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diff --git a/1482-h/1482-h.htm b/1482-h/1482-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6849ae1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1482-h/1482-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11704 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Modeste Mignon, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1482 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + MODESTE MIGNON + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEDICATION + + To a Polish Lady. + + Daughter of an enslaved land, angel through love, witch through + fancy, child by faith, aged by experience, man in brain, woman in + heart, giant by hope, mother through sorrows, poet in thy dreams, + —to <i>thee</i> belongs this book, in which thy love, thy fancy, thy + experience, thy sorrow, thy hope, thy dreams, are the warp through + which is shot a woof less brilliant than the poesy of thy soul, + whose expression, when it shines upon thy countenance, is, to + those who love thee, what the characters of a lost language are to + scholars. + + De Balzac. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MODESTE MIGNON</b> </a> + </h3> + <h3> + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE CHALET + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + A PORTRAIT FROM LIFE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + PRELIMINARIES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + A SIMPLE STORY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE PROBLEM STILL UNSOLVED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + A MAIDEN’S FIRST ROMANCE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A POET OF THE ANGELIC SCHOOL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + BLADE TO BLADE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE POWER OF THE UNSEEN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MARRIAGE OF SOULS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </td> + <td> + WHAT COMES OF CORRESPONDENCE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A DECLARATION OF LOVE,—SET TO MUSIC + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR DE LA BRIERE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </td> + <td> + MATTERS GROWN COMPLICATED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </td> + <td> + A FATHER STEPS IN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </td> + <td> + DISENCHANTED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A THIRD SUITOR + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A SPLENDID FIRST APPEARANCE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </td> + <td> + OF WHICH THE AUTHOR THINKS A GOOD DEAL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE POET DOES HIS EXERCISES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> + </td> + <td> + MODESTE PLAYS HER PART + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A RIDDLE GUESSED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + BUTSCHA DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE POET FEELS THAT HE IS LOVED TOO WELL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> + </td> + <td> + A DIPLOMATIC LETTER + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> + </td> + <td> + TRUE LOVE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A GIRL’S REVENGE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + MODESTE BEHAVES WITH DIGNITY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> + </td> + <td> + CONCLUSION + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + MODESTE MIGNON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE CHALET + </h2> + <p> + At the beginning of October, 1829, Monsieur Simon Babylas Latournelle, + notary, was walking up from Havre to Ingouville, arm in arm with his son + and accompanied by his wife, at whose side the head clerk of the lawyer’s + office, a little hunchback named Jean Butscha, trotted along like a page. + When these four personages (two of whom came the same way every evening) + reached the elbow of the road where it turns back upon itself like those + called in Italy “cornice,” the notary looked about to see if any one could + overhear him either from the terrace above or the path beneath, and when + he spoke he lowered his voice as a further precaution. + </p> + <p> + “Exupere,” he said to his son, “you must try to carry out intelligently a + little manoeuvre which I shall explain to you, but you are not to ask the + meaning of it; and if you guess the meaning I command you to toss it into + that Styx which every lawyer and every man who expects to have a hand in + the government of his country is bound to keep within him for the secrets + of others. After you have paid your respects and compliments to Madame and + Mademoiselle Mignon, to