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diff --git a/1369-0.txt b/1369-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb4b152 --- /dev/null +++ b/1369-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2180 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1369 *** + +PAZ + +(La Fausse Maitresse) + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + DEDICATION + + Dedicated to the Comtesse Clara Maffei. + + + + + +PAZ + +(LA FAUSSE MAITRESSE) + + + + +I + + +In September, 1835, one of the richest heiresses of the faubourg +Saint-Germain, Mademoiselle du Rouvre, the only daughter of the Marquis +du Rouvre, married Comte Adam Mitgislas Laginski, a young Polish exile. + +We ask permission to write these Polish names as they are pronounced, +to spare our readers the aspect of the fortifications of consonants +by which the Slave language protects its vowels,--probably not to lose +them, considering how few there are. + +The Marquis du Rouvre had squandered nearly the whole of a princely +fortune, which he obtained originally through his marriage with a +Demoiselle de Ronquerolles. Therefore, on her mother’s side Clementine +du Rouvre had the Marquis de Ronquerolles for uncle, and Madame de +Serizy for aunt. On her father’s side she had another uncle in the +eccentric person of the Chevalier du Rouvre, a younger son of the house, +an old bachelor who had become very rich by speculating in lands and +houses. The Marquis de Ronquerolles had the misfortune to lose both +his children at the time of the cholera, and the only son of Madame +de Serizy, a young soldier of great promise, perished in Africa in +the affair of the Makta. In these days rich families stand between the +danger of impoverishing their children if they have too many, or of +extinguishing their names if they have too few,--a singular result of +the Code which Napoleon never thought of. By a curious turn of fortune +Clementine became, in spite of her father having squandered his +substance on Florine (one of the most charming actresses in Paris), a +great heiress. The Marquis de Ronquerolles, a clever diplomatist under +the new dynasty, his sister, Madame de Serizy, and the Chevalier du +Rouvre agreed, in order to save their fortunes from the dissipations of +the marquis, to settle them on their niece, to whom, moreover, they each +pledged themselves to pay ten thousand francs a year from the day of her +marriage. + +It is quite unnecessary to say that the Polish count, though an exile, +was no expense to the French government. Comte Adam Laginski belonged +to one of the oldest and most illustrious families in Poland, which was +allied to many of the princely houses of Germany,--Sapieha, Radziwill, +Mniszech, Rzewuski, Czartoryski, Leczinski, Lubormirski, and all the +other great Sarmatian SKIS. But heraldic knowledge is not the most +distinguishing feature of the French nation under Louis-Philippe, and +Polish nobility was no great recommendation to the bourgeoisie who were +lording it in those days. Besides, when Adam first made his appearance, +in 1833, on the boulevard des Italiens, at Frascati, and at the +Jockey-Club, he was leading the life of a young man who, having lost his +political prospects, was taking his pleasure in Parisian dissipation. At +first he was thought to be a student. + +The Polish nationality had at this period fallen as low in French +estimation, thanks to a shameful governmental reaction, as the +republicans had sought to raise it. The singular struggle of the +Movement against Resistance (two words which will be inexplicable thirty +years hence) made sport of what ought to have been truly respected,--the +name of a conquered nation to whom the French had offered hospitality, +for whom fetes had been given (with songs and dances by subscription), +above all, a nation which in the Napoleonic struggle between France and +Europe had given us six thousand men, and what men! + +Do not infer from this that either side is taken here; either that +of the Emperor Nicholas against Poland, or that of Poland against the +Emperor. It would be a foolish thing to slip political discussion into +tales that are intended to amuse or interest. Besides, Russia and Poland +were both right,--one to wish the unity of its empire, the other +to desire its liberty. Let us say in passing that Poland might have +conquered Russia by the influence of her morals instead of fighting her +with weapons; she should have imitated China which, in the end, Chinesed +the Tartars, and will, it is to be hoped, Chinese the English. Poland +ought to have Polonized Russia. Poniatowski tried to do so in the +least favorable portion of the empire; but as a king he was little +understood,--because, possibly, he did not fully understand himself. + +But how could the Parisians avoid disliking an unfortunate people who +were the cause of that shameful falsehood enacted during the famous +review at which all Paris declared its will to succor Poland? The Poles +were held up to them as the allies of the republican party, and they +never once remembered that Poland was a republic of aristocrats. From +that day forth the bourgeoisie treated with base contempt the exiles of +the nation it had worshipped a few days earlier. The wind of a riot +is always enough to veer the Parisians from north to south under any +regime. It is necessary to remember these sudden fluctuations of feeling +in order to understand why it was that in 1835 the word “Pole” conveyed +a derisive meaning to a people who consider themselves the wittiest and +most courteous nation on earth, and their city of Paris the focus of +enlightenment, with the sceptre of arts and literature within its grasp. + +There are, alas! two sorts of Polish exiles,--the republican Poles, +sons of Lelewel, and the noble Poles, at the head of whom is Prince Adam +Czartoryski. The two classes are like fire and water; but why complain +of that? Such divisions are always to be found among exiles, no matter +of what nation they may be, or in what countries they take refuge. They +carry their countries and their hatreds with them. Two French priests, +who had emigrated to Brussels during the Revolution, showed the utmost +horror of each other, and when one of them was asked why, he replied +with a glance at his companion in misery: “Why? because he’s a +Jansenist!” Dante would gladly have stabbed a Guelf had he met him in +exile. This explains the virulent attacks of the French against the +venerable Prince Adam Czartoryski, and the dislike shown to the better +class of Polish exiles by the shopkeeping Caesars and the licensed +Alexanders of Paris. + +In 1834, therefore, Adam Mitgislas Laginski was something of a butt for +Parisian pleasantry. + +“He is rather nice, though he is a Pole,” said Rastignac. + +“All these Poles pretend to be great lords,” said Maxime de Trailles, +“but this one does pay his gambling debts, and I begin to think he must +have property.” + +Without wishing to offend these banished men, it may be allowable to +remark that the light-hearted, careless inconsistency of the Sarmatian +character does justify in some degree the satire of the Parisians, who, +by the bye, would behave in like circumstances exactly as the Poles do. +The French aristocracy, so nobly succored during the Revolution by the +Polish lords, certainly did not return the kindness in 1832. Let us +have the melancholy courage to admit this, and to say that the faubourg +Saint-Germain is still the debtor of Poland. + +Was Comte Adam rich, or was he poor, or was he an adventurer? +This problem was long unsolved. The diplomatic salons, faithful to +instructions, imitated the silence of the Emperor Nicholas, who held +that all Polish exiles were virtually dead and buried. The court of the +Tuileries, and all who took their cue from it, gave striking proof of +the political quality which was then dignified by the name of sagacity. +They turned their backs on a Russian prince with whom they had all been +on intimate terms during the Emigration, merely because it was said that +the Emperor Nicholas gave him the cold shoulder. Between the caution +of the court and the prudence of the diplomates, the Polish exiles of +distinction lived in Paris in the Biblical solitude of “super flumina +Babylonis,” or else they haunted a few salons which were the neutral +ground of all opinions. In a city of pleasure, like Paris, where +amusements abound on all sides, the heedless gayety of a Pole finds +twice as many encouragements as it needs to a life of dissipation. + +It must be said, however, that Adam had two points against him,--his +appearance, and his mental equipment. There are two species of Pole, as +there are two species of Englishwoman. When an Englishwoman is not +very handsome she is horribly ugly. Comte Adam belonged in the second +category of human beings. His small face, rather sharp in expression, +looked as if it had been pressed in a vise. His short nose, and fair +hair, and reddish beard and moustache made him look all the more like a +goat because he was small and thin, and his tarnished yellow eyes caught +you with that oblique look which Virgil celebrates. How came he, in +spite of such obvious disadvantages, to possess really exquisite manners +and a distinguished air? The problem is solved partly by the care and +elegance of his dress, and partly by the training given him by his +mother, a Radziwill. His courage amounted to daring, but his mind +was not more than was needed for the ephemeral talk and pleasantry of +Parisian conversation. And yet it would have been difficult to find +among the young men of fashion in Paris a single one who was his +superior. Young men talk a great deal too much in these days of horses, +money, taxes, deputies; French _conversation_ is no longer what it was. +Brilliancy of mind needs leisure and certain social inequalities to +bring it out. There is, probably, more real conversation in Vienna or +St. Petersburg than in Paris. Equals do not need to employ delicacy or +shrewdness in speech; they blurt out things as they are. Consequently +the dandies of Paris did not discover the great seigneur in the rather +heedless young fellow who, in their talks, would flit from one subject +to another, all the more intent upon amusement because he had just +escaped from a great peril, and, finding himself in a city where his +family was unknown, felt at liberty to lead a loose life without the +risk of disgracing his name. + +But one fine day in 1834 Adam suddenly bought a house in the rue de la +Pepiniere. Six months later his style of living was second to none in +Paris. About the time when he thus began to take himself seriously he +had seen Clementine du Rouvre at the Opera and had fallen in love with +her. A year later the marriage took place. The salon of Madame d’Espard +was the first to sound his praises. Mothers of daughters then learned +too late that as far back as the year 900 the family of the Laginski was +among the most illustrious of the North. By an act of prudence which was +very unPolish, the mother of the young count had mortgaged her entire +property on the breaking out of the insurrection for an immense sum +lent by two Jewish bankers in Paris. Comte Adam was now in possession of +eighty thousand francs a year. When this was discovered society ceased +to be surprised at the imprudence which had been laid to the charge +of Madame de Serizy, the Marquis de Ronquerolles, and the Chevalier du +Rouvre in yielding to the foolish passion of their niece. People jumped, +as usual, from one extreme of judgment to the other. + +During the winter of 1836 Comte Adam was the fashion, and Clementine +Laginska one of the queens of Paris. Madame Laginska is now a member +of that charming circle of young women represented by Mesdames de +Lestorade, de Portenduere, Marie de Vandenesse, du Guenic, and de +Maufrigneuse, the flowers of our present Paris, who live at such +immeasurable distance from the parvenus, the vulgarians, and the +speculators of the new regime. + +This preamble is necessary to show the sphere in which was done one +of those noble actions, less rare than the calumniators of our time +admit,--actions which, like pearls, the fruit of pain and suffering, are +hidden within rough shells, lost in the gulf, the sea, the tossing waves +of what we call society, the century, Paris, London, St. Petersburg,--or +what you will. + +If the axiom that architecture is the expression of manner and morals +was ever proved, it was certainly after the insurrection of 1830, during +the present reign of the house of Orleans. As all the old fortunes +are diminishing in France, the majestic mansions of our ancestors are +constantly being demolished and replaced by species of phalansteries, in +which the peers of July occupy the third floor above some newly +enriched empirics on the lower floors. A mixture of styles is confusedly +employed. As there is no longer a real court or nobility to give the +tone, there is no harmony in the production of art. Never, on the other +hand, has architecture discovered so many economical ways of imitating +the real and the solid, or displayed more resources, more talent, in +distributing them. Propose to an architect to build upon the garden +at the back of an old mansion, and he will run you up a little Louvre +overloaded with ornament. He will manage to get in a courtyard, stables, +and if you care for it, a garden. Inside the house he will accommodate a +quantity of little rooms and passages. He is so clever in deceiving the +eye that you think you will have plenty of space; but it is only a nest +of small rooms, after all, in which a ducal family has to turn itself +about in the space that its own bakehouse