diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1357-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1357-h/1357-h.htm | 976 |
1 files changed, 976 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/1357-h/1357-h.htm b/1357-h/1357-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f92ca5a --- /dev/null +++ b/1357-h/1357-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,976 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Madame Firmiani, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1357 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + MADAME FIRMIANI + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + DEDICATION<br /><br /> To my dear Alexandre de Berny.<br /> His old friend,<br /><br /> + De Balzac.<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> MADAME FIRMIANI </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + MADAME FIRMIANI + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>you</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently the Lounger considers that Madame Firmiani keeps a sort of inn, + without a sign. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>are</i> any scoundrels in her + salons, they are people of quality and come in their carriages; such + persons never quarrel.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Ah, <i>that one</i>—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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>incidentally</i> 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Bourbonne belonged to the species Fossil, and used the + language of the days of yore. + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he had lost it at play?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, madame, he would at least have had the pleasure of gambling.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think he has had no pleasure here? See! look at Madame + Firmiani.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>you</i>? 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!—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!—” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, kind uncle, here is a letter which will tell you nearly all,” + said Octave, taking it from an elegant portfolio, <i>her</i> 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t my spectacles; read it aloud.” + </p> + <p> + Octave began:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘My beloved—‘” + </pre> + <p> + “Hey, then you are still intimate with her?” interrupted his uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Why yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t parted from her?” + </p> + <p> + “Parted!” repeated Octave, “we are married.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, “then why do you live in a + garret?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go on.” + </p> + <p> + “True—I’m listening.” + </p> + <p> + Octave resumed the letter, but there were passages which he could not read + without deep emotion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘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—“’” + </pre> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “They know about integrity. But let me read on, uncle.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘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.’” + </pre> + <p> + The nephew looked at the uncle, who lowered his head. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘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.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Well, uncle?” said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears. + </p> + <p> + “There’s more in the letter; finish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover,” answered Octave, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “What! besides her other virtues does that adorable woman lay by money?” + cried his uncle. + </p> + <p> + “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 <i>mine</i>, + so as to provide for my wife in case she is forced to lose hers.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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 + <i>any one</i>. 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 <i>be</i> 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 <i>my dear conscience</i>,—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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my boy, you have your mother’s soul,” said the old man, his eyes + filling at the thought of his sister. + </p> + <p> + Just then, in spite of the distance between Octave’s garret and the + street, the young man heard the sound of a carriage. + </p> + <p> + “There she is!” he cried; “I know her horses by the way they are pulled + up.” + </p> + <p> + A few moments more, and Madame Firmiani entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> + <h3> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1357 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |