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diff --git a/1357-0.txt b/1357-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b65b4b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1357-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,827 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1357 *** + +MADAME FIRMIANI + + +By Honore De Balzac + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To my dear Alexandre de Berny. + His old friend, + + De Balzac. + + + + + +MADAME FIRMIANI + + +Many tales, either rich in situations or made dramatic by some of the +innumerable tricks of chance, carry with them their own particular +setting, which can be rendered artistically or simply by those who +narrate them, without their subjects losing any, even the least of their +charms. But there are some incidents in human experience to which the +heart alone is able to give life; there are certain details--shall we +call them anatomical?--the delicate touches of which cannot be made to +reappear unless by an equally delicate rendering of thought; there are +portraits which require the infusion of a soul, and mean nothing +unless the subtlest expression of the speaking countenance is given; +furthermore, there are things which we know not how to say or do +without the aid of secret harmonies which a day, an hour, a fortunate +conjunction of celestial signs, or an inward moral tendency may produce. + +Such mysterious revelations are imperatively needed in order to tell +this simple history, in which we seek to interest those souls that +are naturally grave and reflective and find their sustenance in tender +emotions. If the writer, like the surgeon beside his dying friend, +is filled with a species of reverence for the subject he is handling, +should not the reader share in that inexplicable feeling? Is it so +difficult to put ourselves in unison with the vague and nervous +sadness which casts its gray tints all about us, and is, in fact, a +semi-illness, the gentle sufferings of which are often pleasing? If +the reader is of those who sometimes think upon the dear ones they have +lost, if he is alone, if the day is waning or the night has come, let +him read on; otherwise, he should lay aside this book at once. If he +has never buried a good old relative, infirm and poor, he will not +understand these pages, which to some will seem redolent of musk, to +others as colorless and virtuous as those of Florian. In short, the +reader must have known the luxury of tears, must have felt the +silent pangs of a passing memory, the vision of a dear yet far-off +Shade,--memories which bring regret for all that earth has swallowed up, +with smiles for vanished joys. + +And now, believe that the writer would not, for the wealth of England, +steal from poesy a single lie with which to embellish this narrative. +The following is a true history, on which you may safely spend the +treasures of your sensibility--if you have any. + +In these days the French language has as many idioms and represents as +many idiosyncracies as there are varieties of men in the great family of +France. It is extremely curious and amusing to listen to the different +interpretations or versions of the same thing or the same event by the +various species which compose the genus Parisian,--“Parisian” is here +used merely to generalize our remark. + +Therefore, if you should say to an individual of the species Practical, +“Do you know Madame Firmiani?” he would present that lady to your +mind by the following inventory: “Fine house in the rue du Bac, salons +handsomely furnished, good pictures, one hundred thousand francs a year, +husband formerly receiver-general of the department of Montenotte.” So +saying, the Practical man, rotund and fat and usually dressed in black, +will project his lower lip and wrap it over the upper, nodding his head +as if to add: “Solid people, those; nothing to be said against them.” + Ask no further; Practical men settle everybody’s status by figures, +incomes, or solid acres,--a phrase of their lexicon. + +Turn to the right, and put the same question to that other man, who +belongs to the species Lounger. “Madame Firmiani?” he says; “yes, yes, +I know her well; I go to her parties; receives Wednesdays; highly +creditable house.”--Madame Firmiani is metamorphosed into a house! but +the house is not a pile of stones architecturally superposed, of +course not, the word presents in Lounger’s language an indescribable +idiom.--Here the Lounger, a spare man with an agreeable smile, a sayer +of pretty nothings with more acquired cleverness than native wit, stoops +to your ear and adds, with a shrewd glance: “I have never seen Monsieur +Firmiani. His social position is that of looking after property in +Italy. Madame Firmiani is a Frenchwoman, and spends her money like a +Parisian. She has excellent tea. It is one of the few houses where you +can amuse yourself; the refreshments are exquisite. It is very difficult +to get admitted; therefore, of course, one meets only the best society +in her salons.” Here the Lounger takes a pinch of snuff; he inhales it +slowly and seems to say: “I go there, but don’t expect me to present +_you_.” + +Evidently the Lounger considers that Madame Firmiani keeps a sort of +inn, without a sign. + +“Why do you want to know Madame Firmiani? Her parties are as dull as the +Court itself. What is the good of possessing a mind unless to avoid such +salons, where stupid talk and foolish little ballads are the order of +the day.” You have questioned a being classed Egotist, a