formerly occupied. + +The hotel of the Comtesse Laginska, rue de la Pepiniere, is one of these +creations, and stands between court and garden. On the right, in the +court, are the kitchens and offices; to the left the coachhouse and +stables. The porter’s lodge is between two charming portes-cocheres. The +chief luxury of the house is a delightful greenhouse contrived at the +end of a boudoir on the ground-floor which opens upon an admirable +suite of reception rooms. An English philanthropist had built this +architectural bijou, designed the garden, added the greenhouse, polished +the doors, bricked the courtyard, painted the window-frames green, +and realized, in short, a dream which resembled (proportions excepted) +George the Fourth’s Pavilion at Brighton. The inventive and industrious +Parisian workmen had moulded the doors and window-frames; the ceilings +were imitated from the middle-ages or those of a Venetian palace; marble +veneering abounded on the outer walls. Steinbock and Francois Souchet +had designed the mantel-pieces and the panels above the doors; Schinner +had painted the ceilings in his masterly manner. The beauties of the +staircase, white as a woman’s arm, defied those of the hotel Rothschild. +On account of the riots and the unsettled times, the cost of this folly +was only about eleven hundred thousand francs,--to an Englishman a mere +nothing. All this luxury, called princely by persons who do not know +what real princes are, was built in the garden of the house of a +purveyor made a Croesus by the Revolution, who had escaped to Brussels +and died there after going into bankruptcy. The Englishman died in +Paris, of Paris; for to many persons Paris is a disease,--sometimes +several diseases. His widow, a Methodist, had a horror of the little +nabob establishment, and ordered it to be sold. Comte Adam bought it at +a bargain; and how he came to do so shall presently be made known, for +bargains were not at all in his line as a grand seigneur. + +Behind the house lay the verdant velvet of an English lawn shaded at +the lower end by a clump of exotic trees, in the midst of which stood a +Chinese pagoda with soundless belfries and motionless golden eggs. The +greenhouse concealed the garden wall on the northern side, the opposite +wall was covered with climbing plants trained upon poles painted green +and connected with crossway trellises. This lawn, this world of flowers, +the gravelled paths, the simulated forest, the verdant palisades, were +contained within the space of five and twenty square rods, which are +worth to-day four hundred thousand francs,--the value of an actual +forest. Here, in this solitude in the middle of Paris, the birds +sang, thrushes, nightingales, warblers, bulfinches, and sparrows. The +greenhouse was like an immense jardiniere, filling the air with perfume +in winter as in summer. The means by which its atmosphere was made +to order, torrid as in China or temperate as in Italy, were cleverly +concealed. Pipes in which hot water circulated, or steam, were either +hidden under ground or festooned with plants overhead. The boudoir was a +large room. The miracle of the modern Parisian fairy named Architecture +is to get all these many and great things out of a limited bit of +ground. + +The boudoir of the young countess was arranged to suit the taste of the +artist to whom Comte Adam entrusted the decoration of the house. It is +too full of pretty nothings to be a place for repose; one scarce knows +where to sit down among carved Chinese work-tables with their myriads +of fantastic figures inlaid in ivory, cups of yellow topaz mounted on +filagree, mosaics which inspire theft, Dutch pictures in the style which +Schinner has adopted, angels such as Steinbock conceived but often could +not execute, statuettes modelled by genius pursued by creditors (the +real explanation of the Arabian myth), superb sketches by our best +artists, lids of chests made into panels alternating with fluted +draperies of Italian silk, portieres hanging from rods of old oak +in tapestried masses on which the figures of some hunting scene are +swarming, pieces of furniture worthy to have belonged to Madame de +Pompadour, Persian rugs, et cetera. For a last graceful touch, all these +elegant things were subdued by the half-light which filtered through +embroidered curtains and added to their charm. On a table between the +windows, among various curiosities, lay a whip, the handle designed +by Mademoiselle de Fauveau, which proved that the countess rode on +horseback. + +Such is a lady’s boudoir in 1837,--an exhibition of the contents of many +shops, which amuse the eye, as if ennui were the one thing to be dreaded +by the social world of the liveliest and most stirring capital in +Europe. Why is there nothing of an inner life? nothing which leads to +revery, nothing reposeful? Why indeed? Because no one in our day is sure +of the future; we are living our lives like prodigal annuitants. + +One morning Clementine appeared to be thinking of something. She was +lying at full length on one of those marvellous couches from which it +is almost impossible to rise, the upholsterer having invented them for +lovers of the “far niente” and its attendant joys of laziness to sink +into. The doors of the greenhouse were open, letting the odors of +vegetation and the perfume of the tropics pervade the room. The young +wife was looking at her husband who was smoking a narghile, the only +form of pipe she would have suffered in that room. The portieres, held +back by cords, gave a vista through two elegant salons, one white and +gold, comparable only to that of the hotel Forbin-Janson, the other in +the style of the Renaissance. The dining-room, which had no rival in +Paris except that of the Baron de Nucingen, was at the end of a short +gallery decorated in the manner of the middle-ages. This gallery opened +on the side of the courtyard upon a large antechamber, through which +could be seen the beauties of the staircase. + +The count and countess had just finished breakfast; the sky was a sheet +of azure without a cloud, April was nearly over. They had been married +two years, and Clementine had just discovered for the first time that +there was something resembling a secret or a mystery in her household. +The Pole, let us say it to his honor, is usually helpless before a +woman; he is so full of tenderness for her that in Poland he becomes her +inferior, though Polish women make admirable wives. Now a Pole is still +more easily vanquished by a Parisian woman. Consequently Comte Adam, +pressed by questions, did not even attempt the innocent roguery of +selling the suspected secret. It is always wise with a woman to get +some good out of a mystery; she will like you the better for it, as a +swindler respects an honest man the more when he finds he cannot swindle +him. Brave in heart but not in speech, Comte Adam merely stipulated that +he should not be compelled to answer until he had finished his narghile. + +“If any difficulty occurred when we were travelling,” said Clementine, +“you always dismissed it by saying, ‘Paz will settle that.’ You never +wrote to any one but Paz. When we returned here everybody kept saying, +‘the captain, the captain.’ If I want the carriage--‘the captain.’ Is +there a bill to pay--‘the captain.’ If my horse is not properly +bitted, they must speak to Captain Paz. In short, it is like a game of +dominoes--Paz is everywhere. I hear of nothing but Paz, but I never see +Paz. Who and what is Paz? Why don’t you bring forth your Paz?” + +“Isn’t everything going on right?” asked the count, taking the +“bocchettino” of his narghile from his lips. + +“Everything is going on so right that other people with an income of two +hundred thousand francs would ruin themselves by going at our pace, and +we have only one hundred and ten thousand.” + +So saying she pulled the bell-cord (an exquisite bit of needlework). A +footman entered, dressed like a minister. + +“Tell Captain Paz that I wish to see him.” + +“If you think you are going to find out anything that way--” said Comte +Adam, laughing. + +It is well to mention that Adam and Clementine, married in December, +1835, had gone soon after the wedding to Italy, Switzerland, and +Germany, where they spent the greater part of two years. Returning to +Paris in November, 1837, the countess entered society for the first time +as a married woman during the winter which had just ended, and she then +became aware of the existence, half-suppressed and wholly dumb but very +useful, of a species of factotum who was personally invisible, named +Paz,--spelt thus, but pronounced “Patz.” + +“Monsieur le capitaine Paz begs Madame la comtesse to excuse him,” said +the footman, returning. “He is at the stables; as soon as he has changed +his dress Comte Paz will present himself to Madame.” + +“What was he doing at the stables?” + +“He was showing them how to groom Madame’s horse,” said the man. “He was +not pleased with the way Constantin did it.” + +The countess looked at the footman. He was perfectly serious and did not +add to his words the sort of smile by which servants usually comment +on the actions of a superior who seems to them to derogate from his +position. + +“Ah! he was grooming Cora.” + +“Madame la comtesse intends to ride out this morning?” said the footman, +leaving the room without further answer. + +“Is Paz a Pole?” asked Clementine, turning to her husband, who nodded by +way of affirmation. + +Madame Laginska was silent, examining Adam. With her feet extended upon +a cushion and her head poised like that of a bird on the edge of +its nest listening to the noises in a grove, she would have seemed +enchanting even to a blase man. Fair and slender, and wearing her +hair in curls, she was not unlike those semi-romantic pictures in +the Keepsakes, especially when dressed, as she was this morning, in a +breakfast gown of Persian silk, the folds of which could not disguise +the beauty of her figure or the slimness of her waist. The silk with its +brilliant colors being crossed upon the bosom showed the spring of the +neck,--its whiteness contrasting delightfully against the tones of a +guipure lace which lay upon her shoulders. Her eyes and their long +black lashes added at this moment to the expression of curiosity which +puckered her pretty mouth. On the forehead, which was well modelled, +an observer would have noticed a roundness characteristic of the true +Parisian woman,--self-willed, merry, well-informed, but inaccessible +to vulgar seductions. Her hands, which were almost transparent, were +hanging down at the end of each arm of her chair; the tapering fingers, +slightly turned up at their points, showed nails like almonds, which +caught the light. Adam smiled at his wife’s impatience, and looked at +her with a glance which two years of married life had not yet chilled. +Already the little countess had made herself mistress of the situation, +for she scarcely paid attention to her husband’s admiration. In fact, +in the look which she occasionally cast at him, there seemed to be the +consciousness of a Frenchwoman’s ascendancy over the puny, volatile, and +red-haired Pole. + +“Here comes Paz,” said the count, hearing a step which echoed through +the gallery. + +The countess beheld a tall and handsome man, well-made, and bearing +on his face the signs of pain which come of inward strength and secret +endurance of sorrow. He wore one of those tight, frogged overcoats which +were then called “polonaise.” Thick, black hair, rather unkempt, covered +his square head, and Clementine noticed his broad forehead shining like +a block of white marble, for Paz held his visored cap in his hand. +The hand itself was like that of the Infant Hercules. Robust health +flourished on his face, which was divided by a large Roman nose and +reminded Clementine of some handsome Transteverino. A black silk cravat +added to the martial appearance of this six-foot mystery, with eyes of +jet and Italian fervor. The amplitude of his pleated trousers, which +allowed only the tips of his boots to be seen, revealed his faithfulness +to the fashions of his own land. There was something really burlesque +to a romantic woman in the striking contrast no one could fail to remark +between the captain and the count, the little Pole with his pinched face +and the stalwart soldier. + +“Good morning, Adam,” he said familiarly. Then he bowed courteously as +he asked Clementine what he could do for her. + +“You are Laginski’s friend!” exclaimed the countess. + +“For life and death,” answered Paz, to whom the count threw a smile of +affection as he drew a last puff from his perfumed pipe. + +“Then why don’t you take your meals with us? why did you not accompany +us to Italy and Switzerland? why do you hide yourself in such a way that +I am unable to thank you for the constant services that you do for us?” + said the countess, with much vivacity of manner but no feeling. + +In fact, she thought she perceived in Paz a sort of voluntary servitude. +Such an idea carried with it in her mind a certain contempt for a social +amphibian, a being half-secretary, half-bailiff, and yet neither the one +nor the other, a poor relation, an embarrassing friend. + +“Because, countess,” he answered with perfect ease of manner, “there are +no thanks due. I am Adam’s friend, and it gives me pleasure to take care +of his interests.” + +“And you remain standing for your pleasure, too,” remarked Comte Adam. + +Paz sat down on a chair near the door. + +“I remember seeing you about the time I was married, and afterwards +in the courtyard,” said Clementine. “But why do you put yourself in a +position of inferiority,--you, Adam’s friend?” + +“I am perfectly indifferent to the opinion of the Parisians,” he +replied. “I live for myself, or, if you like, for you two.” + +“But the opinion of the world as to a friend of my husband is not +indifferent to me--” + +“Ah, madame, the world will be satisfied if you tell them I am ‘an +original.’” + +After a moment’s silence he added, “Are you going out to-day?” + +“Will you come with us to the Bois?” + +“Certainly.” + +So saying, Paz bowed and withdrew. + +“What a good soul he is!” said Adam. “He has all the simplicity of a +child.” + +“Now tell me all about your relations with him,” said Clementine. + +“Paz, my dear,” said Laginski, “belongs to a noble family as old and +illustrious as our own. One of the Pazzi of Florence, at the time of +their disasters, fled to Poland, where he settled with some of his +property and founded the Paz family, to which the title of count was +granted. This family, which distinguished itself greatly in the glorious +days of our royal republic, became rich. The graft from the tree that +was felled in Italy flourished so vigorously in Poland that there are +several branches of the family still there. I need not tell you that +some are rich and some are poor. Our Paz is the scion of a poor branch. +He was an orphan, without other fortune than his sword, when he served +in the regiment of the Grand Duke Constantine at the time of our +revolution. Joining the Polish cause, he fought like a Pole, like a +patriot, like a man who has nothing,--three good reasons for fighting +well. In his last affair, thinking he was followed by his men, he dashed +upon a Russian battery and was taken prisoner. I was there. His brave +act roused me. ‘Let us go and get him!’ I said to my troop, and we +charged the battery like a lot of foragers. I got Paz--I was the seventh +man; we started twenty and came back eight, counting Paz. After Warsaw +was sold we were forced to escape those Russians. By a curious chance, +Paz and I happened to come together again, at the same hour and the same +place, on the other side of the Vistula. I saw the poor captain arrested +by some Prussians, who made themselves the blood-hounds of the Russians. +When we have fished a man out of the Styx we cling to him. This new +danger for poor Paz made me so unhappy that I let myself be taken too, +thinking I could help him. Two men can get away where one will +perish. Thanks to my name and some family connections in Prussia, the +authorities shut their eyes to my escape. I got my dear captain through +as a man of no consequence, a family servant, and we reached Dantzic. +There we got on board a Dutch vessel and went to London. It took us two +months to get there. My mother was ill in England, and expecting me. +Paz and I took care of her till her death, which the Polish troubles +hastened. Then we left London and came to France. Men who go through +such adversities become like brothers. When I reached Paris, at +twenty-two years of age, and found I had an income of over sixty +thousand francs a year, without counting the proceeds of the diamonds +and the pictures sold by my mother, I wanted to secure the future of +my dear Paz before I launched into dissipation. I had often noticed the +sadness in his eyes--sometimes tears were in them. I had had good reason +to understand his soul, which is noble, grand, and generous to the core. +I thought he might not like to be bound by benefits to a friend who +was six years younger than himself, unless he could repay them. I was +careless and frivolous, just as a young fellow is, and I knew I was +certain to ruin myself at play, or get inveigled by some woman, and Paz +and I might then be parted; and though I had every intention of always +looking out for him, I knew I might sometime or other forget to provide +for him. In short, my dear angel, I wanted to spare him the pain and +mortification of having to ask me for money, or of having to hunt me up +if he got into distress. SO, one morning, after breakfast, when we were +sitting with our feet on the andirons smoking pipes, I produced,--with +the utmost precaution, for I saw him look at me uneasily,--a certificate +of the Funds payable to bearer for a certain sum of money a year.” + +Clementine jumped up and went and seated herself on Adam’s knee, put +her arms round his neck, and kissed him. “Dear treasure!” she said, “how +handsome he is! Well, what did Paz do?” + +“Thaddeus turned pale,” said the count, “but he didn’t say a word.” + +“Oh! his name is Thaddeus, is it?” + +“Yes; Thaddeus folded the paper and gave it back to me, and then he +said: ‘I thought, Adam, that we were one for life or death, and that we +should never part. Do you want to be rid of me?’ ‘Oh!’ I said, ‘if you +take it that way, Thaddeus, don’t let us say another word about it. If +I ruin myself you shall be ruined too.’ ‘You haven’t fortune enough to +live as a Laginski should,’ he said, ‘and you need a friend who will +take care of your affairs, and be a father and a brother and a trusty +confidant.’ My dear child, as Paz said that he had in his look and +voice, calm as they were, a maternal emotion, and also the gratitude +of an Arab, the fidelity of a dog, the friendship of a savage,--not +displayed, but ever ready. Faith! I seized him, as we Poles do, with +a hand on each shoulder, and I kissed him on the lips. ‘For life and +death, then! all that I have is yours--do what you will with it.’ It was +he who found me this house and bought it for next to nothing. He sold my +Funds high and bought in low, and we have paid for this barrack with +the profits. He knows horses, and he manages to buy and sell at such +advantage that my stable really costs very little; and yet I have the +finest horses and the most elegant equipages in all Paris. Our servants, +brave Polish soldiers chosen by him, would go through fire and water +for us. I seem, as you say, to be ruining myself; and yet Paz keeps the +house with such method and economy that he has even repaired some of my +foolish losses at play,--the thoughtless folly of a young man. My dear, +Thaddeus is as shrewd as two Genoese, as eager for gain as a Polish Jew, +and provident as a good housekeeper. I never could force him to live as +I did when I was a bachelor. Sometimes I had to use a sort of friendly +coercion to make him go to the theatre with me when I was alone, or to +the jovial little dinners I used to give at a tavern. He doesn’t like +social life.” + +“What does he like, then?” asked Clementine. + +“Poland; he loves Poland and pines for it. His only spendings are +sums he gives, more in my name than in his own, to some of our poor +brother-exiles.” + +“Well, I shall love him, the fine fellow!” said the countess, “he looks +to me as simple-hearted as he is grand.” + +“All these pretty things you have about you,” continued Adam, who +praised his friend in the noblest sincerity, “he picked up; he bought +them at auction, or as bargains from the dealers. Oh! he’s keener than +they are themselves. If you see him rubbing his hands in the courtyard, +you may be sure he has traded away one good horse for a better. He lives +for me; his happiness is to see me elegant, in a perfectly appointed +equipage. The duties he takes upon himself are all accomplished without +fuss or emphasis. One evening I lost twenty thousand francs at whist. +‘What will Paz say?’ thought I as I walked home. Paz paid them to me, +not without a sigh; but he never reproached me, even by a look. But +that sigh of his restrained me more than the remonstrances of uncles, +mothers, or wives could have done. ‘Do you regret the money?’ I said +to him. ‘Not for you or me, no,’ he replied; ‘but I was thinking +that twenty poor Poles could have lived a year on that sum.’ You must +understand that the Pazzi are fully the equal of the Laginski, so I +couldn’t regard my dear Paz as an inferior. I never went out or came in +without going first to Paz, as I would to my father. My fortune is his; +and Thaddeus knows that if danger threatened him I would fling myself +into it and drag him out, as I have done before.” + +“And that is saying a good deal, my dear friend,” said the countess. +“Devotion is like a flash of lightning. Men devote themselves in battle, +but they no longer have the heart for it in Paris.” + +“Well,” replied Adam, “I am always ready, as in battle, to devote +myself to Paz. Our two characters have kept their natural asperities +and defects, but the mutual comprehension of our souls has tightened the +bond already close between us. It is quite possible to save a man’s life +and kill him afterwards if we find him a bad fellow; but Paz and I know +THAT of each other which makes our friendship indissoluble. There’s +a constant exchange of happy thoughts and impressions between us; and +really, perhaps, such a friendship as ours is richer than love.” + +A pretty hand closed the count’s mouth so promptly that the action was +somewhat like a blow. + +“Yes,” he said, “friendship, my dear angel, knows nothing of bankrupt +sentiments and collapsed joys. Love, after giving more than it has, ends +by giving less than it receives.” + +“One side as well as the other,” remarked Clementine laughing. + +“Yes,” continued Adam, “whereas friendship only increases. You need not +pucker up your lips at that, for we are, you and I, as much friends as +lovers; we have, at least I hope so, combined the two sentiments in our +happy marriage.” + +“I’ll explain to you what it is that has made you and Thaddeus such good +friends,” said Clementine. “The difference in the lives you lead +comes from your tastes and from necessity; from your likings, not your +positions. As far as one can judge from merely seeing a man once, and +also from what you tell me, there are times when the subaltern might +become the superior.” + +“Oh, Paz is truly my superior,” said Adam, naively; “I have no advantage +over him except mere luck.” + +His wife kissed him for the generosity of those words. + +“The extreme care with which he hides the grandeur of his feelings is +one form of his superiority,” continued the count. “I said to him once: +‘You are a sly one; you have in your heart a vast domain within which +you live and think.’ He has a right to the title of count; but in Paris +he won’t be called anything but captain.” + +“The fact is that the Florentine of the middle-ages has reappeared in +our century,” said the countess. “Dante and Michael Angelo are in him.” + +“That’s the very truth,” cried Adam. “He is a poet in soul.” + +“So here I am, married to two Poles,” said the young countess, with a +gesture worthy of some genius of the stage. + +“Dear child!” said Adam, pressing her to him, “it would have made me +very unhappy if my friend did not please you. We were both rather afraid +of it, he and I, though he was delighted at my marriage. You will +make him very happy if you tell him that you love him,--yes, as an old +friend.” + +“I’ll go and dress, the day is so fine; and we will all three ride +together,” said Clementine, ringing for her maid. + + + + +II + + +Paz was leading so subterranean a life that the fashionable world of +Paris asked who he was when the Comtesse Laginska was seen in the Bois +de Boulogne riding between her husband and a stranger. During the ride +Clementine insisted that Thaddeus should dine with them. This caprice of +the sovereign lady compelled Paz to make an evening toilet. Clementine +dressed for the occasion with a certain coquetry, in a style that +impressed even Adam himself when she entered the salon where the two +friends awaited her. + +“Comte Paz,” she said, “you must go with us to the Opera.” + +This was said in the tone which, coming from a woman means: “If you +refuse we shall quarrel.” + +“Willingly, madame,” replied the captain. “But as I have not the fortune +of a count, have the kindness to call me captain.” + +“Very good, captain; give me your arm,” she said,--taking it and +leading the way to the dining-room with the flattering familiarity which +enchants all lovers. + +The countess placed the captain beside her; his behavior was that of +a poor sub-lieutenant dining at his general’s table. He let Clementine +talk, listened deferentially as to a superior, did not differ with her +in anything, and waited to be questioned before he spoke at all. He +seemed actually stupid to the countess, whose coquettish little ways +missed their mark in presence of such frigid gravity and conventional +respect. In vain Adam kept saying: “Do be lively, Thaddeus; one would +really suppose you were not at home. You must have made a wager to +disconcert Clementine.” Thaddeus continued heavy and half asleep. +When the servants left the room at the end of the dessert the captain +explained that his habits were diametrically opposite to those of +society,--he went to bed at eight o’clock and got up very early in the +morning; and he excused his dulness on the ground of being sleepy. + +“My intention in taking you to the Opera was to amuse you, captain; but +do as you prefer,” said Clementine, rather piqued. + +“I will go,” said Paz. + +“Duprez sings ‘Guillaume Tell,’” remarked Adam. “But perhaps you would +rather go to the ‘Varietes’?” + +The captain smiled and rang the bell. “Tell Constantin,” he said to the +footman, “to put the horses to the carriage instead of the coupe. We +should be rather squeezed otherwise,” he said to the count. + +“A Frenchman would have forgotten that,” remarked Clementine, smiling. + +“Ah! but we are Florentines transplanted to the North,” answered +Thaddeus with a refinement of accent and a look in his eyes which +made his conduct at table seem assumed for the occasion. There was +too evident a contrast between his involuntary self-revelation in this +speech and his behavior during