Two Suicides That Still Live

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 22, 2 June 1906, Page 11

Two Suicides That Still Live

By

Leonard Merrick

HAVING bought the rope, Tourniequot wondered where he should hang himself. The lath and plaster ceiling of his room

might decline to support him, and at five o’clock in the afternoon a lamp-post was out of the question. As he roamed on, he reflected that a pan of charcoal would have been more convenient after all; but the coil of rope in the doorway of a shop had lured his fancy, and now it would be laughable to throw

it away. . Tourniequot was much averse from being laughed at in private life—perhaps because Fate had willed that he should be laughed at so much in his public capacity at Le Jardin Exterieur. Could be have had his way, indeed, Tournicquot would have been a great tragedian, instead of a little droll, whose portraits, with a bright red nose and a scarlet wig, grimaced on every kiosk in the Quarter; and he resolved that, at any rate, the element of humour should not mar his suicide.

As to the motive for his death, it was as romantic as his heart desired. He adored “La Belle I.ucrece,” the fascinating snake charmer, and somewhere in the background the artiste had a husband. How little the audience at I.e Bardin Exterieur suspected the passion that devoured their grotesque comedian while he cut his eapers and turned love to ridcule; how little they divined the pathos of a situation which condemned him behind the scenes to whisper the most sentimental assurances of devotion when disfigured by a flaming wig and a nose that was daubed vermilion! Truly it is said, “Not half the world knows how the other half lives!’’

But such incongruities would distress Tourniequot no more—to-day he was to die; he had worn his chessboard trousers and his little green coat for the last time; for the last time had the relentless virtue of I.ucrece driven him to despair. When he was discovered inanimate, hanging to a beam, nothing comic about him, perhaps the world would admit that his soul had been solemn, though his “line <jf business” had been funny; perhaps Luerece would even drop warm tears upon his tomb. It was an evening in late autumn, and dusk was already gathering over Paris. The white glare of electric globes began to flood the boulevards; before the cafes, waiters bustled among the tables, bearing the "tasse.s,” the vermouth, the absinthe of the hour. Instinctively shunning the more frequented thoroughfares, Tourniequot wandered, plunged in reverie, until he perceived that he had reached a neighbourhood which was unknown to him —that he stood at the corner of a street which bore the name “Rue des Vents.” Opposite, one of the dwellings was being rebuilt, and as he gazed at it—this skeleton of a home in which the workmen's hammers were silenced for the night—Tourniequot recognised that his journey vfas at an end. Here he could not doubt that he would find the last, grim hospitality that he sought. The house had no door to bar his entrance. but—as if in omen—-above the gap where a door had been, the sinister number “13” was still to be discerned. He east a glance over his- shoulder, and, grasping the rope with a firm hand, erept inside.

It was dark within, so dark that at first he coujd discern nothing but the gleam of bare walls. He stole along the passage, and. mounting a flight of steps on which his feet sprung mournful echoes, proceeded stealthily towards an apartment on the top floor. At this point the darkness became impenetrable, for the persiennes had been closed, and in order to make his arrangements it was necessary that he should have a light. He paused, fumbling in his pocket ; and then, with his next -step, blundered against a body which swung from the contact like a human being suspended in midair.

Tourniequot leaped backwards in terror. A cold sweat bespangled him. and for some seconds he shook so violently, that he was unable to strike a match. At last, when he accomplished it, he beheld an apparently dead man hanging by a rope in the doorway.

“O, mon dieu!” gasped Tourniequot. And the thudding of his heart seemed to resound through the deserted house.