species who +would like to keep the universe under lock and key, and let nothing be +done without their permission. They are unhappy if others are happy; +they forgive nothing but vices, downfalls, frailties, and like none but +proteges. Aristocrats by inclination, they make themselves democrats out +of spite, preferring to consort with inferiors as equals. + +“Oh, Madame Firmiani, my dear fellow! she is one of those adorable women +who serve as Nature’s excuse for all the ugly ones she creates. +Madame Firmiani is enchanting, and so kind! I wish I were in power and +possessed millions that I might--” (here a whisper). “Shall I present +you?” The speaker is a youth of the Student species, known for his +boldness among men and his timidity in a boudoir. + +“Madame Firmiani?” cries another, twirling his cane. “I’ll tell you what +I think of her; she is a woman between thirty and thirty-five; faded +complexion, handsome eyes, flat figure, contralto voice worn out, much +dressed, rather rouged, charming manners; in short, my dear fellow, the +remains of a pretty woman who is still worth the trouble of a passion.” + This remark is from the species Fop, who has just breakfasted, doesn’t +weigh his words, and is about to mount his horse. At that particular +moment Fops are pitiless. + +“Magnificent collection of pictures in her house; go and see them by all +means,” answers another. “Nothing finer.” You have questioned one of the +species Connoisseur. He leaves you to go to Perignon’s or Tripet’s. To +him, Madame Firmiani is a collection of painted canvases. + +A Woman: “Madame Firmiani? I don’t wish you to visit her.” This remark +is rich in meanings. Madame Firmiani! dangerous woman! a siren! dresses +well, has taste; gives other women sleepless nights. Your informant +belongs to the genus Spiteful. + +An Attache to an embassy: “Madame Firmiani? Isn’t she from Antwerp? I +saw her ten years ago in Rome; she was very handsome then.” Individuals +of the species Attache have a mania for talking in the style +of Talleyrand. Their wit is often so refined that the point is +imperceptible; they are like billiard-players who avoid hitting the ball +with consummate dexterity. These individuals are usually taciturn, and +when they talk it is only about Spain, Vienna, Italy, or Petersburg. +Names of countries act like springs in their mind; press them, and the +ringing of their changes begins. + +“That Madame Firmiani sees a great deal of the faubourg Saint-Germain, +doesn’t she?” This from a person who desires to belong to the class +Distinguished. She gives the “de” to everybody,--to Monsieur Dupin +senior, to Monsieur Lafayette; she flings it right and left and +humiliates many. This woman spends her life in striving to know and do +“the right thing”; but, for her sins, she lives in the Marais, and her +husband is a lawyer,--a lawyer before the Royal courts, however. + +“Madame Firmiani, monsieur? I do not know her.” This man belongs to the +species Duke. He recognizes none but the women who have been presented +at court. Pray excuse him, he was one of Napoleon’s creations. + +“Madame Firmiani? surely she used to sing at the Opera-house.” Species +Ninny. The individuals of this species have an answer for everything. +They will tell lies sooner than say nothing. + +Two old ladies, wives of former magistrates: The First (wears a cap +with bows, her face is wrinkled, her nose sharp, voice hard, carries +a prayer-book in her hand): “What was that Madame Firmiani’s maiden +name?”--The Second (small face red as a crab-apple, gentle voice): +“She was a Cadignan, my dear, niece of the old Prince de Cadignan, +consequently cousin to the present Duc de Maufrigneuse.” + +Madame Firmiani is a Cadignan. She might have neither virtue, nor +wealth, nor youth, but she would still be a Cadignan; it is like a +prejudice, always alive and working. + +An Original: “My dear fellow, I’ve seen no galoshes in her antechamber; +consequently you can visit her without compromising yourself, and play +cards there without fear; if there _are_ any scoundrels in her salons, +they are people of quality and come in their carriages; such persons +never quarrel.” + +Old man belonging to the genus Observer: “If you call on Madame +Firmiani, my good friend, you will find a beautiful woman sitting at her +ease by the corner of her fireplace. She will scarcely rise to receive +you,--she only does that for women, ambassadors, dukes, and persons +of great distinction. She is very gracious, she possesses charm; +she converses well, and likes to talk on many topics. There are many +indications of a passionate nature about her; but she has, evidently, so +many adorers that she cannot have a favorite. If suspicion rested on two +or three of her intimates, we might say that one or other of them was +the “cavaliere servente”; but it does not. The lady is a mystery. She is +married, though none of us have seen her husband. Monsieur Firmiani is +altogether mythical; he is like that third post-horse for which we pay +though we never behold it. Madame has the finest contralto voice in +Europe, so say judges; but she has never been heard to sing more than +two or three times since she came to Paris. She receives much company, +but goes nowhere.” + +The Observer speaks, you will notice, as an Oracle. His words, +anecdotes, and quotations must be accepted as truths, under pain of +being thought without social education or intelligence, and of +causing him to slander you with much zest in twenty salons where he +is considered indispensable. The