dinner. Clementine examined the captain +with a few of those covert glances which show a woman’s surprise and +also her capacity for observation. + +It resulted from this little incident that silence reigned in the salon +while the three took their coffee, a silence rather annoying to Adam, +who was incapable of imagining the cause of it. Clementine no longer +tried to draw out Thaddeus. The captain, on the other hand, retreated +within his military stiffness and came out of it no more, neither on the +way to the Opera nor in the box, where he seemed to be asleep. + +“You see, madame, that I am a very stupid man,” he said during the dance +in the last act of “Guillaume Tell.” “Am I not right to keep, as the +saying is, to my own specialty?” + +“In truth, my dear captain, you are neither a talker nor a man of the +world, but you are perhaps Polish.” + +“Therefore leave me to look after your pleasures, your property, your +household--it is all I am good for.” + +“Tartufe! pooh!” cried Adam, laughing. “My dear, he is full of ardor; +he is thoroughly educated; he can, if he chooses, hold his own in any +salon. Clementine, don’t believe his modesty.” + +“Adieu, comtesse; I have obeyed your wishes so far; and now I will take +the carriage and go home to bed and send it back for you.” + +Clementine bowed her head and let him go without replying. + +“What a bear!” she said to the count. “You are a great deal nicer.” + +Adam pressed her hand when no one was looking. + +“Poor, dear Thaddeus,” he said, “he is trying to make himself +disagreeable where most men would try to seem more amiable than I.” + +“Oh!” she said, “I am not sure but what there is some _calculation_ in +his behavior; he would have taken in an ordinary woman.” + +Half an hour later, when the chasseur, Boleslas, called out “Gate!” and +the carriage was waiting for it to swing back, Clementine said to her +husband, “Where does the captain perch?” + +“Why, there!” replied Adam, pointing to a floor above the porte-cochere +which had one window looking on the street. “His apartments are over the +coachhouse.” + +“Who lives on the other side?” asked the countess. + +“No one as yet,” said Adam; “I mean that apartment for our children and +their instructors.” + +“He didn’t go to bed,” said the countess, observing lights in Thaddeus’s +rooms when the carriage had passed under the portico supported by +columns copied from those of the Tuileries, which replaced a vulgar zinc +awning painted in stripes like cloth. + +The captain, in his dressing-gown with a pipe in his mouth, was watching +Clementine as she entered the vestibule. The day had been a hard one for +him. And here is the reason why: A great and terrible emotion had taken +possession of his heart on the day when Adam made him go to the Opera +to see and give his opinion on Mademoiselle du Rouvre; and again when he +saw her on the occasion of her marriage, and recognized in her the woman +whom a man is forced to love exclusively. For this reason Paz strongly +advised and promoted the long journey to Italy and elsewhere after the +marriage. At peace so long as Clementine was away, his trial was renewed +on the return of the happy household. As he sat at his window on this +memorable night, smoking his latakia in a pipe of wild-cherry wood +six feet long, given to him by Adam, these are the thoughts that were +passing through his mind:-- + +“I, and God, who will reward me for suffering in silence, alone know +how I love her! But how shall I manage to have neither her love nor her +dislike?” + +And his thoughts travelled far on this strange theme. + +It must not be supposed that Thaddeus was living without pleasure, in +the midst of his sufferings. The deceptions of this day, for instance, +were a source of inward joy to him. Since the return of the count and +countess he had daily felt ineffable satisfactions in knowing himself +necessary to a household which, without his devotion to its interests, +would infallibly have gone to ruin. What fortune can bear the strain of +reckless prodigality? Clementine, brought up by a spendthrift father, +knew nothing of the management of a household which the women of the +present day, however rich or noble they are, are often compelled to +undertake themselves. How few, in these days, keep a steward. Adam, on +the other hand, son of one of the great Polish lords who let themselves +be preyed on by the Jews, and are wholly incapable of managing even the +wreck of their vast fortunes (for fortunes are vast in Poland), was +not of a nature to check his own fancies or those of his wife. Left to +himself he would probably have been ruined before his marriage. Paz had +prevented him from gambling at the Bourse, and that says all. + +Under these circumstances, Thaddeus, feeling that he loved Clementine +in spite of himself, had not the resource of leaving the house and +travelling in other lands to forget his passion. Gratitude, the key-note +of his life, held him bound to that household where he alone could look +after the affairs of the heedless owners. The long absence of Adam +and Clementine had given him peace. But the countess had returned +more lovely than ever, enjoying the freedom which marriage brings to a +Parisian woman, displaying the graces of a young wife and the nameless +attraction she gains from the happiness, or the independence, bestowed +upon her by a young man as trustful, as chivalric, and as much in +love as Adam. To know that he was the pivot on which the splendor the +household depended, to see Clementine when she got out of her carriage +on returning from some fete, or got into it in the morning when she took +her drive, to meet her on the boulevards in her pretty equipage, +looking like a flower in a whorl of leaves, inspired poor Thaddeus with +mysterious delights, which glowed in the depths of his heart but gave no +signs upon his face. + +How happened it that for five whole months the countess had never +perceived the captain? Because he hid himself from her knowledge, and +carefully concealed the pains he took to avoid her. Nothing so resembles +the Divine love as hopeless human love. A man must have great depth of +heart to devote himself in silence and obscurity to a woman. In such +a heart is the worship of love for love’s sake only--sublime avarice, +sublime because ever generous and founded on the mysterious existence +of the principles of creation. _Effect_ is nature, and nature is +enchanting; it belongs to man, to the poet, the painter, the lover. But +_Cause_, to a few privileged souls and to certain mighty thinkers, +is superior to nature. Cause is God. In the sphere of causes live +the Newtons and all such thinkers as Laplace, Kepler, Descartes, +Malebranche, Spinoza, Buffon; also the true poets and solitarys of +the second Christian century, and the Saint Teresas of Spain, and such +sublime ecstatics. All human sentiments bear analogy to these conditions +whenever the mind abandons Effect for Cause. Thaddeus had reached this +height, at which all things change their relative aspect. Filled with +the joys unutterable of a creator he had attained in his love to all +that genius has revealed to us of grandeur. + +“No,” he was thinking to himself as he watched the curling smoke of his +pipe, “she was not entirely deceived. She might break up my friendship +with Adam if she took a dislike to me; but if she coquetted with me to +amuse herself, what would become of me?” + +The conceit of this last supposition was so foreign to the modest +nature and Teutonic timidity of the captain that he scolded himself for +admitting it, and went to bed, resolved to await events before deciding +on a course. + +The next day Clementine breakfasted very contentedly without Paz, and +without even noticing his disobedience to her orders. It happened to be +her reception day, when the house was thrown open with a splendor that +was semi-royal. She paid no attention to the absence of Comte Paz, on +whom all the burden of these parade days fell. + +“Good!” thought he, as he heard the last carriages driving away at two +in the morning; “it was only the caprice or the curiosity of a Parisian +woman that made her want to see me.” + +After that the captain went back to his ordinary habits and ways, which +had been somewhat upset by this incident. Diverted by her Parisian +occupations, Clementine appeared to have forgotten Paz. It must not be +thought an easy matter to reign a queen over fickle Paris. Does any one +suppose that fortunes alone are risked in the great game? The winters +are to fashionable women what a campaign once was to the soldiers of the +Empire. What works of art and genius are expended on a gown or a garland +in which to make a sensation! A fragile, delicate creature will wear +her stiff and brilliant harness of flowers and diamonds, silk and steel, +from nine at night till two and often three o’clock in the morning. She +eats little, to attract remark to her slender waist; she satisfied her +hunger with debilitating tea, sugared cakes, ices which heat her, or +slices of heavy pastry. The stomach is made to yield to the orders of +coquetry. The awakening comes too late. A fashionable woman’s whole life +is in contradiction to the laws of nature, and nature is pitiless. She +has no sooner risen than she makes an elaborate morning toilet, and +thinks of the one which she means to wear in the afternoon. The moment +she is dressed she has to receive and make visits, and go to the Bois +either on horseback or in a carriage. She must practise the art of +smiling, and must keep her mind on the stretch to invent new compliments +which shall seem neither common nor far-fetched. All women do not +succeed in this. It is no surprise, therefore, to find a young woman who +entered fashionable society fresh and healthy, faded and worn out at the +end of three years. Six months spent in the country will hardly heal the +wounds of the winter. We hear continually, in these days, of mysterious +ailments,--gastritis, and so forth,--ills unknown to women when they +busied themselves about their households. In the olden time women only +appeared in the world at intervals; now they are always on the scene. +Clementine found she had to struggle for her supremacy. She was cited, +and that alone brought jealousies; and the care and watchfulness exacted +by this contest with her rivals left little time even to love her +husband. Paz might well be forgotten. Nevertheless, in the month of +May, as she drove home from the Bois, just before she left Paris for +Ronquerolles, her uncle’s estate in Burgundy, she noticed Thaddeus, +elegantly dressed, sauntering on one of the side-paths of the +Champs-Elysees, in the seventh heaven of delight at seeing his beautiful +countess in her elegant carriage with its spirited horses and sparkling +liveries,--in short, his beloved family the admired of all. + +“There’s the captain,” she said to her husband. + +“He’s happy!” said Adam. “This is his delight. He knows there’s no +equipage more elegant than ours, and he is rejoicing to think that some +people envy it. Have you only just noticed him? I see him there nearly +every day.” + +“I wonder what he is thinking about now,” said Clementine. + +“He is thinking that this winter has cost a good deal, and that it is +time we went to economize with your old uncle Ronquerolles,” replied +Adam. + +The countess stopped the carriage near Paz, and bade him take the seat +beside her. Thaddeus grew as red as a cherry. + +“I shall poison you,” he said; “I have been smoking.” + +“Doesn’t Adam poison me?” she said. + +“Yes, but he is Adam,” returned the captain. + +“And why can’t Thaddeus have the same privileges?” asked the countess, +smiling. + +That divine smile had a power which triumphed over the heroic +resolutions of poor Paz; he looked at Clementine with all the fire of +his soul in his eyes, though, even so, its flame was tempered by the +angelic gratitude of the man whose life was based upon that virtue. +The countess folded her arms in her shawl, lay back pensively on her +cushions, ruffling the feathers of her pretty bonnet, and looked at the +people who passed her. That flash of a great and hitherto resigned soul +reached her sensibilities. What was Adam’s merit in her eyes? It was +natural enough to have courage and generosity. But Thaddeus--surely +Thaddeus possessed, or seemed to possess, some great superiority +over Adam. They were dangerous thoughts which took possession of the +countess’s mind as she again noticed the contrast of the fine presence +that distinguished Thaddeus, and the puny frame in which Adam showed +the degenerating effects of intermarriage among the Polish aristocratic +families. The devil alone knew the thoughts that were in Clementine’s +head, for she sat still, with thoughtful, dreamy eyes, and without +saying a word until they reached home. + +“You will dine with us; I shall be angry if you disobey me,” she said as +the carriage turned in. “You are Thaddeus to me, as you are to Adam. I +know your obligations to him, but I also know those we are under to you. +Both generosities are natural--but you are generous every day and all +day. My father dines here to-day, also my uncle Ronquerolles and my aunt +Madame de Serizy. Dress yourself therefore,” she said, taking the hand +he offered to assist her from the carriage. + +Thaddeus went to his own room to dress with a joyful heart, though +shaken by an inward dread. He went down at the last moment and behaved +through dinner as he had done on the first occasion, that is, like a +soldier fit only for his duties as a steward. But this time Clementine +was not his dupe; his glance had enlightened her. The Marquis de +Ronquerolles, one of the ablest diplomates