Humanity impelled him to rescue the poor wretch if it were still to be done. Shuddering, he whipped out his knife, and sawed at the cord desperately. The cord was stout, and the blade of the knife but small; an eternity seemed to pass while he sawed in the darkness. I’resently one of the strands gave way. He set his teeth and pressed harder, and harder yet. Suddenly the rope yielded and the body fell to the ground. Tourniequot threw himself beside it, tearing open the collar, and using frantic efforts to restore animation, There was no result. He persevered, but the body lay perfectly inert. He began to reflect that it was his duty to inform the police of the discovery, and he asked himself how he should account for his presence on the scene. Just as he was considering this he felt the stir of life. As if by a miracle the man groaned. “Courage, my poor fellow!” panted Tourniequot. “Courage—all is well!” The man groaned again; and after an appalling silence, during which Tourniequot began to tremble for his fate anew, he asked feebly, “Where am I?” “You would have hanged yourself,” explained Tourniequot. ‘'Thanks to heaven, I arrived in time to save vour life!” In the darkness they could not see each other, but he felt for the man's hand and pressed it warmly. To his consternation, he received, for response, a thump in the chest. “Mon dieu, what an infernal cheek!” croaked the man. “So you have cut me down? You meddlesome idiot, by what, right did you poke your nose into my affairs, hein?” Dismay held Tourniequot dumb. “Hein?” wheezed the man; “what concern was it of yours, if you please? Never in my life before have I met with such a piece of presumption!” “My poor friend,” stammered Tourniequot, “you do not know what you say—you are not yourself! By-and-by, you will be grateful, you will fall on your knees and bless me.” “By-and-by I shall punch you in the eye,” returned the man, “just as soon as I am feeling better! What have you done to my collar, too? I declare you have played the devil with me!” His annoyance rose. ‘‘Who the devil are you, and what were you doing here, anyhow? You are a trespasser—l shall give you in charge.” “Come, come,” said Tourniequot, eonciliatingly, “if your misfortunes are more than you can bear. I regret that I was obliged to Save you; but. after all, there is no need to make such a grievance of it; you can hang yourself another dav.”

“And why should I be put to the trouble twice?” grumbled the other. “Do you figure yourself that it is agreeable to hang? I passed a very bad time, I can assure you! If you had experienced it you would not talk so lightly about ‘another day.’ The more I think of your impudent interference, the more it vexes me. And how dark it is! Get up and light the candle—it gives me the hump here.”

“I have no candle, I have no candle,” babbled Tourniequot. “I do not carry candles in my pocket.”

“There is a bit on the mantel-piece,” replied the man angrily ; “I saw it when I came in. Go and feel for it—hunt about! Do not keep me lying here in the dark—the least you can do is to make me as comfortable as vou can!”

Tourniequot, not a little perturbed by the threat of assault, groped obediently; but the room appeared to be of the dimensions of a park, and he arrived at the candle stump only after a prolonged excursion. The flame revealed to him a man of about his own age, who loaned against the wall regarding lum with indignant eyes. Revealed also was the coil of rope that the comedian had brought for his own use; and the man pointed to it. “What is that? .It was not hero just now.”

“It belongs to me.” admitted To.irnic quot, nervously.

“I see that it belongs to you. Why.

do you visit an empty house with a coil of rope, hein? I should like to understand that! . . . Upon my life, you were here on the same business as myself! Now, if this does not pass all forbearance! You caine to commit suicide, and yet you have the effrontery to put a stop to mine!” “Well,” exclaimed Tourniequot, “I obeyed an impulse of pity! It is true that I came to destroy myself, for I am the most miserable of men! but 1 was so much affected by the sight of your sufferings that temporarily I forgot my own.”