Observer is forty years of age, never +dines at home, declares himself no longer dangerous to women, wears a +maroon coat, and has a place reserved for him in several boxes at the +“Bouffons.” He is sometimes confounded with the Parasite; but he has +filled too many real functions to be thought a sponger; moreover he +possesses a small estate in a certain department, the name of which he +has never been known to utter. + +“Madame Firmiani? why, my dear fellow, she was Murat’s former mistress.” + This man belongs to the Contradictors,--persons who note errata in +memoirs, rectify dates, correct facts, bet a hundred to one, and are +certain about everything. You can easily detect them in some gross +blunder in the course of a single evening. They will tell you they were +in Paris at the time of Mallet’s conspiracy, forgetting that half an +hour earlier they had described how they had crossed the Beresina. +Nearly all Contradictors are “chevaliers” of the Legion of honor; they +talk loudly, have retreating foreheads, and play high. + +“Madame Firmiani a hundred thousand francs a year? nonsense, you are +crazy! Some people will persist in giving millions with the liberality +of authors, to whom it doesn’t cost a penny to dower their heroines. +Madame Firmiani is simply a coquette, who has lately ruined a young man, +and now prevents him from making a fine marriage. If she were not so +handsome she wouldn’t have a penny.” + +Ah, _that one_--of course you recognize him--belongs to the species +Envious. There is no need to sketch him; the species is as well known +as that of the felis domestica. But how explain the perennial vigor of +envy?--a vice that brings nothing in! + +Persons in society, literary men, honest folk,--in short, individuals of +all species,--were promulgating in the month of January, 1824, so many +different opinions about Madame Firmiani that it would be tedious to +write them down. We have merely sought to show that a man seeking to +understand her, yet unwilling or unable to go to her house, would (from +the answers to his inquiries) have had equal reason to suppose her a +widow or wife, silly or wise, virtuous or the reverse, rich or poor, +soulless or full of feeling, handsome or plain,--in short, there were +as many Madame Firmianis as there are species in society, or sects in +Catholicism. Frightful reflection! we are all like lithographic +blocks, from which an indefinite number of copies can be drawn by +criticism,--the proofs being more or less like us according to a +distribution of shading which is so nearly imperceptible that our +reputation depends (barring the calumnies of friends and the witticisms +of newspapers) on the balance struck by our criticisers between Truth +that limps and Falsehood to which Parisian wit gives wings. + +Madame Firmiani, like other noble and dignified women who make their +hearts a sanctuary and disdain the world, was liable, therefore, to be +totally misjudged by Monsieur de Bourbonne, an old country magnate, who +had reason to think a great deal about her during the winter of this +year. He belonged to the class of provincial Planters, men living on +their estates, accustomed to keep close accounts of everything and to +bargain with the peasantry. Thus employed, a man becomes sagacious in +spite of himself, just as soldiers in the long run acquire courage +from routine. The old gentleman, who had come to Paris from Touraine +to satisfy his curiosity about Madame Firmiani, and found it not at all +assuaged by the Parisian gossip which he heard, was a man of honor and +breeding. His sole heir was a nephew, whom he greatly loved, in whose +interests he planted his poplars. When a man thinks without annoyance +about his heir, and watches the trees grow daily finer for his future +benefit, affection grows too with every blow of the spade around her +roots. Though this phenomenal feeling is not common, it is still to be +met with in Touraine. + +This cherished nephew, named Octave de Camps, was a descendant of +the famous Abbe de Camps, so well known to bibliophiles and learned +men,--who, by the bye, are not at all the same thing. People in +the provinces have the bad habit of branding with a sort of decent +reprobation any young man who sells his inherited estates. This +antiquated prejudice has interfered very much with the stock-jobbing +which the present government encourages for its own interests. Without +consulting his uncle, Octave had lately sold an estate belonging to him +to the Black Band.[*] The chateau de Villaines would have been pulled +down were it not for the remonstrances which the old uncle made to the +representatives of the “Pickaxe company.” To increase the old man’s +wrath, a distant relative (one of those cousins of small means and +much astuteness about whom shrewd provincials are wont to remark, “No +lawsuits for me with him!”) had, as it were by accident, come to visit +Monsieur de Bourbonne, and _incidentally_ informed him of his nephew’s +ruin. Monsieur Octave de Camps, he said, having wasted his means on a +certain Madame Firmiani, was now reduced to teaching mathematics for a +living, while awaiting his uncle’s death, not daring to let him know of +his dissipations. This distant cousin, a sort of Charles Moor, was not +ashamed to give this fatal news to the old gentleman as he sat by his +fire, digesting a profuse provincial dinner. + + [*] The “Bande Noire” was a mysterious association of + speculators, whose object was to buy in landed estates, cut + them up, and sell them off in small parcels to the + peasantry, or others. + +But heirs cannot always rid themselves of uncles as easily as they +would like to. Thanks to his obstinacy, this particular uncle refused +to believe the story, and came out victorious from the attack of +indigestion produced by his nephew’s biography. Some shocks affect the +heart, others the head; but in this case the cousin’s blow fell on the +digestive organs and did little harm, for the old man’s stomach was +sound. Like a true disciple of Saint Thomas, Monsieur de Bourbonne came +to Paris, unknown to Octave, resolved to make full inquiries as to +his nephew’s insolvency. Having many acquaintances in the faubourg +Saint-Germain, among the Listomeres, the Lenoncourts, and the +Vandenesses, he heard so much gossip, so many facts and falsities, about +Madame Firmiani that he resolved to be presented to her under the +name of de Rouxellay, that of his estate in Touraine. The astute old +gentleman was careful to choose an evening when he knew that Octave +would be engaged in finishing a piece of work which was to pay him +well,--for this so-called lover of Madame Firmiani still went to her +house; a circumstance that seemed difficult to explain. As to Octave’s +ruin, that, unfortunately, was no fable, as Monsieur de Bourbonne had at +once discovered. + +Monsieur de Rouxellay was not at all like the provincial uncle at the +Gymnase. Formerly in the King’s guard, a man of the world and a +favorite among women, he knew how to present himself in society with the +courteous manners of the olden time; he could make graceful speeches +and understand the whole Charter, or most of it. Though he loved the +Bourbons with noble frankness, believed in God as a gentleman should, +and read nothing but the “Quotidienne,” he was not as ridiculous as the +liberals of his department would fain have had him. He could hold his +own in the court circle, provided no one talked to him of “Moses +in Egypt,” nor of the drama, or romanticism, or local color, nor of +railways. He himself had never got beyond Monsieur de Voltaire, Monsieur +le Comte de Buffon, Payronnet, and the Chevalier Gluck, the Queen’s +favorite musician. + +“Madame,” he said to the Marquise de Listomere, who was on his arm as +they entered Madame Firmiani’s salons, “if this woman is my nephew’s +mistress, I pity him. How can she live in the midst of this luxury, and +know that he is in a garret? Hasn’t she any soul? Octave is a fool to +have given up such an estate as Villaines for a--” + +Monsieur de Bourbonne belonged to the species Fossil, and used the +language of the days of yore. + +“But suppose he had lost it at play?” + +“Then, madame, he would at least have had the pleasure of gambling.” + +“And do you think he has had no pleasure here? See! look at Madame +Firmiani.” + +The brightest memories of the old man faded at the sight of his nephew’s +so-called mistress. His anger died away at the gracious exclamation +which came from his lips as he looked at her. By one of those fortunate +accidents which happen only to pretty women, it was a moment when all +her beauties shone with peculiar lustre, due perhaps to the wax-lights, +to the charming simplicity of her dress, to the ineffable atmosphere +of elegance that surrounded her. One must needs have studied the +transitions of an evening in a Parisian salon to appreciate the +imperceptible lights and shades which color a woman’s face and vary it. +There comes a moment when, content with her toilet, pleased with her own +wit, delighted to be admired, and feeling herself the queen of a salon +full of remarkable men who smile to her, the Parisian woman reaches a +full consciousness of her grace and charm; her beauty is enhanced by +the looks she gathers in,--a mute homage which she transfers with subtle +glances to the man she loves. At moments like these a woman is invested +with supernatural power and becomes a magician, a charmer, without +herself knowing that she is one; involuntarily she inspires the love +that fills her own bosom; her smiles and glances fascinate. If this +condition, which comes from the soul, can give attraction even to a +plain woman, with what radiance does it not invest a woman of natural +elegance, distinguished bearing, fair, fresh, with sparkling eyes, and +dressed in a taste that wrings approval from artists and her bitterest +rivals. + +Have you ever, for your happiness, met a woman whose harmonious voice +gives to her speech the same charm that emanates from her manners? a +woman who knows how to speak and to be silent, whose words are happily +chosen, whose language is pure, and who concerns herself in your +interests with delicacy? Her raillery is caressing, her criticism never +wounds; she neither discourses nor argues, but she likes to lead a +discussion and stop it at the right moment. Her manner is affable and +smiling, her politeness never forced, her readiness to serve others +never servile; she reduces the respect she claims to a soft shadow; +she never wearies you, and you leave her satisfied with her and with +yourself. Her charming grace is conveyed to all the things with which +she surrounds herself. Everything about her pleases the eye; in her +presence you breathe, as it were, your native air. This woman is +natural. There is no effort about her; she is aiming at no effect; her +feelings are shown simply, because they are true. Frank herself, she +does not wound the vanity of others; she accepts men as God made them; +pitying the vicious, forgiving defects and absurdities, comprehending +all ages, and vexed by