after Talleyrand, who had +served with de Marsay during his short ministry, had been informed by +his niece of the real worth and character of Comte Paz, and knew how +modestly he made himself the steward of his friend Laginski. + +“And why is this the first time I have the pleasure of seeing Comte +Paz?” asked the marquis. + +“Because he is so shy and retiring,” replied Clementine with a look at +Paz telling him to change his behavior. + +Alas! that we should have to avow it, at the risk of rendering the +captain less interesting, but Paz, though superior to his friend +Adam, was not a man of parts. His apparent superiority was due to his +misfortunes. In his lonely and poverty-stricken life in Warsaw he had +read and taught himself a good deal; he had compared and meditated. But +the gift of original thought which makes a great man he did not possess, +and it can never be acquired. Paz, great in heart only, approached in +heart to the sublime; but in the sphere of sentiments, being more a man +of action than of thought, he kept his thoughts to himself; and they +only served therefore to eat his heart out. What, after all, is a +thought unexpressed? + +After Clementine’s little speech, the Marquis de Ronquerolles and his +sister exchanged a singular glance, embracing their niece, Comte Adam, +and Paz. It was one of those rapid scenes which take place only in +France and Italy,--the two regions of the world (all courts excepted) +where eyes can say everything. To communicate to the eye the full power +of the soul, to give it the value of speech, needs either the pressure +of extreme servitude, or complete liberty. Adam, the Marquis du Rouvre, +and Clementine did not observe this luminous by-play of the old coquette +and the old diplomatist, but Paz, the faithful watchdog, understood +its meaning. It was, we must remark, an affair of two seconds; but to +describe the tempest it roused in the captain’s soul would take far too +much space in this brief history. + +“What!” he said to himself, “do the aunt and uncle think I might be +loved? Then my happiness only depends on my own audacity! But Adam--” + +Ideal love and desire clashed with gratitude and friendship, all equally +powerful, and, for a moment, love prevailed. The lover would have his +day. Paz became brilliant, he tried to please, he told the story of the +Polish insurrection in noble words, being questioned about it by the +diplomatist. By the end of dinner Paz saw Clementine hanging upon +his lips and regarding him as a hero, forgetting that Adam too, after +sacrificing a third of his vast fortune, had been an exile. At nine +o’clock, after coffee had been served, Madame de Serizy kissed her niece +on the forehead, pressed her hand, and went away, taking Adam with her +and leaving the Marquis de Ronquerolles and the Marquis du Rouvre, who +soon followed. Paz and Clementine were alone together. + +“I will leave you now, madame,” said Thaddeus. “You will of course +rejoin them at the Opera?” + +“No,” she answered, “I don’t like dancing, and they give an odious +ballet to-night ‘La Revolte au Serail.’” + +There was a moment’s silence. + +“Two years ago Adam would not have gone to the Opera without me,” said +Clementine, not looking at Paz. + +“He loves you madly,” replied Thaddeus. + +“Yes, and because he loves me madly he is all the more likely not to +love me to-morrow,” said the countess. + +“How inexplicable Parisian women are!” exclaimed Thaddeus. “When they +are loved to madness they want to be loved reasonably: and when they are +loved reasonably they reproach a man for not loving them at all.” + +“And they are quite right. Thaddeus,” she went on, smiling, “I know +Adam well; I am not angry with him; he is volatile and above all grand +seigneur. He will always be content to have me as his wife and he will +never oppose any of my tastes, but--” + +“Where is the marriage in which there are no ‘buts’?” said Thaddeus, +gently, trying to give another direction to Clementine’s mind. + +The least presuming of men might well have had the thought which came +near rendering this poor lover beside himself; it was this: “If I do not +tell her now that I love her I am a fool,” he kept saying to himself. + +Neither spoke; and there came between the pair one of those deep +silences that are crowded with thoughts. The countess examined Paz +covertly, and Paz observed her in a mirror. Buried in an armchair like +a man digesting his dinner, the image of a husband or an indifferent +old man, Paz crossed his hands upon his stomach and twirled his thumbs +mechanically, looking stupidly at them. + +“Why don’t you tell me something good of Adam?” cried Clementine +suddenly. “Tell me that he is not volatile, you who know him so well.” + +The cry was fine. + +“Now is the time,” thought poor Paz, “to put an insurmountable barrier +between us. Tell you good of Adam?” he said aloud. “I love him; you +would not believe me; and I am incapable of telling you harm. My +position is very difficult between you.” + +Clementine lowered her head and looked down at the tips of his varnished +boots. + +“You Northern men have nothing but physical courage,” she said +complainingly; “you have no constancy in your opinions.” + +“How will you amuse yourself alone, madame?” said Paz, assuming a +careless air. + +“Are not you going to keep me company?” + +“Excuse me for leaving you.” + +“What do you mean? Where are you going?” + +The thought of a heroic falsehood had come into his head. + +“I--I am going to the Circus in the Champs Elysees; it opens to-night, +and I can’t miss it.” + +“Why not?” said Clementine, questioning him by a look that was +half-anger. + +“Must I tell you why?” he said, coloring; “must I confide to you what I +hide from Adam, who thinks my only love is Poland.” + +“Ah! a secret in our noble captain?” + +“A disgraceful one--which you will perhaps understand, and pity.” + +“You, disgraced?” + +“Yes, I, Comte Paz; I am madly in love with a girl who travels all over +France with the Bouthor family,--people who have the rival circus to +Franconi; but they play only at fairs. I have made the director at the +Cirque-Olympique engage her.” + +“Is she handsome?” + +“To my thinking,” said Paz, in a melancholy tone. “Malaga (that’s her +stage name) is strong, active, and supple. Why do I prefer her to all +other women in the world?--well, I can’t tell you. When I look at her, +with her black hair tied with a blue satin ribbon, floating on her bare +and olive-colored shoulders, and when she is dressed in a white tunic +with a gold edge, and a knitted silk bodice that makes her look like a +living Greek statue, and when I see her carrying those flags in her hand +to the sound of martial music, and jumping through the paper hoops which +tear as she goes through, and lighting so gracefully on the galloping +horse to such applause,--no hired clapping,--well, all that moves me.” + +“More than a handsome woman in a ballroom?” asked Clementine, with +amazement and curiosity. + +“Yes,” answered Paz, in a choking voice. “Such agility, such grace under +constant danger seems to me the height of triumph for a woman. Yes, +madame, Cinti and Malibran, Grisi and Taglioni, Pasta and Ellsler, all +who reign or have reigned on the stage, can’t be compared, to my mind, +with Malaga, who can jump on or off a horse at full gallop, or stand +on the point of one foot and fall easily into the saddle, and knit +stockings, break eggs, and make an omelette with the horse at full +speed, to the admiration of the people,--the real people, peasants and +soldiers. Malaga, madame, is dexterity personified; her little wrist or +her little foot can rid her of three or four men. She is the goddess of +gymnastics.” + +“She must be stupid--” + +“Oh, no,” said Paz, “I find her as amusing as the heroine of ‘Peveril +of the Peak.’ Thoughtless as a Bohemian, she says everything that comes +into her head; she thinks no more about the future than you do of +the sous you fling to the poor. She says grand things sometimes. You +couldn’t make her believe that an old diplomatist was a handsome young +man, not if you offered her a million of francs. Such love as hers is +perpetual flattery to a man. Her health is positively insolent, and she +has thirty-two oriental pearls in lips of coral. Her muzzle--that’s what +she calls the lower part of her face--has, as Shakespeare expresses +it, the savor of a heifer’s nose. She can make a man unhappy. She likes +handsome men, strong men, Alexanders, gymnasts, clowns. Her trainer, a +horrible brute, used to beat her to make her supple, and graceful, and +intrepid--” + +“You are positively intoxicated with Malaga.” + +“Oh, she is called Malaga only on the posters,” said Paz, with a piqued +air. “She lives in the rue Saint-Lazare, in a pretty apartment on the +third story, all velvet and silk, like a princess. She has two lives, +her circus life and the life of a pretty woman.” + +“Does she love you?” + +“She loves me--now you will laugh--solely because I’m a Pole. She saw +an engraving of Poles rushing with Poniatowski into the Elster,--for all +France persists in thinking that the Elster, where it is impossible +to get drowned, is an impetuous flood, in which Poniatowski and his +followers were engulfed. But in the midst of all this I am very unhappy, +madame.” + +A tear of rage fell from his eyes and affected the countess. + +“You men have such a passion for singularity.” + +“And you?” said Thaddeus. + +“I know Adam so well that I am certain he could forget me for some +mountebank like your Malaga. Where did you first see her?” + +“At Saint-Cloud, last September, on the fete-day. She was at a corner of +a booth covered with flags, where the shows are given. Her comrades, +all in Polish costumes, were making a horrible racket. I watched her +standing there, silent and dumb, and I thought I saw a melancholy +expression in her face; in truth there was enough about her to sadden a +girl of twenty. That touched me.” + +The countess was sitting in a delicious attitude, pensive and rather +melancholy. + +“Poor, poor Thaddeus!” she exclaimed. Then, with the kindliness of a +true great lady she added, not without a malicious smile, “Well go, go +to your Circus.” + +Thaddeus took her hand, kissed it, leaving a hot tear upon it, and went +out. + +Having invented this passion for a circus-rider, he bethought him +that he must give it some reality. The only truth in his tale was the +momentary attention he had given to Malaga at Saint-Cloud; and he had +since seen her name on the posters of the Circus, where the clown, for +a tip of five francs, had told him that the girl was a foundling, stolen +perhaps. Thaddeus now went to the Circus and saw her again. For ten +francs one of the grooms (who take the place in circuses of the dressers +at a theatre) informed him that Malaga was named Marguerite Turquet, and +lived on the fifth story of a house in the rue des Fosses-du-Temple. + +The following day Paz went to the faubourg du Temple, found the house, +and asked to see Mademoiselle Turquet, who during the summer was +substituting for the leading horsewoman at the Cirque-Olympique, and a +supernumerary at a boulevard theatre in winter. + +“Malaga!” cried the portress, rushing into the attic, “there’s a fine +gentleman wanting you. He is getting information from Chapuzot, who is +playing him off to give me time to tell you.” + +“Thank you, M’ame Chapuzot; but what will he think of me if he finds me +ironing my gown?” + +“Pooh! when a man’s in love he loves everything about us.” + +“Is he an Englishman? they are fond of horses.” + +“No, he looks to me Spanish.” + +“That’s a pity; they say Spaniards are always poor. Stay here with me, +M’ame Chapuzot; I don’t want him to think I’m deserted.” + +“Who is it you are looking for, monsieur?” asked Madame Chapuzot, +opening the door for Thaddeus, who had now come upstairs. + +“Mademoiselle Turquet.” + +“My dear,” said the portress, with an air of importance, “here is some +one to see you.” + +A line on which the clothes were drying caught the captain’s hat and +knocked it off. + +“What is it you wish, monsieur?” said Malaga, picking up the hat and +giving it to him. + +“I saw you at the Circus,” said Thaddeus, “and you reminded me of a +daughter whom I have lost, mademoiselle; and out of affection for my +Heloise, whom you resemble in a most striking manner, I should like to +be of some service to you, if you will permit me.” + +“Why, certainly; pray sit down, general,” said Madame Chapuzot; “nothing +could be more straightforward, more gallant.” + +“But I am not gallant, my good lady,” exclaimed Paz. “I am an +unfortunate father who tries to deceive himself by a resemblance.” + +“Then am I to pass for your daughter?” said Malaga, slyly, and not in +the least suspecting the perfect sincerity of his proposal. + +“Yes,” said Paz, “and I’ll come and see you sometimes. But you shall be +lodged in better rooms, comfortably furnished.” + +“I shall have furniture!” cried Malaga, looking at Madame Chapuzot. + +“And servants,” said Paz, “and all you want.” + +Malaga looked at the stranger suspiciously. + +“What countryman is monsieur?” + +“I am a Pole.” + +“Oh! then I accept,” she said. + +Paz departed, promising to return. + +“Well, that’s a stiff one!” said Marguerite Turquet, looking at Madame +Chapuzot; “I’m half afraid he is wheedling me, to carry out some fancy +of his own--Pooh! I’ll risk it.” + +A month after this eccentric interview the circus-rider was living in +a comfortable apartment furnished by Comte Adam’s own upholsterer, Paz +having judged it desirable to have his folly talked about at the hotel +Laginski. Malaga, to whom this adventure was like a leaf out of the +Arabian Nights, was served by