"That is a lie, for I was not suffering —I was not conscious when you came in. However, you have some pretty moments in front of you, so we will say no more! When you feel yourself drop, it will be diabolical, I promise you; the hair stands erect on the head, and each spot of blood in the veins congeals to a separate icicle! It is true that the drop itself is swift, but the clutch of the rope, as you kick in the air, is hardily Jess atrocious. Do not be encouraged by the delusion that the matter is instantaneous. Time mocks itself of you, and a second holds the sensations of aquarter of an hour. What has forced you to it? We need not stand on ceremony with each other, hein?” “I have resolved to die because life is torture,” said Touricquot, on whom these details had made an unfavourable impression. “The same with me! A woman, of course ?” “Yes,’’sighed Tournioqupt, “a woman!” “Is there no other remedy? Can you not desert her?” “Desert her? I pine for her embrace!” “Hein?” “She will not have anything to do with me.” “Comment? It is love, then, with you ?” “What else? A passion enternal!” “O, mon dieu, I took it for granted that you were married! But this is droll. You would die because you cannot get hold of a woman, and I because I cannot get rid of one. We should talk, we two. Can you give me a cigarette?” “With pleasure, monsieur,” responded Tourniequot, producing a packet. “I, also, will take one—my last!” “If I expressed myself hastily just now,” said his companion, refastening his collar, “I shall apologise—no doubt your interference was well meant, though I do not pretend to approve it. Let us dismiss the incident; you have behaved tactlessly, and I, on my side, have perhaps resented your error with too much warmth. Well, it is finished! While the candle burns let us exchange more amicable views. Is my cravat straight? It astonishes me to hear that love can drive a man to such despair. I, too, have loved, but never to the length of the rope. There are plenty of women in Varis —if one has no heart, there is always another. 1 am far from proposing to frustrate your project, holding as I do that a man’s suicide is an intimate matter in which ‘rescue’ is a name given by busybodies to a gross impertinence; but as you have not begun the job, I will confess that I think you are being rash.” “I have considered,” replied Tourniequot, “I have considered attentively. There is no alternative, I assure you.” “I would make another attenq>t to persuade the lady—l swear I would make another attempt! You are not a bad looking fellow. What is l|er objection to you?” : “It is not that she objects to me—on the cont rary. But she is a,woman of high principle, and she has a husband who is devoted to her—she will not break his heart. It is like that.” ",Young?” ; ' | “No more than 30.” “And beautiful?*’

“With a beauty like an angel! She has a dimple in her right cheek when he smiles that drives one to distraction.”

“ Myself, I have no weakness for dimples; but every man has his taste—there is no arguing about these things. What a combination —young, lovely, vir-

tuous! And I make you a bet the oaf of a husband does not appreciate her! Is it not always so? Now I—but of course 1 married foolishly. I chose an artiste. If 1 had my time again I would choose in preference any seamstress. The artistes are for applause, for bouquets, for little dinners, but not for marriage.” "I cannot agree with you." said Tournicquot. with some hauteur. "Your experience may have been unfortunate, but the theatre contains women quite as noble as any other sphere. In proof of it, the lady 1 adore is an artiste herself!” “Really—is it so? Would it be indiscreet to ask her name?” “There are things that one does not tell.” "Perfectly! But as a matter of interest? There is nothing derogatory to her in what you say —quite the reverse.” "It is a fact. Nevertheless ” ‘"Also I shall be dead by to-morrow.” “True. I was overlooking that. Well, the reason for reticence is removed! She is known as ‘lai Belle Luerece.' ” "Hein?” ejaculated the other, jumping. “What ails you?” “She is my wife!” “Your wife? Impossible!” “I tell you I am married to her she is ‘Mme. Beguinet.’” “Mon dieu! ’ faltered Tourniequot, aghast; "what have I done?” “So? . . . You are her lover?” “Never has she encouraged me—recall what I have sajd!There are no grounds for jealousy—an; I not about to die because she spurns me? I swear to you "lou mistake my emotion —why should I be jealous? Not at all I am only amazed. She thinks I am devoted to her? Ho, ho! Not at all! You see my ‘devotion’ by the fact that I am about to hang myself rather than live with her. And you, you cannot bear to live because you adore her! Actually, you ‘adore’ her! It is not inexplicable! O, there is certainly the finger of Providence in this meeting! . . . Wait, we must discuss—we should come to each other's aid! . Give me anothetcigarette.” Some seconds passed while they smoked in silent meditation. resumed M. Beguinet. "in order to clear up this complication, we must first arrive at a thorough understanding: a perfect candour is required on both sides. Alors, as to your views, is it that you aspire to marry madame? I do not wish to appear exigent, but in the position I occupy you will realise that, it is my duty to make the most favourable arrangements for her that I can. Now open your heart to me; speak frankly.” “It is difficult for me to express myself without restraint to vou, monsieur.” said Tourniequot, “because circumstances which we both regret naturally cause me to regard your existence in the light of a misfortune. To answer you with all the delicacy possible, t will say that if you had been cut down five minutes later, life would be a fairer thing to me.” “Good,” said M. Beguinet, “we make progress! Yqur income? Does it sullies to support het' in the style to which she is accustomed? What may your occupation be?” “I am in madame's own profession— I, too, am an artiste.” “So.much the more congenial! I for see a joyous union. Come, we go famously! Your line of business- snakes, songs, performing rabbits, what is it?” “My name is ‘Tourniequot.'” respond, cd the comedian .with dignity. "All rs said!” “A-ah! Is it so? Now I understand! why your voice has been puzzling me! Monsieur Tourniequot, I am enchanted! to make your acquaintance. I declare the matter arranoes itself! I shall tell! y‘ou w’bat wd trill del. Hitherto 1 hava had no choice between residing with niadatue and committing suicide, because my affairs; have not prospered, and - though my pride has revolted- her sal ary has been essential for my mainten mice. Now the happy medium jumps t< the errs; for you. for me, for her. th! blight sunshine streams! I shall effae. invself: 1 shall go to n distant land—-