nothing, because she has had the sense and tact +to foresee all. Tender and gay, she gratifies before she consoles. You +love her so well that if this angel did wrong you would be ready to +excuse her. If, for your happiness, you have met with such a woman, you +know Madame Firmiani. + +After Monsieur de Bourbonne had talked with her for ten minutes, sitting +beside her, his nephew was forgiven. He perceived that whatever the +actual truth might be, the relation between Madame Firmiani and Octave +covered some mystery. Returning to the illusions that gild the days +of youth, and judging Madame Firmiani by her beauty, the old gentleman +became convinced that a woman so innately conscious of her dignity as +she appeared to be was incapable of a bad action. Her dark eyes told of +inward peace; the lines of her face were so noble, the profile so pure, +and the passion he had come to investigate seemed so little to oppress +her heart, that the old man said to himself, while noting all the +promises of love and virtue given by that adorable countenance, “My +nephew is committing some folly.” + +Madame Firmiani acknowledged to twenty-five. But the Practicals proved +that having married the invisible Firmiani (then a highly respectable +individual in the forties) in 1813, at the age of sixteen, she must be +at least twenty-eight in 1825. However the same persons also asserted +that at no period of her life had she ever been so desirable or so +completely a woman. She was now at an age when women are most prone to +conceive a passion, and to desire it, perhaps, in their pensive hours. +She possessed all that earth sells, all that it lends, all that +it gives. The Attaches declared there was nothing of which she was +ignorant; the Contradictors asserted that there was much she ought to +learn; the Observers remarked that her hands were white, her feet small, +her movements a trifle too undulating. But, nevertheless, individuals of +all species envied or disputed Octave’s happiness, agreeing, for once +in a way, that Madame Firmiani was the most aristocratically beautiful +woman in Paris. + +Still young, rich, a perfect musician, intelligent, witty, refined, +and received (as a Cadignan) by the Princesse de Blamont-Chauvry, +that oracle of the noble faubourg, loved by her rivals the Duchesse +de Maufrigneuse her cousin, the Marquise d’Espard, and Madame de +Macumer,--Madame Firmiani gratified all the vanities which feed or +excite love. She was therefore sought by too many men not to fall a +victim to Parisian malice and its charming calumnies, whispered behind +a fan or in a safe aside. It was necessary to quote the remarks given +at the beginning of this history to bring out the true Firmiani in +contradistinction to the Firmiani of society. If some women forgave +her happiness, others did not forgive her propriety. Now nothing is so +dangerous in Paris as unfounded suspicions,--for the reason that it is +impossible to destroy them. + +This sketch of a woman who was admirably natural gives only a faint idea +of her. It would need the pencil of an Ingres to render the pride of +that brow, with its wealth of hair, the dignity of that glance, and the +thoughts betrayed by the changing colors of her cheeks. In her were all +things; poets could have found an Agnes Sorel and a Joan of Arc, also +the woman unknown, the Soul within that form, the soul of Eve, the +knowledge of the treasures of good and the riches of evil, error and +resignation, crime and devotion, the Donna Julia and the Haidee of Lord +Byron. + +The former guardsman stayed, with apparent impertinence, after the +other guests had left the salons; and Madame Firmiani found him sitting +quietly before her in an armchair, evidently determined to remain, with +the pertinacity of a fly which we are forced to kill to get rid of it. +The hands of the clock marked two in the morning. + +“Madame,” said the old gentlemen, as Madame Firmiani rose, hoping to +make him understand that it was her good pleasure he should go, “Madame, +I am the uncle of Monsieur Octave de Camps.” + +Madame Firmiani immediately sat down again, and showed her emotion. In +spite of his sagacity the old Planter was unable to decide whether +she turned pale from shame or pleasure. There are pleasures, delicious +emotions the chaste heart seeks to veil, which cannot escape the shock +of startled modesty. The more delicacy a woman has, the more she seeks +to hide the joys that are in her soul. Many women, incomprehensible in +their tender caprices, long to hear a name pronounced which at other +times they desire to bury in their hearts. Monsieur de Bourbonne did not +interpret Madame Firmiani’s agitation exactly in this way: pray forgive +him, all provincials are distrustful. + +“Well, monsieur?” said Madame Firmiani, giving him one of those clear, +lucid glances in which we men can never see anything because they +question us too much. + +“Well, madame,” returned the old man, “do you know what some one came to +tell me in the depths of my province? That my nephew had ruined himself +for you, and that the poor fellow was living in a garret while you were +in silk and gold. Forgive my rustic sincerity; it may be useful for you +to know of these calumnies.” + +“Stop, monsieur,” said Madame Firmiani, with an imperative gesture; “I +know all that. You are too polite to continue this subject if I request +you to leave it, and too gallant--in the old-fashioned sense of the +word,” she added with a slight tone of irony--“not to agree that you +have no right to question me. It would