Monsieur and Madame Chapuzot in the double +capacity of friends and servants. The Chapuzots and Marguerite were +constantly expecting some result of all this; but at the end of three +months none of them were able to make out the meaning of the Polish +count’s caprice. Paz arrived duly and passed about an hour there once +a week, during which time he sat in the salon, and never went +into Malaga’s boudoir nor into her bedroom, in spite of the clever +manoeuvring of the Chapuzots and Malaga to get him there. The count +would ask questions as to the small events of Marguerite’s life, and +each time that he came he left two gold pieces of forty francs each on +the mantel-piece. + +“He looks as if he didn’t care to be here,” said Madame Chapuzot. + +“Yes,” said Malaga, “the man’s as cold as an icicle.” + +“But he’s a good fellow all the same,” cried Chapuzot, who was happy in +a new suit of clothes made of blue cloth, in which he looked like the +servant of some minister. + +The sum which Paz deposited weekly on the mantel-piece, joined to +Malaga’s meagre salary, gave her the means of sumptuous living compared +with her former poverty. Wonderful stories went the rounds of the Circus +about Malaga’s good-luck. Her vanity increased the six thousand francs +which Paz had spent on her furniture to sixty thousand. According to +the clowns and the supers, Malaga was squandering money; and she now +appeared at the Circus wearing burnous and shawls and elegant scarfs. +The Pole, it was agreed on all sides, was the best sort of man a +circus-rider had ever encountered, not fault-finding nor jealous, and +willing to let Malaga do just what she liked. + +“Some women have the luck of it,” said Malaga’s rival, “and I’m not one +of them,--though I do draw a third of the receipts.” + +Malaga wore pretty things, and occasionally “showed her head” (a term in +the lexicon of such characters) in the Bois, where the fashionable young +men of the day began to remark her. In fact, before long Malaga was +very much talked about in the questionable world of equivocal women, who +presently attacked her good fortune by calumnies. They said she was +a somnambulist, and the Pole was a magnetizer who was using her to +discover the philosopher’s stone. Some even more envenomed scandals +drove her to a curiosity that was greater than Psyche’s. She reported +them in tears to Paz. + +“When I want to injure a woman,” she said in conclusion, “I don’t +calumniate her; I don’t declare that some one magnetizes her to get +stones out of her, but I say plainly that she is humpbacked, and I prove +it. Why do you compromise me in this way?” + +Paz maintained a cruel silence. Madame Chapuzot was not long in +discovering the name and title of Comte Paz; then she heard certain +positive facts at the hotel Laginski: for instance, that Paz was a +bachelor, and had never been known to have a daughter, alive or dead, +in Poland or in France. After that Malaga could not control a feeling of +terror. + +“My dear child,” Madame Chapuzot would say, “that monster--” (a man who +contented himself with only looking, in a sly way,--not daring to come +out and say things,--and such a beautiful creature too, as Malaga,--of +course such a man was a monster, according to Madame Chapuzot’s ideas) +“--that monster is trying to get a hold upon you, and make you do +something illegal and criminal. Holy Father, if you should get into +the police-courts! it makes me tremble from head to foot; suppose they +should put you in the newspapers! I’ll tell you what I should do in your +place; I’d warn the police.” + +One particular day, after many foolish notions had fermented for +some time in Malaga’s mind, Paz having laid his money as usual on the +mantel-piece, she seized the bits of gold and flung them in his face, +crying out, “I don’t want stolen money!” + +The captain gave the gold to Chapuzot, went away without a word, and did +not return. + +Clementine was at this time at her uncle’s place in Burgundy. + +When the Circus troop discovered that Malaga had lost her Polish count, +much excitement was produced among them. Malaga’s display of honor was +considered folly by some, and shrewdness by others. The conduct of the +Pole, however, even when discussed by the cleverest of women, seemed +inexplicable. Thaddeus received in the course of the next week +thirty-seven letters from women of their kind. Happily for him, his +astonishing reserve did not excite the curiosity of the fashionable +world, and was only discussed in the demi-mondaine regions. + +Two weeks later the handsome circus-rider, crippled by debt, wrote the +following letter to Comte Paz, which, having fallen into the hands +of Comte Adam, was read by several of the dandies of the day, who +pronounced it a masterpiece:-- + + “You, whom I still dare to call my friend, will you not pity me + after all that has passed,--which you have so ill understood? My + heart disavows whatever may have wounded your feelings. If I was + fortunate enough to charm you and keep you beside me in the past, + return to me; otherwise, I shall fall into despair. Poverty has + overtaken me, and you do not know what _horrid things_ it brings + with it. Yesterday I lived on a herring at two sous, and one sou + of bread. Is that a breakfast for the woman you loved? The + Chapuzots have left me, though they seemed so devoted. Your + desertion has caused me to see to the bottom of all human + attachments. The dog we feed does not leave us, but the Chapuzots + have gone. A sheriff has seized everything on behalf of the + landlord, who has no heart, and the jeweller, who refused to wait + even ten days,--for when we lose the confidence of such as you, + credit goes too. What a position for women who have nothing to + reproach themselves with but the happiness they have given! My + friend, I have taken all I have of any value to _my uncle’s_; I have + nothing but the memory of you left, and here is the winter coming + on. I shall be fireless when it turns cold; for the boulevards are + to play only melodramas, in which I have nothing but little bits + of parts which don’t _pose_ a woman. How could you misunderstand the + nobleness of my feelings for you?--for there are two ways of + expressing gratitude. You who seemed so happy in seeing me + well-off, how can you leave me in poverty? Oh, my sole friend on + earth, before I go back to the country fairs with Bouthor’s circus, + where I can at least make a living, forgive me if I wish to know + whether I have lost you forever. If I were to let myself think of + you when I jump through the hoops, I should be sure to break my legs + by losing _a time_. Whatever may be the result, I am yours for life. + +“Marguerite Turquet.” + + +“That letter,” thought Thaddeus, shouting with laughter, “is worth the +ten thousand francs I have spent upon her.” + + + + +III + + +Clementine came home the next day, and the day after that Paz beheld her +again, more beautiful and graceful than ever. After dinner, during which +the countess treated Paz with an air of perfect indifference, a little +scene took place in the salon between the count and his wife when +Thaddeus had left them. On pretence of asking Adam’s advice, Thaddeus +had left Malaga’s letter with him, as if by mistake. + +“Poor Thaddeus!” said Adam, as Paz disappeared, “what a misfortune for +a man of his distinction to be the plaything of the lowest kind of +circus-rider. He will lose everything, and get lower and lower, and +won’t be recognizable before long. Here, read that,” added the count, +giving Malaga’s letter to his wife. + +Clementine read the letter, which smelt of tobacco, and threw it from +her with a look of disgust. + +“Thick as the bandage is over his eyes,” continued Adam, “he must have +found out something; Malaga tricked him, no doubt.” + +“But he goes back to her,” said Clementine, “and he will forgive her! It +is for such horrible women as that that you men have indulgence.” + +“Well, they need it,” said Adam. + +“Thaddeus used to show some decency--in living apart from us,” she +remarked. “He had better go altogether.” + +“Oh, my dear angel, that’s going too far,” said the count, who did not +want the death of the sinner. + +Paz, who knew Adam thoroughly, had enjoined him to secrecy, pretending +to excuse his dissipations, and had asked his friend to lend him a few +thousand francs for Malaga. + +“He is a very firm fellow,” said Adam. + +“How so?” asked Clementine. + +“Why, for having spent no more than ten thousand francs on her, and +letting her send him that letter before he would ask me for enough to +pay her debts. For a Pole, I call that firm.” + +“He will ruin you,” said Clementine, in the sharp tone of a Parisian +woman, when she shows her feline distrusts. + +“Oh, I know him,” said Adam; “he will sacrifice Malaga, if I ask him.” + +“We shall see,” remarked the countess. + +“If it is best for his own happiness, I sha’n’t hesitate to ask him to +leave her. Constantin says that since Paz has been with her he, sober +as he is, has sometimes come home quite excited. If he takes to +intoxication I shall be just as grieved as if he were my own son.” + +“Don’t tell me anything more about it,” cried the countess, with a +gesture of disgust. + +Two days later the captain perceived in the manner, the tones of voice, +but, above all, in the eyes of the countess, the terrible results of +Adam’s confidences. Contempt had opened a gulf between the beloved woman +and himself. He was suddenly plunged into the deepest distress of mind, +for the thought gnawed him, “I have myself made her despise me!” His own +folly stared him in the face. Life then became a burden to him, the very +sun turned gray. And yet, amid all these bitter thoughts, he found again +some moments of pure joy. There were times when he could give himself +up wholly to his admiration for his mistress, who paid not the +slightest attention to him. Hanging about in corners at her parties +and receptions, silent, all heart and eyes, he never lost one of her +attitudes, nor a tone of her voice when she sang. He lived in her life; +he groomed the horse which _she_ rode, he studied the ways and means of +that splendid establishment, to the interests of which he was now more +devoted than ever. These silent pleasures were buried in his heart like +those of a mother, whose heart a child never knows; for is it knowing +anything unless we know it all? His love was more perfect than the love +of Petrarch for Laura, which found its ultimate reward in the treasures +of fame, the triumph of the poem which she had inspired. Surely the +emotion that the Chevalier d’Assas felt in dying must have been to him +a lifetime of joy. Such emotions as these Paz enjoyed daily,--without +dying, but also without the guerdon of immortality. + +But what is Love, that, in spite of all these ineffable delights, Paz +should still have been unhappy? The Catholic religion has so magnified +Love that she has wedded it indissolubly to respect and nobility of +spirit. Love is therefore attended by those sentiments and qualities +of which mankind is proud; it is rare to find true Love existing where +contempt is felt. Thaddeus was suffering from the wounds his own hand +had given him. The trial of his former life, when he lived beside his +mistress, unknown, unappreciated, but generously working for her, was +better than this. Yes, he wanted the reward of his virtue, her respect, +and he had lost it. He grew thin and yellow, and so ill with constant +low fever that during the month of January he was obliged to keep his +bed, though he refused to see a doctor. Comte Adam became very uneasy +about him; but the countess had the cruelty to remark: “Let him alone; +don’t you see it is only some Olympian trouble?” This remark, being +repeated to Thaddeus, gave him the courage of despair; he left his bed, +went out, tried a few amusements, and recovered his health. + +About the end of February Adam lost a large sum of money at the +Jockey-Club, and as he was afraid of his wife, he begged Thaddeus to let +the sum appear in the accounts as if he had spent it on Malaga. + +“There’s nothing surprising in your spending that sum on the girl; +but if the countess finds out that I have lost it at cards I shall be +lowered in her opinion, and she will always be suspicious in future.” + +“Ha! this, too!” exclaimed Thaddeus, with a sigh. + +“Now, Thaddeus, if you will do me this service we shall be forever +quits,--though, indeed, I am your debtor now.” + +“Adam, you will have children; don’t gamble any more,” said Paz. + +“So Malaga has cost us another twenty thousand francs,” cried the +countess, some time later, when she discovered this new generosity to +Paz. “First, ten thousand, now twenty more,--thirty thousand! the income +of which is fifteen hundred! the cost of my box at the Opera, and the +whole fortune of many a bourgeois. Oh, you Poles!” she said, gathering +some flowers in her greenhouse; “you are really incomprehensible. Why +are you not furious with him?” + +“Poor Paz is--” + +“Poor Paz, poor Paz, indeed!” she cried, interrupting him, “what good +does he do us? I shall take the management of the household myself. You +can give him the allowance he refused, and let him settle it as he likes +with his Circus.” + +“He is very useful to us, Clementine. He has certainly saved over forty +thousand francs this last year. And besides, my dear angel, he has +managed to put a hundred thousand with Nucingen, which a steward would +have pocketed.” + +Clementine softened down; but she was none the less hard in her feelings +to Thaddeus. A few days later, she requested him to come to that boudoir +where, one year earlier, she had been surprised into comparing him with +her