•ay Brussels—and you shall make me a snug allowance. Have no misgiving; down her with blossoms a lead her to the ahar, and rest tranquil—l shall never reappear. Do you not figure yonr-e*-'f that 1 shall enter like the villain ax the AmLigu and menace th» bone? Not at all! 1 myself may even remarry. Who knows? Indeed, should you offer me an allowance adequate for a family man. I will undertake to remarry—l have always inclined toward speculation. That will shut my mouth. ho»n' 1 cooH threaaten nothing even if J had a base nature; for I. also, shall have ommitted bigamy. Suicide, bigamy. I would commit anything rather than live with Lucre-.-e!” "I’m ma<lame*< consent mu-*, be gained, demurred Tounucqiiot: "you <.vcr» look the fa< ’ tha: madame must consent. It is a fact that 1 do not understand why -he should nave any consideration for you: but if she continues t harp upon her ‘duty.’ what then?” "Do you not tell me thaj her only c-Lj ■ tion to your suit has been her fear that she would break my heart? What an ba lluvi nation! I shall approach the subject—with tact, with the utmost deli a y! I shall intimate to her that to insure her happiness I am willing to sacrifice myself! assured that if she regards you with the favour that you believe, your troubles are at an end —the barrier removes itself, and vou join hands. ... The candle is going out. Shall we depart?’* "I perceive no reason why we should remain: in truth, we may have got out of it sooner.** "You are right; a cafe will be more ch»erful. Suppose we take a bottle of wine together; how does ix strike you? If you insist. I will be your guest; if not ** "Ah. monsieur, you will allow me the pleasure.*’ murmured Tonrniequot. "Well, well.” said NT. Beguinet. "you must have your way! . . . Your rope you have no u<e for. hein—we shall leave it?” "But certainly! Why should I burden myself?** "The ■■•••■ a-ion has passed, true. Good! Come, my comrade, let u- descend? 3 * Who shall read the future? Awhile ago they had been strangers, neither in Tending to quit the house alive: now the pair issued from it jauntily, arm in arm! Both were in high spirits, and by the time the lamps of a cafe gave them welcome. and the wine gurgled gai!v into the glasses, they pledged each " fraternal. "How I rejoice that I have me? you!” exclaimed Beguinet. "To your marriage. mon vieux: to your joy? Fill up. again a glass!—there are plenty of bottle* in the cellar. Mon dieu. you are my preserver—l must embrace you! Never till now have I felt for a man such affection! This evening all was black to me. 1 despaired, my heart was '• eavy as a cannon ball—an 1 suddenly the world is bright! Roses bloom before my feet, and the little larks are slnginir in the sky. I dance. I skip! How beautiful, how sublime is friendship!—lietter than riches, than youth, than the love of a woman: riches melt, youth i?ie-. woman snores. Bin friendship is . Again a glass! It goe« well, this wine. Let us have a lobster!