Monsieur and Madame Dumay, and to Monsieur + Gobenheim if he is at the Chalet, and as soon as quiet is restored, + Monsieur Dumay will take you aside; you are then to look attentively at + Mademoiselle Modeste (yes, I am willing to allow it) during the whole time + he is speaking to you. My worthy friend will ask you to go out and take a + walk; at the end of an hour, that is, about nine o’clock, you are to come + back in a great hurry; try to puff as if you were out of breath, and + whisper in Monsieur Dumay’s ear, quite low, but so that Mademoiselle + Modeste is sure to overhear you, these words: ‘The young man has come.’” + </p> + <p> + Exupere was to start the next morning for Paris to begin the study of law. + This impending departure had induced Latournelle to propose him to his + friend Dumay as an accomplice in the important conspiracy which these + directions indicate. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mademoiselle Modeste suspected of having a lover?” asked Butscha in a + timid voice of Madame Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Butscha,” she replied, taking her husband’s arm. + </p> + <p> + Madame Latournelle, the daughter of a clerk of the supreme court, feels + that her birth authorizes her to claim issue from a parliamentary family. + This conviction explains why the lady, who is somewhat blotched as to + complexion, endeavors to assume in her own person the majesty of a court + whose decrees are recorded in her father’s pothooks. She takes snuff, + holds herself as stiff as a ramrod, poses for a person of consideration, + and resembles nothing so much as a mummy brought momentarily to life by + galvanism. She tries to give high-bred tones to her sharp voice, and + succeeds no better in doing that than in hiding her general lack of + breeding. Her social usefulness seems, however, incontestable when we + glance at the flower-bedecked cap she wears, at the false front frizzling + around her forehead, at the gowns of her choice; for how could shopkeepers + dispose of those products if there were no Madame Latournelle? All these + absurdities of the worthy woman, who is truly pious and charitable, might + have passed unnoticed, if nature, amusing herself as she often does by + turning out these ludicrous creations, had not endowed her with the height + of a drum-major, and thus held up to view the comicalities of her + provincial nature. She has never been out of Havre; she believes in the + infallibility of Havre; she proclaims herself Norman to the very tips of + her fingers; she venerates her father, and adores her husband. + </p> + <p> + Little Latournelle was bold enough to marry this lady after she had + attained the anti-matrimonial age of thirty-three, and what is more, he + had a son by her. As he could have got the sixty thousand francs of her + “dot” in several other ways, the public assigned his uncommon intrepidity + to a desire to escape an invasion of the Minotaur, against whom his + personal qualifications would have insufficiently protected him had he + rashly dared his fate by bringing home a young and pretty wife. The fact + was, however, that the notary recognized the really fine qualities of + Mademoiselle Agnes (she was called Agnes) and reflected to himself that a + woman’s beauty is soon past and gone to a husband. As to the insignificant + youth on whom the clerk of the court bestowed in baptism his Norman name + of “Exupere,” Madame Latournelle is still so surprised at becoming his + mother, at the age of thirty-five years and seven months, that she would + still provide him, if it were necessary, with her breast and her milk,—an + hyperbole which alone can fully express her impassioned maternity. “How + handsome he is, that son of mine!” she says to her little friend Modeste, + as they walk to church, with the beautiful Exupere in front of them. “He + is like you,” Modeste Mignon answers, very much as she might have said, + “What horrid weather!” This silhouette of Madame Latournelle is quite + important as an accessory, inasmuch as for three years she has been the + chaperone of the young girl against whom the notary and his friend Dumay + are now plotting to set up what we have called, in the “Physiologie du + Mariage,” a “mouse-trap.” + </p> + <p> + As for Latournelle, imagine a worthy little fellow as sly as the purest + honor and uprightness would allow him to be,—a man whom any stranger + would take for a rascal at sight of his queer physiognomy, to which, + however, the inhabitants of Havre were well accustomed. His eyesight, said + to be weak, obliged the worthy man to wear green goggles for the + protection of his eyes, which were constantly inflamed. The arch of each + eyebrow, defined by a thin down of hair, surrounded the tortoise-shell rim + of the glasses