be ridiculous in me to defend +myself. I trust that you will have a sufficiently good opinion of my +character to believe in the profound contempt which, I assure you, I +feel for money,--although I was married, without any fortune, to a man +of immense wealth. It is nothing to me whether your nephew is rich or +poor; if I have received him in my house, and do now receive him, it +is because I consider him worthy to be counted among my friends. All +my friends, monsieur, respect each other; they know that I have not +philosophy enough to admit into my house those I do not esteem; this may +argue a want of charity; but my guardian-angel has maintained in me to +this day a profound aversion for tattle, and also for dishonesty.” + +Through the ring of her voice was slightly raised during the first +part of this answer, the last words were said with the ease and +self-possession of Celimene bantering the Misanthrope. + +“Madame,” said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in a voice of some emotion, “I +am an old man; I am almost Octave’s father, and I ask your pardon most +humbly for the question that I shall now venture to put to you, giving +you my word of honor as a loyal gentleman that your answer shall die +here,”--laying his hand upon his heart, with an old-fashioned gesture +that was truly religious. “Are these rumors true; do you love Octave?” + +“Monsieur,” she replied, “to any other man I should answer that question +only by a look; but to you, and because you are indeed almost the father +of Monsieur de Camps, I reply by asking what you would think of a woman +if to such a question she answered _you_? To avow our love for him we +love, when he loves us--ah! that may be; but even when we are certain of +being loved forever, believe me, monsieur, it is an effort for us, and a +reward to him. To say to another!--” + +She did not end her sentence, but rose, bowed to the old man, and +withdrew into her private apartments, the doors of which, opening and +closing behind her, had a language of their own to his sagacious ears. + +“Ah! the mischief!” thought he; “what a woman! she is either a sly one +or an angel”; and he got into his hired coach, the horses of which were +stamping on the pavement of the silent courtyard, while the coachman +was asleep on his box after cursing for the hundredth time his tardy +customer. + +The next morning about eight o’clock the old gentleman mounted the +stairs of a house in the rue de l’Observance where Octave de Camps was +living. If there was ever an astonished man it was the young professor +when he beheld his uncle. The door was unlocked, his lamp still burning; +he had been sitting up all night. + +“You rascal!” said Monsieur de Bourbonne, sitting down in the nearest +chair; “since when is it the fashion to laugh at uncles who have +twenty-six thousand francs a year from solid acres to which we are the +sole heir? Let me tell you that in the olden time we stood in awe of +such uncles as that. Come, speak up, what fault have you to find with +me? Haven’t I played my part as uncle properly? Did I ever require you +to respect me? Have I ever refused you money? When did I shut the door +in your face on pretence that you had come to look after my health? +Haven’t you had the most accommodating and the least domineering uncle +that there is in France,--I won’t say Europe, because that might be too +presumptuous. You write to me, or you don’t write,--no matter, I live +on pledged affection, and I am making you the prettiest estate in all +Touraine, the envy of the department. To be sure, I don’t intend to +let you have it till the last possible moment, but that’s an excusable +little fancy, isn’t it? And what does monsieur himself do?--sells his +own property and lives like a lackey!--” + +“Uncle--” + +“I’m not talking about uncles, I’m talking nephew. I have a right to +your confidence. Come, confess at once; it is much the easiest way; I +know that by experience. Have you been gambling? have you lost money +at the Bourse? Say, ‘Uncle, I’m a wretch,’ and I’ll hug you. But if you +tell me any lies greater than those I used to tell at your age I’ll +sell my property, buy an annuity, and go back to the evil ways of my +youth--if I can.” + +“Uncle--” + +“I saw your Madame Firmiani yesterday,” went on the old fellow, kissing +the tips of his fingers, which he gathered into a bunch. “She is +charming. You have the consent and approbation of your uncle, if that +will do you any good. As to the sanction of the Church I suppose that’s +useless, and the sacraments cost so much in these days. Come, speak out, +have you ruined yourself for her?” + +“Yes, uncle.” + +“Ha! the jade! I’d have wagered it. In my time the women of the court +were cleverer at ruining a man than the courtesans of to-day; but this +one--I recognized her!--it is a bit of the last century.” + +“Uncle,” said Octave, with a manner that was tender and grave, “you +are totally mistaken. Madame Firmiani deserves your esteem, and all the +adoration the world gives her.” + +“Youth, youth! always the same!” cried Monsieur de Bourbonne. “Well, go +on; tell me the same old story. But please remember that my experience +in gallantry is not of yesterday.” + +“My dear, kind uncle, here is a letter which will tell you nearly all,” + said Octave, taking it from an elegant portfolio, _her_ gift, no doubt. +“When you have read it I will tell you the rest, and you will then know +a Madame Firmiani who is unknown to the world.” + +“I haven’t my spectacles; read it aloud.” + +Octave began:-- + + “‘My beloved--’” + +“Hey, then you are still intimate with her?” interrupted his uncle. + +“Why yes, of course.” + +“You haven’t parted from her?” + +“Parted!” repeated Octave, “we are married.” + +“Heavens!” cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, “then why do you live in a +garret?” + +“Let me go on.” + +“True--I’m listening.” + +Octave resumed the letter, but there were passages which he could not +read without deep emotion. + + “‘My beloved Husband,--You ask me the reason of my sadness. Has + it, then, passed from my soul to my face; or have you only guessed + it?