husband. This time she received him alone, without perceiving the +slightest danger in so doing. + +“My dear Paz,” she said, with the condescending familiarity of the great +to their inferiors, “if you love Adam as you say you do, you will do +a thing which he will not ask of you, but which I, his wife, do not +hesitate to exact.” + +“About Malaga?” said Thaddeus, with bitterness in his heart. + +“Well, yes,” she said; “if you wish to end your days in this house +and continue good friends with us, you must give her up. How an old +soldier--” + +“I am only thirty-five, and haven’t a white hair.” + +“You look old,” she said, “and that’s the same thing. How so careful a +manager, so distinguished a--” + +The horrible part of all this was her evident intention to rouse a sense +of honor in his soul which she thought extinct. + +“--so distinguished a man as you are, Thaddeus,” she resumed after a +momentary pause which a gesture of his hand had led her to make, “can +allow yourself to be caught like a boy! Your proceedings have made that +woman celebrated. My uncle wanted to see her, and he did see her. My +uncle is not the only one; Malaga receives a great many gentlemen. I did +think you such a noble soul. For shame! Will she be such a loss that you +can’t replace her?” + +“Madame, if I knew any sacrifice I could make to recover your esteem I +would make it; but to give up Malaga is not one--” + +“In your position, that is what I should say myself, if I were a man,” + replied Clementine. “Well, if I accept it as a great sacrifice there can +be no ill-will between us.” + +Paz left the room, fearing he might commit some great folly, and feeling +that wild ideas were getting the better of him. He went to walk in the +open air, lightly dressed in spite of the cold, but without being able +to cool the fire in his cheeks or on his brow. + +“I thought you had a noble soul,”--the words still rang in his ears. + +“A year ago,” he said to himself, “she thought me a hero who could fight +the Russians single-handed!” + +He thought of leaving the hotel Laginski, and taking service with the +spahis and getting killed in Africa, but the same great fear checked +him. “Without me,” he thought, “what would become of them? they would +soon be ruined. Poor countess! what a horrible life it would be for her +if she were reduced to even thirty thousand francs a year. No, since all +is lost for me in this world,--courage! I will keep on as I am.” + +Every one knows that since 1830 the carnival in Paris has undergone a +transformation which has made it European, and far more burlesque +and otherwise lively than the late Carnival of Venice. Is it that the +diminishing fortunes of the present time have led Parisians to invent a +way of amusing themselves collectively, as for instance at their clubs, +where they hold salons without hostesses and without manners, but very +cheaply? However this may be, the month of March was prodigal of balls, +at which dancing, joking, coarse fun, excitement, grotesque figures, and +the sharp satire of Parisian wit, produced extravagant effects. These +carnival follies had their special Pandemonium in the rue Saint-Honore +and their Napoleon in Musard, a small man born expressly to lead an +orchestra as noisy as the disorderly audience, and to set the time for +the galop, that witches’ dance, which was one of Auber’s triumphs, for +it did not really take form or poesy till the grand galop in “Gustave” + was given to the world. That tremendous finale might serve as the symbol +of an epoch in which for the last fifty years all things have hurried by +with the rapidity of a dream. + +Now, it happened that the grave Thaddeus, with one divine and immaculate +image in his heart, proposed to Malaga, the queen of the carnival +dances, to spend an evening at the Musard ball; because he knew the +countess, disguised to the teeth, intended to come there with two +friends, all three accompanied by their husbands, and look on at the +curious spectacle of one of these crowded balls. + +On Shrove Tuesday, of the year 1838, at four o’clock in the morning, the +countess, wrapped in a black domino and sitting on the lower step of the +platform in the Babylonian hall, where Valentino has since then given +his concerts, beheld Thaddeus, as Robert Macaire, threading the galop +with Malaga in the dress of a savage, her head garnished with plumes +like the horse of a hearse, and bounding through the crowd like a +will-o-the-wisp. + +“Ah!” said Clementine to her husband, “you Poles have no honor at all! +I did believe in Thaddeus. He gave me his word that he would leave that +woman; he did not know that I should be here, seeing all unseen.” + +A few days later she requested Paz to dine with them. After dinner Adam +left them alone together, and Clementine reproved Paz and let him know +very plainly that she did not wish him to live in her house any longer. + +“Yes, madame,” said Paz, humbly, “you are right; I am a wretch; I did +give you my word. But you see how it is; I put off leaving Malaga till +after the carnival. Besides, that woman exerts an influence over me +which--” + +“An influence!--a woman who ought to be turned out of Musard’s by the +police for such dancing!” + +“I agree to all that; I accept the condemnation and I’ll leave your +house. But you know Adam. If I give up the management of your property +you must show energy yourself. I may have been to blame about Malaga, +but I have taken the whole charge of your affairs, managed your +servants, and looked after the very least details. I cannot leave you +until I see you prepared to continue my management. You have now +been married three years, and you are safe from the temptations to +extravagance which come with the honeymoon. I see that Parisian +women, and even titled ones, do manage both their fortunes and their +households. Well, as soon as I am certain not so much of your capacity +as of your perseverance I shall leave Paris.” + +“It is Thaddeus of Warsaw, and not that Circus Thaddeus who speaks now,” + said Clementine. “Go, and come back cured.” + +“Cured! never,” said Paz, his eyes lowered and fixed on Clementine’s +pretty feet. “You do not know, countess, what charm, what unexpected +piquancy of mind she has.” Then, feeling his courage fail him, he added +hastily, “There is not a woman in society, with her mincing airs, that +is worth the honest nature of that young animal.” + +“At any rate, I wish nothing of the animal about me,” said the countess, +with a glance like that of an angry viper. + +After that evening Comte Paz showed Clementine the exact state of +her affairs; he made himself her tutor, taught her the methods and +difficulties of the management of property, the proper prices to pay for +things, and how to avoid being cheated by her servants. He told her +she could rely on Constantin and make him her major-domo. Thaddeus had +trained the man thoroughly. By the end of May he thought the countess +fully competent to carry on her affairs alone; for Clementine was one of +those far-sighted women, full of instinct, who have an innate genius as +mistress of a household. + +This position of affairs, which Thaddeus had led up to naturally, did +not end without further cruel trials; his sufferings were fated not to +be as sweet and tender as he was trying to make them. The poor lover +forgot to reckon on the hazard of events. Adam fell seriously ill, and +Thaddeus, instead of leaving the house, stayed to nurse his friend. His +devotion was unwearied. A woman who had any interest in employing her +perspicacity might have seen in this devotion a sort of punishment +imposed by a noble soul to repress an involuntary evil thought; but +women see all, or see nothing, according to the condition of their +souls--love is their sole illuminator. + +During forty-five days Paz watched and tended Adam without appearing +to think of Malaga, for the very good reason that he never did think of +her. Clementine, feeling that Adam was at the point of death though he +did not die, sent for all the leading doctors of Paris in consultation. + +“If he comes safely out of this,” said the most distinguished of them +all, “it will only be by an effort of nature. It is for those who nurse +him to watch for the moment when they must second nature. The count’s +life is in the hands of his nurses.” + +Thaddeus went to find Clementine and tell her this result of the +consultation. He found her sitting in the Chinese pavilion, as much for +a little rest as to leave the field to the doctors and not embarrass +them. As he walked along the winding gravelled path which led to the +pavilion, Thaddeus seemed to himself in the depths of an abyss described +by Dante. The unfortunate man had never dreamed that the possibility +might arise of becoming Clementine’s husband, and now he had drowned +himself in a ditch of mud. His face was convulsed, when he reached +the kiosk, with an agony of grief; his head, like Medusa’s, conveyed +despair. + +“Is he dead?” said Clementine. + +“They have given him up; that is, they leave him to nature. Do not go +in; they are still there, and Bianchon is changing the dressings.” + +“Poor Adam! I ask myself if I have not sometimes pained him,” she said. + +“You have made him very happy,” said Thaddeus; “you ought to be easy on +that score, for you have shown every indulgence for him.” + +“My loss would be irreparable.” + +“But, dear, you judged him justly.” + +“I was never blind to his faults,” she said, “but I loved him as a wife +should love her husband.” + +“Then you ought, in case you lose him,” said Thaddeus, in a voice which +Clementine had never heard him use, “to grieve for him less than if you +lost a man who was your pride, your love, and all your life,--as some +men are to you women. Surely you can be frank at this moment with a +friend like me. I shall grieve, too; long before your marriage I had +made him my child, I had sacrificed my life to him. If he dies I shall +be without an interest on earth; but life is still beautiful to a widow +of twenty-four.” + +“Ah! but you know that I love no one,” she said, with the impatience of +grief. + +“You don’t yet know what it is to love,” said Thaddeus. + +“Oh, as husbands are, I have sense enough to prefer a child like my poor +Adam to a superior man. It is now over a month that we have been saying +to each other, ‘Will he live?’ and these alternations have prepared me, +as they have you, for this loss. I can be frank with you. Well, I would +give my life to save Adam. What is a woman’s independence in Paris? +the freedom to let herself be taken in by ruined or dissipated men who +pretend to love her. I pray to God to leave me this husband who is so +kind, so obliging, so little fault-finding, and who is beginning to +stand in awe of me.” + +“You are honest, and I love you the better for it,” said Thaddeus, +taking her hand which she yielded to him, and kissing it. “In solemn +moments like these there is unspeakable satisfaction in finding a woman +without hypocrisy. It is possible to converse with you. Let us look to +the future. Suppose that God does not grant your prayer,--and no one +cries to him more than I do, ‘Leave me my friend!’ Yes, these fifty +nights have not weakened me; if thirty more days and nights are needed +I can give them while you sleep,--yes, I will tear him from death if, as +the doctors say, nursing can save him. But suppose that in spite of you +and me, the count dies,--well, then, if you were loved, oh, adored, by a +man of a heart and soul that are worthy of you--” + +“I may have wished for such love, foolishly, but I have never met with +it.” + +“Perhaps you are mistaken--” + +Clementine looked fixedly at Thaddeus, imagining that there was less of +love than of cupidity in his thoughts; her eyes measured him from head +to foot and poured contempt upon him; then she crushed him with the +words, “Poor Malaga!” uttered in tones which a great lady alone can +find to give expression to her disdain. She rose, leaving Thaddeus half +unconscious behind her, slowly re-entered her boudoir, and went back to +Adam’s chamber. + +An hour later Paz returned to the sick-room, and began anew, with death +in his heart, his care of the count. From that moment he said nothing. +He was forced to struggle with the patient, whom he managed in a way +that excited the admiration of the doctors. At all hours his watchful +eyes were like lamps always lighted. He showed no resentment to +Clementine, and listened to her thanks without accepting them; he seemed +both dumb and deaf. To himself he was saying, “She shall owe his life to +me,” and he wrote the thought as it were in letters of fire on the walls +of Adam’s room. On the fifteenth day Clementine was forced to give up +the nursing, lest she should utterly break down. Paz was unwearied. At +last, towards the end of August, Bianchon, the family physician, told +Clementine that Adam was out of danger. + +“Ah, madame, you are under no obligation to me,” he said; “without his +friend, Comte Paz, we could not have saved him.” + +The day after the meeting of Paz and Clementine in the kiosk, the +Marquis de Ronquerolles came to see his nephew. He was on the eve of +starting for Russia on a secret diplomatic mission. Paz took occasion +to say a few words to him. The first day that Adam was able to drive +out with his wife and Thaddeus, a gentleman entered the courtyard as the +carriage was about to leave it, and asked for Comte Paz. Thaddeus, who +was sitting on the front seat of the caleche, turned to take a letter +which bore the stamp of the ministry of Foreign affairs. Having read it, +he put it into his pocket in a manner which prevented Clementine or Adam +from speaking of it. Nevertheless, by