and made a couple of circles as it were, slightly apart. If + you have never observed on the human face the effect produced by these + circumferences placed one within the other, and separated by a hollow + space or line, you can hardly imagine how perplexing such a face will be + to you, especially if pale, hollow-cheeked, and terminating in a pointed + chin like that of Mephistopheles,—a type which painters give to + cats. This double resemblance was observable on the face of Babylas + Latournelle. Above the atrocious green spectacles rose a bald crown, all + the more crafty in expression because a wig, seemingly endowed with + motion, let the white hairs show on all sides of it as it meandered + crookedly across the forehead. An observer taking note of this excellent + Norman, clothed in black and mounted on his two legs like a beetle on a + couple of pins, and knowing him to be one of the most trustworthy of men, + would have sought, without finding it, for the reason of such physical + misrepresentation. + </p> + <p> + Jean Butscha, a natural son abandoned by his parents and taken care of by + the clerk of the court and his daughter, and now, through sheer hard work, + head-clerk to the notary, fed and lodged by his master, who gave him a + salary of nine hundred francs, almost a dwarf, and with no semblance of + youth,—Jean Butscha made Modeste his idol, and would willingly have + given his life for hers. The poor fellow, whose eyes were hollowed beneath + their heavy lids like the touch-holes of a cannon, whose head overweighted + his body, with its shock of crisp hair, and whose face was pock-marked, + had lived under pitying eyes from the time he was seven years of age. Is + not that enough to explain his whole being? Silent, self-contained, pious, + exemplary in conduct, he went his way over that vast tract of country + named on the map of the heart Love-without-Hope, the sublime and arid + steppes of Desire. Modeste had christened this grotesque little being her + “Black Dwarf.” The nickname sent him to the pages of Walter Scott’s novel, + and he one day said to Modeste: “Will you accept a rose against the evil + day from your mysterious dwarf?” Modeste instantly sent the soul of her + adorer to its humble mud-cabin with a terrible glance, such as young girls + bestow on the men who cannot please them. Butscha’s conception of himself + was lowly, and, like the wife of his master, he had never been out of + Havre. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it will be well, for the sake of those who have never seen that + city, to say a few words as to the present destination of the Latournelle + family,—the head clerk being included in the latter term. Ingouville + is to Havre what Montmartre is to Paris,—a high hill at the foot of + which the city lies; with this difference, that the hill and the city are + surrounded by the sea and the Seine, that Havre is helplessly + circumscribed by enclosing fortifications, and, in short, that the mouth + of the river, the harbor, and the docks present a very different aspect + from the fifty thousand houses of Paris. At the foot of Montmartre an + ocean of slate roofs lies in motionless blue billows; at Ingouville the + sea is like the same roofs stirred by the wind. This eminence, or line of + hills, which coasts the Seine from Rouen to the seashore, leaving a margin + of valley land more or less narrow between itself and the river, and + containing in its cities, its ravines, its vales, its meadows, veritable + treasures of the picturesque, became of enormous value in and about + Ingouville, after the year 1816, the period at which the prosperity of + Havre began. This township has become since that time the Auteuil, the + Ville-d’Avray, the Montmorency, in short, the suburban residence of the + merchants of Havre. Here they build their houses on terraces around its + ampitheatre of hills, and breathe the sea air laden with the fragrance of + their splendid gardens. Here these bold speculators cast off the burden of + their counting-rooms and the atmosphere of their city houses, which are + built closely together without open spaces, often without court-yards,—a + vice of construction with the increasing population of Havre, the + inflexible line of the fortifications, and the enlargement of the docks + has forced upon them. The result is, weariness of heart in Havre, + cheerfulness and joy at Ingouville. The law of social development has + forced up the suburb of Graville like a mushroom. It is to-day more + extensive than Havre itself, which lies at the foot of its slopes like a + serpent. + </p> + <p> + At the crest of the hill Ingouville has but one street, and (as in all + such situations) the houses which overlook the river have an immense + advantage over those on