--but how could you fail to do so, one in heart as we are? I + cannot deceive you; this may be a misfortune, for it is one of the + conditions of happy love that a wife shall be gay and caressing. + Perhaps I ought to deceive you, but I would not do it even if the + happiness with which you have blessed and overpowered me depended + on it. + + “‘Ah! dearest, how much gratitude there is in my love. I long to + love you forever, without limit; yes, I desire to be forever proud + of you. A woman’s glory is in the man she loves. Esteem, + consideration, honor, must they not be his who receives our all? + Well, my angel has fallen. Yes, dear, the tale you told me has + tarnished my past joys. Since then I have felt myself humiliated + in you,--you whom I thought the most honorable of men, as you are + the most loving, the most tender. I must indeed have deep + confidence in your heart, so young and pure, to make you this + avowal which costs me much. Ah! my dear love, how is it that you, + knowing your father had unjustly deprived others of their + property, that YOU can keep it? + + “‘And you told me of this criminal act in a room filled with the + mute witnesses of our love; and you are a gentleman, and you think + yourself noble, and I am yours! I try to find excuses for you; I + do find them in your youth and thoughtlessness. I know there is + still something of the child about you. Perhaps you have never + thought seriously of what fortune and integrity are. Oh! how your + laugh wounded me. Reflect on that ruined family, always in + distress; poor young girls who have reason to curse you daily; an + old father saying to himself each night: “We might not now be + starving if that man’s father had been an honest man--“’” + +“Good heavens!” cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting his nephew, +“surely you have not been such a fool as to tell that woman about your +father’s affair with the Bourgneufs? Women know more about wasting a +fortune than making one.” + +“They know about integrity. But let me read on, uncle.” + + “‘Octave, no power on earth has authority to change the principles + of honor. Look into your conscience and ask it by what name you + are to call the action by which you hold your property.’” + +The nephew looked at the uncle, who lowered his head. + + “‘I will not tell you all the thoughts that assail me; they can be + reduced to one,--this is it: I cannot respect the man who, + knowingly, is smirched for a sum of money, whatever the amount may + be; five francs stolen at play or five times a hundred thousand + gained by a legal trick are equally dishonoring. I will tell you + all. I feel myself degraded by the very love which has hitherto + been all my joy. There rises in my soul a voice which my + tenderness cannot stifle. Ah! I have wept to feel that I have more + conscience than love. Were you to commit a crime I would hide you + in my bosom from human justice, but my devotion could go no + farther. Love, to a woman, means boundless confidence, united to a + need of reverencing, of esteeming, the being to whom she belongs. + I have never conceived of love otherwise than as a fire in which + all noble feelings are purified still more,--a fire which develops + them. + + “‘I have but one thing else to say: come to me poor, and my love + shall be redoubled. If not, renounce it. Should I see you no more, + I shall know what it means. + + “‘But I do not wish, understand me, that you should make + restitution because I urge it. Consult your own conscience. An act + of justice such as that ought not to be a sacrifice made to love. + I am your wife and not your mistress, and it is less a question of + pleasing me than of inspiring in my soul a true respect. + + “‘If I am mistaken, if you have ill-explained your father’s + action, if, in short, you still think your right to the property + equitable (oh! how I long to persuade myself that you are + blameless), consider and decide by listening to the voice of your + conscience; act wholly and solely from yourself. A man who loves a + woman sincerely, as you love me, respects the sanctity of her + trust in him too deeply to dishonor himself. + + “‘I blame myself now for what I have written; a word might have + sufficed, and I have preached to you! Scold me; I wish to be + scolded,--but not much, only a little. Dear, between us two the + power is yours--you alone should perceive your own faults.’” + +“Well, uncle?” said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears. + +“There’s more in the letter; finish it.” + +“Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover,” answered Octave, smiling. + +“Yes, right, my boy,” said the old man, gently. “I have had many affairs +in my day, but I beg you to believe that I too have loved, ‘et ego +in Arcardia.’ But I don’t understand yet why you give lessons in +mathematics.” + +“My dear uncle, I am your nephew; isn’t that as good as saying that I +had dipped into the capital left me by my father? After I had read +this letter a sort of revolution took place within me. I paid my whole +arrearage of remorse in one day. I cannot describe to you the state I +was in. As I drove in the Bois a voice called to me, ‘That horse is not +yours’; when I ate my dinner it was saying, ‘You have stolen this food.’ +I was ashamed. The fresher my honesty, the more intense it was. I +rushed to Madame Firmiani. Uncle! that day I had pleasures of the heart, +enjoyments of the soul, that were far beyond millions. Together we +made out the account of what was due to the Bourgneufs, and I condemned +myself, against Madame Firmiani’s advice, to pay three per cent +interest. But all I had did not suffice to cover the full amount. We +were lovers enough for her to offer, and me to accept, her savings--” + +“What! besides her other virtues does that adorable woman lay by money?” + cried his uncle. + +“Don’t laugh at her, uncle; her position has obliged her to be very +careful. Her husband went to Greece in 1820 and died there three years +later. It has been impossible, up to the present time, to get legal +proofs of his death, or obtain the will which he made leaving his whole +property to his wife. These papers were either lost or stolen, or have +gone astray during the troubles in Greece,--a country where registers +are not kept as they are in France, and where we have no consul. +Uncertain whether she might not be forced to give up her fortune, +she has lived with the utmost prudence. As for me, I wish to acquire +property which shall be _mine_, so as to provide for my wife in case she +is forced to lose hers.” + +“But why didn’t you tell me all this? My dear nephew, you might have +known that I love you enough to pay all your good debts, the debts of a +gentleman. I’ll play the traditional uncle now, and revenge myself!” + +“Ah! uncle, I know your vengeance! but let me get rich by my own +industry. If you want to do me a real service, make me an allowance of +two or three thousand francs a year, till I see my way to an enterprise +for which I shall want capital. At this moment I am so happy that all +I desire is just the means of living. I give lessons so that I may not +live at the cost of _any one_. If you only knew the happiness I had in +making that restitution! I found the Bourgneufs, after a good deal of +trouble, living miserably and in need of everything. The old father was +a lottery agent; the two daughters kept his books and took care of the +house; the mother was always ill. The daughters are charming girls, but +they have been cruelly taught that the world thinks little of beauty +without money. What a scene it was! I entered their house the accomplice +in a crime; I left it an honest man, who had purged his father’s memory. +Uncle, I don’t judge him; there is such excitement, such passion in a +lawsuit that even an honorable man may be led astray by them. Lawyers +can make the most unjust claims legal; laws have convenient syllogisms +to quiet consciences. My visit was a drama. To _be_ Providence itself; +actually to fulfil that futile wish, ‘If heaven were to send us twenty +thousand francs a year,’--that silly wish we all make, laughing; to +bring opulence to a family sitting by the light of one miserable lamp +over a poor turf fire!--no, words cannot describe it. My extreme justice +seemed to them unjust. Well! if there is a Paradise my father is happy +in it now. As for me, I am loved as no man was ever loved yet. Madame +Firmiani gives me more than happiness; she has inspired me with +a delicacy of feeling I think I lacked. So I call her _my dear +conscience_,--a love-word which expresses certain secret harmonies +within our hearts. I find honesty profitable; I shall get rich in time +by myself. I’ve an industrial scheme in my head, and if it succeeds I +shall earn millions.” + +“Ah! my boy, you have your mother’s soul,” said the old man, his eyes +filling at the thought of his sister. + +Just then, in spite of the distance between Octave’s garret and the +street, the young man heard the sound of a carriage. + +“There she is!” he cried; “I know her horses by the way they are pulled +up.” + +A few moments more, and Madame Firmiani entered the room. + +“Ah!” she exclaimed, with a gesture of annoyance at seeing Monsieur +de Bourbonne. “But our uncle is not in the way,” she added quickly, +smiling; “I came to humbly entreat my husband to accept my fortune. The +Austrian Embassy has just sent me a document which proves the death of +Monsieur Firmiani, also the will, which his valet was keeping safely +to put into my own hands. Octave, you can accept it all; you are richer +than I, for you have treasures here” (laying her hand upon his heart) +“to which none but God can add.” Then, unable to support her happiness, +she laid her head upon her husband’s breast. + +“My dear niece,” said the old man, “in my day we made love; in yours, +you love. You women are all that is best in humanity; you are not even +guilty of your faults, for they come through us.” + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Blamont-Chauvry, Princesse de + The Thirteen + Madame Firmiani + The Lily of the Valley + + Bourbonne, De + Madame Firmiani + The Vicar of Tours + + Camps, Octave de + Madame Firmiani + The Member for Arcis + + Camps, Madame Octave de + Madame Firmiani + The Government Clerks + A Woman of Thirty + A Daughter of Eve + The Member for Arcis + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Madame Firmiani, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1357 *** |