I swear I have an appetite; they make one peckish, these suicides, n’est-ce-pas? I shall not be formal—if you consider it your treat, you shall pay. A lobster and an<<'.er lottie, hein? At the expense of you or me?” •’Ah. the bill all in one!” declared Tournk-quot. "Well, well.’’ said Beguinet, “you must have your way. What a happy inan I am. Already I feel twenty years younger. Nou would not believe what I have suffered! Aly agonies would fill a book. Really! By nature I am doniestieated; but my home is impossible—l shudder when I enter it. It is only in a re-taurant that I *ee a clean tablecloth. Absolutely! 1 pig! All Lucrece thinks about is dress.” "No. no.’* demurred Toumieqaot; "to that I cannot agree.” “What do you know? You ‘cannot agree ! N ou have seen her when she is laced in her stage costume, when she minces and prattles, with the paint, and the powder, and the false hair on. It is I who am ‘behind the scenes.’ mon ami. not you! I see her dirty peignoir and her curl rags. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon! Every day! You ‘cannot agr-ee! * ’’ ‘furl rags?” faltered Tournicquot. "But certainly! I tell you I am of a gentle disposition: I am most tolerant of womens failings: it says much that I would have hanged myself rather than remain with a woman. Her untidiness is no: all: her toilet at home revolts my sensibilities, but—well, one cannot have everything, and her salary is substantial: I have <-iosc<l my eyes to the curl However, snakes are more serious. >nakes! ejaculated xoumicquot. Naturally! The beasts must live, do they not -upport us? Bur everything in its place is my own motto: the motto of my wife—‘all over the place?*’ Her serpents have shortened my life, word of honour! They wander where thev will. I never lay my head beside those cur! rags of hers without the terror of finding a cobra deca pel! o on the pillow. It is not everybody’s money! Lucrece has ii'• • '*:?••« io them: well, it is courageous— fortunate, since snakes are her yr 'j'e--3cn—but I—l was not brought up :r» snakes: I am not ar my ease in a z< »< »logical garden.” "It is natural.” "Is it not? I desire to explain myself to you. you understand: are we not as brothers? O. 1 realise well tiiat when one loves a woman one thinks always that the faulty are with the husband; believe me. I have much to justify my attitude. >nakes, . what a menage!” •‘Rags!*’ gasjed Toumicquot. "I arc an honest man.” affirmed Beguiiiet. drawing another bumper. "I shall not say to you 'I have no blemish. I am perfect.’ Not at all! NVithoutdoubT. I have occa-lonally expressed myself to Lncrece with more candour than courtesy. Hein? Such things happen. Bui be Tended his glass, and sighed pathetically. "but to every citizen, v. hatever his position—whether his affairs may have prospered or not — his wife owes respect. Hein? She should not throw the ragout at him. She should not uiena <*• him with snakes.” He wept. "Mr friend, vou

will admit that it is not gentle to coerce a husband with deadly reptiles’” Tourwaeqaot had turned pale. He signed to the waiter for the bill, and when it was discharged, sat regarding his companion with round eyes. At last clearing his throat, he said, nervously: “After all, do you know—now one tomes to think it over—l am not sure, upon my honour, that our arrangement is feasiblef” “What f’ exclaimed Beguinot, with a violent start. “Not feasible? How is that, pray? Because I have opened my heart to yon, do you back out? O, what treachery! Never will I believe that you could be capable of it!” “However, it is a fact. On consideration. I shall pot rob you of her.” “Base fellow! You take advantage of my confidence. A contract is a contract ?”

“Nu.” stammered Toumicquot. shall be a rtan live my love down. Monsieur. I have the honour to wish* yon ‘Good-night.* ” "Hi. stop!” cried Beguinet. infuriated. "T\hat then is to beeome of me? Insolent poltroon—you have even destroyed, my rope!’