the other side of the road, whose view they + obstruct, and which present the effect of standing on tip-toe to look over + the opposing roofs. However, there exist here, as elsewhere, certain + servitudes. Some houses standing at the summit have a finer position or + possess legal rights of view which compel their opposite neighbors to keep + their buildings down to a required height. Moreover, the openings cut in + the capricious rock by roads which follow its declensions and make the + ampitheatre habitable, give vistas through which some estates can see the + city, or the river, or the sea. Instead of rising to an actual peak, the + hill ends abruptly in a cliff. At the end of the street which follows the + line of the summit, ravines appear in which a few villages are clustered + (Sainte-Adresse and two or three other Saint-somethings) together with + several creeks which murmur and flow with the tides of the sea. These + half-deserted slopes of Ingouville form a striking contrast to the + terraces of fine villas which overlook the valley of the Seine. Is the + wind on this side too strong for vegetation? Do the merchants shrink from + the cost of terracing it? However this may be, the traveller approaching + Havre on a steamer is surprised to find a barren coast and tangled gorges + to the west of Ingouville, like a beggar in rags beside a perfumed and + sumptuously apparelled rich man. + </p> + <p> + In 1829 one of the last houses looking toward the sea, and which in all + probability stands about the centre of the Ingouville to-day, was called, + and perhaps is still called, “the Chalet.” Originally it was a porter’s + lodge with a trim little garden in front of it. The owner of the villa to + which it belonged,—a mansion with park, gardens, aviaries, + hot-houses, and lawns—took a fancy to put the little dwelling more + in keeping with the splendor of his own abode, and he reconstructed it on + the model of an ornamental cottage. He divided this cottage from his own + lawn, which was bordered and set with flower-beds and formed the terrace + of his villa, by a low wall along which he planted a concealing hedge. + Behind the cottage (called, in spite of all his efforts to prevent it, the + Chalet) were the orchards and kitchen gardens of the villa. The Chalet, + without cows or dairy, is separated from the roadway by a wooden fence + whose palings are hidden under a luxuriant hedge. On the other side of the + road the opposite house, subject to a legal privilege, has a similar hedge + and paling, so as to leave an unobstructed view of Havre to the Chalet. + </p> + <p> + This little dwelling was the torment of the present proprietor of the + villa, Monsieur Vilquin; and here is the why and the wherefore. The + original creator of the villa, whose sumptuous details cry aloud, “Behold + our millions!” extended his park far into the country for the purpose, as + he averred, of getting his gardeners out of his pockets; and so, when the + Chalet was finished, none but a friend could be allowed to inhabit it. + Monsieur Mignon, the next owner of the property, was very much attached to + his cashier, Dumay, and the following history will prove that the + attachment was mutual; to him therefore he offered the little dwelling. + Dumay, a stickler for legal methods, insisted on signing a lease for three + hundred francs for twelve years, and Monsieur Mignon willingly agreed, + remarking,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Dumay, remember, you have now bound yourself to live with me for + twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + In consequence of certain events which will presently be related, the + estates of Monsieur Mignon, formerly the richest merchant in Havre, were + sold to Vilquin, one of his business competitors. In his joy at getting + possession of the celebrated villa Mignon, the latter forgot to demand the + cancelling of the lease. Dumay, anxious not to hinder the sale, would have + signed anything Vilquin required, but the sale once made, he held to his + lease like a vengeance. And there he remained, in Vilquin’s pocket as it + were; at the heart of Vilquin’s family life, observing Vilquin, irritating + Vilquin,—in short, the gadfly of all the Vilquins. Every morning, + when he looked out of his window, Vilquin felt a violent shock of + annoyance as his eye lighted on the little gem of a building, the Chalet, + which had cost sixty thousand francs and sparkled like a ruby in the sun. + That comparison is very nearly exact. The architect has constructed the + cottage of brilliant red brick pointed with white. The window-frames are + painted of a lively green, the woodwork is brown verging on yellow. The + roof overhangs by several feet. A pretty gallery, with open-worked + balustrade, surmounts