; and yesterday- was the twentieth anniversary of our wedding. Bertha? To speak. the truth, my plot against her was frustrated by an accident. You sea, before I could communicate my passion to Gregoiire I had to recover from it, and — this insolent Louisa! — I have not recovered from it yet. There, are days when she turns her remarkable back crt one now — generally when I am idle; but. mon Dieu" t&s moments when she turns her lips axe worth working for. Therefore, Berth© has been all <tlte time quite happy with the pood Gregoire, ■ and, sinceI possess Louise — upon my word of honour, I do not mind ! — M. A. P»