the time they reached the porte +Maillot, Adam, full of curiosity, used the privilege of a sick man +whose caprices are to be gratified, and said to Thaddeus: “There’s no +indiscretion between brothers who love each other,--tell me what there +is in that despatch; I’m in a fever of curiosity.” + +Clementine glanced at Thaddeus with a vexed air, and remarked to her +husband: “He has been so sulky with me for the last two months that I +shall never ask him anything again.” + +“Oh, as for that,” replied Paz, “I can’t keep it out of the newspapers, +so I may as well tell you at once. The Emperor Nicholas has had the +grace to appoint me captain in a regiment which is to take part in the +expedition to Khiva.” + +“You are not going?” cried Adam. + +“Yes, I shall go, my dear fellow. Captain I came, and captain I return. +We shall dine together to-morrow for the last time. If I don’t start at +once for St. Petersburg I shall have to make the journey by land, and I +am not rich, and I must leave Malaga a little independence. I ought to +think of the only woman who has been able to understand me; she thinks +me grand, superior. I dare say she is faithless, but she would jump--” + +“Through the hoop, for your sake and come down safely on the back of her +horse,” said Clementine sharply. + +“Oh, you don’t know Malaga,” said the captain, bitterly, with a +sarcastic look in his eyes which made Clementine thoughtful and uneasy. + +“Good-by to the young trees of this beautiful Bois, which you Parisians +love, and the exiles who find a home here love too,” he said, +presently. “My eyes will never again see the evergreens of the avenue de +Mademoiselle, nor the acacias nor the cedars of the rond-points. On +the borders of Asia, fighting for the Emperor, promoted to the command, +perhaps, by force of courage and by risking my life, it may happen that +I shall regret these Champs-Elysees where I have driven beside you, and +where you pass. Yes, I shall grieve for Malaga’s hardness--the Malaga of +whom I am now speaking.” + +This was said in a manner that made Clementine tremble. + +“Then you do love Malaga very much?” she asked. + +“I have sacrificed for her the honor that no man should ever sacrifice.” + +“What honor?” + +“That which we desire to keep at any cost in the eyes of our idol.” + +After that reply Thaddeus said no more; he was silent until, as they +passed a wooden building on the Champs Elysees, he said, pointing to it, +“That is the Circus.” + +He went to the Russian Embassy before dinner, and thence to the Foreign +office, and the next morning he had started for Havre before the count +and countess were up. + +“I have lost a friend,” said Adam, with tears in his eyes, when he heard +that Paz had gone,--“a friend in the true meaning of the word. I don’t +know what has made him abandon me as if a pestilence were in my house. +We are not friends to quarrel about a woman,” he said, looking intently +at Clementine. “You heard what he said yesterday about Malaga. Well, he +has never so much as touched the little finger of that girl.” + +“How do you know that?” said Clementine. + +“I had the natural curiosity to go and see Mademoiselle Turquet, and +the poor girl can’t explain even to herself the absolute reserve which +Thad--” + +“Enough!” said the countess, retreating into her bedroom. “Can it be +that I am the victim of some noble mystification?” she asked herself. +The thought had hardly crossed her mind when Constantin brought her the +following letter written by Thaddeus during the night:-- + + “Countess,--To seek death in the Caucasus and carry with me your + contempt is more than I can bear. A man should die untainted. When + I saw you for the first time I loved you as we love a woman whom + we shall love forever, even though she be unfaithful to us. I + loved you thus,--I, the friend of the man you had chosen and were + about to marry; I, poor; I, the steward,--a voluntary service, but + still the steward of your household. + + “In this immense misfortune I found a happy life. To be to you an + indispensable machine, to know myself useful to your comfort, your + luxury, has been the source of deep enjoyments. If these + enjoyments were great when I thought only of Adam, think what they + were to my soul when the woman I loved was the mainspring of all I + did. I have known the pleasures of maternity in my love. I + accepted life thus. Like the paupers who live along the great + highways, I built myself a hut on the borders of your beautiful + domain, though I never sought to approach you. Poor and lonely, + struck blind by Adam’s good fortune, I was, nevertheless, the + giver. Yes, you were surrounded by a love as pure as a + guardian-angel’s; it waked while you slept; it caressed you with a + look as you passed; it was happy in its own existence,--you were + the sun of my native land to me, poor exile, who now writes to you + with tears in his eyes as he thinks of the happiness of those first + days. + + “When I was eighteen years old, having no one to love, I took for + my ideal mistress a charming woman in Warsaw, to whom I confided + all my thoughts, my wishes; I made her the queen of my nights and + days. She knew nothing of all this; why should she? I loved my + love. + + “You can fancy from this incident of my youth how happy I was + merely to live in the sphere of your existence, to groom your + horse, to find the new-coined gold for your purse, to prepare the + splendor of your dinners and your balls, to see you eclipsing the + elegance of those whose fortunes were greater than yours, and all + by my own good management. Ah! with what ardor I have ransacked + Paris when Adam would say to me, ‘_She_ wants this or that.’ It was + a joy such as I can never express to you. You wished for a trifle + at one time which kept me seven hours in a cab scouring the city; + and what delight it was to weary myself for you. Ah! when I saw + you, unseen by you, smiling among your flowers, I could forget + that no one loved me. On certain days, when my happiness turned my + head, I went at night and kissed the spot where, to me, your feet + had left their luminous traces. The air you had breathed was + balmy; in it I breathed in more of life; I inhaled, as they say + persons do in the tropics, a vapor laden with creative principles. + + “I _must_ tell you these things to explain the strange presumption + of my involuntary thoughts,--I would have died rather than avow it + until now. + + “You will remember those few days of curiosity when you wished to + know the man who performed the household miracles you had + sometimes noticed. I thought,--forgive me, madame,--I believed you + might love me. Your good-will, your glances interpreted by me, a + lover, seemed to me so dangerous--for me--that I invented that + story of Malaga, knowing it was the sort of liaison which women + cannot forgive. I did it in a moment when I felt that my love + would be communicated, fatally, to you. Despise me, crush me with + the contempt you have so often cast upon me when I did not deserve + it; and yet I am certain that, if, on that evening when your aunt + took Adam away from you, I had said what I have now written to + you, I should, like the tamed tiger that sets his teeth once more + in living flesh, and scents the blood, and-- + + “Midnight.” + + “I could not go on; the memory of that hour is still too living. + Yes, I was maddened. Was there hope for me in your eyes? then + victory with its scarlet banners would have flamed in mine and + fascinated yours. My crime has been to think all this; perhaps + wrongly. You alone can judge of that dreadful scene when I drove + back love, desire, all the most invincible forces of our manhood, + with the cold hand of gratitude,--gratitude which must be eternal. + + “Your terrible contempt has been my punishment. You have shown me + there is no return from loathing or disdain. I love you madly. I + should have gone had Adam died; all the more must I go because he + lives. A man does not tear his friend from the arms of death to + betray him. Besides, my going is my punishment for the thought + that came to me that I would let him die, when the doctors said + that his life depended on his nursing. + + “Adieu, madame; in leaving Paris I lose all, but you lose nothing + now in my being no longer near you. + + “Your devoted + + “Thaddeus Paz.” + + +“If my poor Adam says he has lost a friend, what have I lost?” thought +Clementine, sinking into a chair with her eyes fixed on the carpet. + +The following letter Constantin had orders to give privately to the +count:-- + + “My dear Adam,--Malaga has told me all. In the name of all your + future happiness, never let a word escape you to Clementine about + your visits to that girl; let her think that Malaga has cost me a + hundred thousand francs. I know Clementine’s character; she will + never forgive you either your losses at cards or your visits to + Malaga. + + “I am not going to Khiva, but to the Caucasus. I have the spleen; + and at the pace at which I mean to go I shall be either Prince + Paz in three years, or dead. Good-by; though I have taken + sixty-thousand francs from Nucingen, our accounts are even. + +“Thaddeus.” + + +“Idiot that I was,” thought Adam; “I came near to cutting my throat just +now, talking about Malaga.” + +It is now three years since Paz went away. The newspapers have as yet +said nothing about any Prince Paz. The Comtesse Laginska is immensely +interested in the expeditions of the Emperor Nicholas; she is Russian to +the core, and reads with a sort of avidity all the news that comes from +that distant land. Once or twice every winter she says to the Russian +ambassador, with an air of indifference, “Do you know what has become of +our poor Comte Paz?” + +Alas! most Parisian women, those beings who think themselves so clever +and clear-sighted, pass and repass beside a Paz and never recognize +him. Yes, many a Paz is unknown and misconceived, but--horrible to think +of!--some are misconceived even though they are loved. The simplest +women in society exact a certain amount of conventional sham from +the greatest men. A noble love signifies nothing to them if rough and +unpolished; it needs the cutting and setting of a jeweller to give it +value in their eyes. + +In January, 1842, the Comtesse Laginska, with her charm of gentle +melancholy, inspired a violent passion in the Comte de La Palferine, one +of the most daring and presumptuous lions of the day. La Palferine was +well aware that the conquest of a woman so guarded by reserve as the +Comtesse Laginska was difficult, but he thought he could inveigle this +charming creature into committing herself if he took her unawares, by +the assistance of a certain friend of her own, a woman already jealous +of her. + +Quite incapable, in spite of her intelligence, of suspecting such +treachery, the Comtesse Laginska committed the imprudence of going with +her so-called friend to a masked ball at the Opera. About three in the +morning, led away by the excitement of the scene, Clementine, on whom La +Palferine had expended his seductions, consented to accept a supper, +and was about to enter the carriage of her faithless friend. At this +critical moment her arm was grasped by a powerful hand, and she was +taken, in spite of her struggles, to her own carriage, the door of which +stood open, though she did not know it was there. + +“He has never left Paris!” she exclaimed to herself as she recognized +Thaddeus, who disappeared when the carriage drove away. + +Did any woman ever have a like romance in her life? Clementine is +constantly hoping she may again see Paz. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Bianchon, Horace + Father Goriot + The Atheist’s Mass + Cesar Birotteau + The Commission in Lunacy + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Secrets of a Princess + The Government Clerks + Pierrette + A Study of Woman + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Honorine + The Seamy Side of History + The Magic Skin + A Second Home + A Prince of Bohemia + Letters of Two Brides + The Muse of the Department + The Middle Classes + Cousin Betty + The Country Parson + In addition, M. Bianchon narrated the following: + Another Study of Woman + La Grande Breteche + + Laginski, Comte Adam Mitgislas + Another Study of Woman + Cousin Betty + + La Palferine, Comte de + A Prince of Bohemia + A Man of Business + Cousin Betty + Beatrix + + Lelewel + The Seamy Side of History + + Nathan, Madame Raoul + The Muse of the Department + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Government Clerks + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Ursule Mirouet + Eugenie Grandet + A Prince of Bohemia + A Daughter of Eve + The Unconscious Humorists + + Paz, Thaddee + Cousin Betty + + Ronquerolles, Marquis de + The Peasantry + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Another Study of Woman + The Thirteen + The Member for Arcis + + Rouvre, Marquis du + A Start in Life + Ursule Mirouet + + Rouvre, Chevalier du + Ursule Mirouet + + Schinner, Hippolyte + The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + A Start in Life + Albert Savarus + The Government Clerks + Modeste Mignon + The Unconscious Humorists + + Serizy, Comtesse de + A Start in Life + The Thirteen + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Another Study of Woman + + Serizy, Vicomte de + A Start in Life + Modeste Mignon + + Souchet, Francois + The Purse + A Daughter of Eve + + Steinbock, Count Wenceslas + Cousin Betty + + Turquet, Marguerite + The Muse of the Department + A Man of Business + Cousin Betty + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paz, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1369 *** |