the lower floor and projects at the centre of the + facade into a veranda with glass sides. The ground-floor has a charming + salon and a dining-room, separated from each other by the landing of a + staircase built of wood, designed and decorated with elegant simplicity. + The kitchen is behind the dining-room, and the corresponding room back of + the salon, formerly a study, is now the bedroom of Monsieur and Madame + Dumay. On the upper floor the architect has managed to get two large + bedrooms, each with a dressing-room, to which the veranda serves as a + salon; and above this floor, under the eaves, which are tipped together + like a couple of cards, are two servants’ rooms with mansard roofs, each + lighted by a circular window and tolerably spacious. + </p> + <p> + Vilquin has been petty enough to build a high wall on the side toward the + orchard and kitchen garden; and in consequence of this piece of spite, the + few square feet which the lease secured to the Chalet resembled a Parisian + garden. The out-buildings, painted in keeping with the cottage, stood with + their backs to the wall of the adjoining property. + </p> + <p> + The interior of this charming dwelling harmonized with its exterior. The + salon, floored entirely with iron-wood, was painted in a style that + suggested the beauties of Chinese lacquer. On black panels edged with + gold, birds of every color, foliage of impossible greens, and fantastic + oriental designs glowed and shimmered. The dining-room was entirely + sheathed in Northern woods carved and cut in open-work like the beautiful + Russian chalets. The little antechamber formed by the landing and the well + of the staircase was painted in old oak to represent Gothic ornament. The + bedrooms, hung with chintz, were charming in their costly simplicity. The + study, where the cashier and his wife now slept, was panelled from top to + bottom, on the walls and ceiling, like the cabin of a steamboat. These + luxuries of his predecessor excited Vilquin’s wrath. He would fain have + lodged his daughter and her husband in the cottage. This desire, well + known to Dumay, will presently serve to illustrate the Breton obstinacy of + the latter. + </p> + <p> + The entrance to the Chalet is by a little trellised iron door, the + uprights of which, ending in lance-heads, show for a few inches above the + fence and its hedge. The little garden, about as wide as the more + pretentious lawn, was just now filled with flowers, roses, and dahlias of + the choicest kind, and many rare products of the hot-houses, for (another + Vilquinard grievance) the elegant little hot-house, a very whim of a + hot-house, a hot-house representing dignity and style, belonged to the + Chalet, and separated, or if you prefer, united it to the villa Vilquin. + Dumay consoled himself for the toils of business in taking care of this + hot-house, whose exotic treasures were one of Modeste’s joys. The + billiard-room of the villa Vilquin, a species of gallery, formerly + communicated through an immense aviary with this hot-house. But after the + building of the wall which deprived him of a view into the orchards, Dumay + bricked up the door of communication. “Wall for wall!” he said. + </p> + <p> + In 1827 Vilquin offered Dumay a salary of six thousand francs, and ten + thousand more as indemnity, if he would give up the lease. The cashier + refused; though he had but three thousand francs from Gobenheim, a former + clerk of his master. Dumay was a Breton transplanted by fate into + Normandy. Imagine therefore the hatred conceived for the tenants of the + Chalet by the Norman Vilquin, a man worth three millions! What criminal + leze-million on the part of a cashier, to hold up to the eyes of such a + man the impotence of his wealth! Vilquin, whose desperation in the matter + made him the talk of Havre, had just proposed to give Dumay a pretty house + of his own, and had again been refused. Havre itself began to grow uneasy + at the man’s obstinacy, and a good many persons explained it by the + phrase, “Dumay is a Breton.” As for the cashier, he thought Madame and + Mademoiselle Mignon would be ill-lodged elsewhere. His two idols now + inhabited a temple worthy of them; the sumptuous little cottage gave them + a home, where these dethroned royalties could keep the semblance of + majesty about them,—a species of dignity usually denied to those who + have seen better days. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps as the story goes on, the reader will not regret having learned in + advance a few particulars as to the home and the habitual companions of + Modeste Mignon, for, at her age, people and things have as much influence + upon the future life as a person’s own character,—indeed, character + often receives ineffaceable impressions from its surroundings. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. A PORTRAIT FROM LIFE + </h2> + <p> + From the manner with which the Latournelles entered the Chalet a stranger + would readily have guessed that they came there every evening. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are here already,” said the notary, perceiving the young banker + Gobenheim, a connection of Gobenheim-Keller, the head of the great banking + house in Paris. + </p> + <p> + This young man with a livid face—a blonde of the type with black + eyes, whose immovable glance has an indescribable fascination, sober in + speech as in conduct, dressed in black, lean as a consumptive, but + nevertheless vigorously framed—visited the family of his former + master and the house of his cashier less from affection than from + self-interest. Here they played whist at two sous a point; a dress-coat + was not required; he accepted no refreshment except “eau sucree,” and + consequently had no civilities to return. This apparent devotion to the + Mignon family allowed it to be supposed that Gobenheim had a heart; it + also released him from the necessity of going into the society of Havre + and incurring useless expenses, thus upsetting the orderly economy of his + domestic life. This disciple of the golden calf went to bed at half-past + ten o’clock and got up at five in the morning. Moreover, being perfectly + sure of Latournelle’s and Butscha’s discretion, he could talk over + difficult business matters, obtain the advice of the notary gratis, and + get an inkling of the real truth of the gossip of the street. This stolid + gold-glutton (the epithet is Butscha’s) belonged by nature to the class of + substances which chemistry terms absorbents. Ever since the catastrophe of + the house of Mignon, where the Kellers had placed him to learn the + principles of maritime commerce, no one at the Chalet had ever asked him + to do the smallest thing, no matter what; his reply was too well known. + The young fellow looked at Modeste precisely as he would have looked at a + cheap lithograph. + </p> + <p> + “He’s one of the pistons of the big engine called ‘Commerce,’” said poor + Butscha, whose clever mind made itself felt occasionally by such little + sayings timidly jerked out. + </p> + <p> + The four Latournelles bowed with the most respectful deference to an old + lady dressed in black velvet, who did not rise from the armchair in which + she was seated, for the reason that both eyes were covered with the yellow + film produced by cataract. Madame Mignon may be sketched in one sentence. + Her august countenance of the mother of a family attracted instant notice + as that of one whose irreproachable life defies the assaults of destiny, + which nevertheless makes her the target of its arrows and a member of the + unnumbered tribe of Niobes. Her blonde wig, carefully curled and well + arranged upon her head, became the cold white face which resembled that of + some burgomaster’s wife painted by Hals or Mirevelt. The extreme neatness + of her dress, the velvet boots, the lace collar, the shawl evenly folded + and put on, all bore testimony to the solicitous care which Modeste + bestowed upon her mother. + </p> + <p> + When silence was, as the notary had predicted, restored in the pretty + salon, Modeste, sitting beside her mother, for whom she was embroidering a + kerchief, became for an instant the centre of observation. This curiosity, + barely veiled by the commonplace salutations and inquiries of the + visitors, would have revealed even to an indifferent person the existence + of the domestic plot to which Modeste was expected to fall a victim; but + Gobenheim, more than indifferent, noticed nothing, and proceeded to light + the candles on the card-table. The behavior of Dumay made the whole scene + terrifying to Butscha, to the Latournelles, and above all to Madame Dumay, + who knew her husband to be capable of firing a pistol at Modeste’s lover + as coolly as though he were a mad dog. + </p> + <p> + After dinner that day the cashier had gone to walk followed by two + magnificent Pyrenees hounds, whom he suspected of betraying him, and + therefore left in charge of a farmer, a former tenant of Monsieur Mignon. + On his return, just before the arrival of the Latournelles, he had taken + his pistols from his bed’s head and placed them on the chimney-piece, + concealing this action from Modeste. The young girl took no notice + whatever of these preparations, singular as they were. + </p> + <p> + Though short, thick-set, pockmarked, and speaking always in a low voice as + if listening to himself, this Breton, a former lieutenant in the Guard, + showed the evidence of such resolution, such sang-froid on his face that + throughout life, even in the army, no one had ever ventured to trifle with + him. His little eyes, of a calm blue, were like bits of steel. His ways, + the look on his face, his speech, his carriage, were all in keeping with + the short name of Dumay. His physical strength, well-known to every one, + put him above all danger of attack. He was able to kill a man with a blow + of his fist, and had performed that feat at Bautzen, where he found + himself, unarmed, face to face with a Saxon at the rear of his company. At + the present moment the usually firm yet gentle expression of the man’s + face had risen to a sort of tragic sublimity; his lips were pale as the + rest of his face, indicating a tumult within him mastered by his Breton + will; a slight sweat, which every one noticed and guessed to be cold, + moistened his brow. The notary knew but too well that these signs might + result in a drama before the criminal courts. In fact the cashier was + playing a part in connection with Modeste Mignon, which involved to his + mind sentiments of honor and loyalty of far greater importance than mere + social laws; and his present conduct proceeded from one of those compacts + which, in case disaster came of it, could be judged only in a higher court + than one of earth. The majority of dramas lie really in the ideas which we + make to ourselves about things. Events which seem to us dramatic are + nothing more than subjects which our souls convert into tragedy or comedy + according to the bent of our characters. + </p> + <p> + Madame Latournelle and Madame Dumay, who were appointed to watch Modeste, + had a certain assumed stiffness of demeanor and a quiver in their voices, + which the suspected party did not notice, so absorbed was she in her + embroidery. Modeste laid each thread of cotton with a precision that would + have made an ordinary workwoman desperate. Her face expressed the pleasure + she took in the smooth petals of the flower she was working. The dwarf, + seated between his mistress and Gobenheim, restrained his emotion, trying + to find means to approach Modeste and whisper a word of warning in her + ear. + </p> + <p> + By taking a position in front of Madame Mignon, Madame Latournelle, with + the diabolical intelligence of conscientious duty, had isolated Modeste. + Madame Mignon, whose blindness always made her silent, was even paler than + usual, showing plainly that she was aware of the test to which her + daughter was about to be subjected. Perhaps at the last moment she + revolted from the stratagem, necessary as it might seem to her. Hence her + silence; she was weeping inwardly. Exupere, the spring of the trap, was + wholly ignorant of the piece in which he was to play a part. Gobenheim, by + reason of his character, remained in a state of indifference equal to that + displayed by Modeste. To a spectator who understood the situation, this + contrast between the ignorance of some and the palpitating interest of + others would have seemed quite poetic. Nowadays romance-writers arrange + such effects; and it is quite within their province to do so, for nature + in all ages takes the liberty to be stronger than they. In this instance, + as you will see, nature, social nature, which is a second nature within + nature, amused herself by making truth more interesting than fiction; just + as mountain torrents describe curves which are beyond the skill of + painters to convey, and accomplish giant deeds in displacing or smoothing + stones which are the wonder of architects and sculptors. + </p> + <p> + It was eight o’clock. At that season twilight was still shedding its last + gleams; there was not a cloud in the sky; the balmy air caressed the + earth, the flowers gave forth their fragrance, the steps of pedestrians + turning homeward sounded along the gravelly road, the sea shone like a + mirror, and there was so little wind that the wax candles upon the + card-tables sent up a steady flame, although the windows were wide open. + This salon, this evening, this dwelling—what a frame for the + portrait of the young girl whom these persons were now studying with the + profound attention of a painter in presence of the Margharita Doni, one of + the glories of the Pitti palace. Modeste,—blossom enclosed, like + that of Catullus,—was she worth all these precautions? + </p> + <p> + You have seen the cage; behold the bird! Just twenty years of age, slender + and delicate as the sirens which English designers invent for their “Books + of Beauty,” Modeste was, like her mother before her, the captivating + embodiment of a grace too little understood in France, where we choose to + call it sentimentality, but which among German women is the poetry of the + heart coming to the surface of the being and spending itself—in + affectations if the owner is silly, in divine charms of manner if she is + “spirituelle” and intelligent. Remarkable for her pale golden hair, + Modeste belonged to the type of woman called, perhaps in memory of Eve, + the celestial blonde; whose satiny skin is like a silk paper applied to + the flesh, shuddering at the winter of a cold look, expanding in the + sunshine of a loving glance,—teaching the hand to be jealous of the + eye. Beneath her hair, which was soft and feathery and worn in many curls, + the brow, which might have been traced by a compass so pure was its + modelling, shone forth discreet, calm to placidity, and yet luminous with + thought: when and where could another be found so transparently clear or + more exquisitely smooth? It seemed, like a pearl, to have its orient. The + eyes, of a blue verging on gray and limpid as the eyes of a child, had all + the mischief, all the innocence of childhood, and they harmonized well + with the arch of the eyebrows, faintly indicated by lines like those made + with a brush on Chinese faces. This candor of the soul was still further + evidenced around the eyes, in their corners, and about the temples, by + pearly tints threaded with blue, the special privilege of these delicate + complexions. The face, whose oval Raphael so often gave to his Madonnas, + was remarkable for the sober and virginal tone of the cheeks, soft as a + Bengal rose, upon which the long lashes of the diaphanous eyelids cast + shadows that were mingled with light. The throat, bending as she worked, + too delicate perhaps, and of milky whiteness, recalled those vanishing + lines that Leonardo loved. A few little blemishes here and there, like the + patches of the eighteenth century, proved that Modeste was indeed a child + of earth, and not a creation dreamed of in Italy by the angelic school. + Her lips, delicate yet full, were slightly mocking and somewhat sensuous; + the waist, which was supple and yet not fragile, had no terrors for + maternity, like those of girls who seek beauty by the fatal pressure of a + corset. Steel and dimity and lacings defined but did not create the + serpentine lines of the elegant figure, graceful as that of a young poplar + swaying in the wind. + </p> + <p> + A pearl-gray dress with crimson trimmings, made with a long waist, + modestly outlined the bust and covered the shoulders, still rather thin, + with a chemisette which left nothing to view but the first curves of the + throat where it joined the shoulders. From the aspect of the young girl’s + face, at once ethereal and intelligent, where the delicacy of a Greek nose + with its rosy nostrils and firm modelling marked something positive and + defined; where the poetry enthroned upon an almost mystic brow seemed + belied at times by the pleasure-loving expression of the mouth; where + candor claimed the depths profound and varied of the eye, and disputed + them with a spirit of irony that was trained and educated,—from all + these signs an observer would have felt that this young girl, with the + keen, alert ear that waked at every sound, with a nostril open to catch + the fragrance of the celestial flower of the Ideal, was destined to be the + battle-ground of a struggle between the poesies of the dawn and the labors + of the day; between fancy and reality, the spirit and the life. Modeste + was a pure young girl, inquisitive after knowledge, understanding her + destiny, and filled with chastity,—the Virgin of Spain rather than + the Madonna of Raphael. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head when she heard Dumay say to Exupere, “Come here, young + man.” Seeing them together in the corner of the salon she supposed they + were talking of some commission in Paris. Then she looked at the friends + who surrounded her, as if surprised by their silence, and exclaimed in her + natural manner, “Why are you not playing?”—with a glance at the + green table which the imposing Madame Latournelle called the “altar.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let us play,” said Dumay, having sent off Exupere. + </p> + <p> + “Sit there, Butscha,” said Madame Latournelle, separating the head-clerk + from the group around Madame Mignon and her daughter by the whole width of + the table. + </p> + <p> + “And you, come over here,” said Dumay to his wife, making her sit close by + him. + </p> + <p> + Madame Dumay, a little American about thirty-six years of age, wiped her + eyes furtively; she adored Modeste, and feared a catastrophe. + </p> + <p> + “You are not very lively this evening,” remarked Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “We are playing,” said Gobenheim, sorting his cards. + </p> + <p> + No matter how interesting this situation may appear, it can be made still + more so by explaining Dumay’s position towards Modeste. If the brevity of + this explanation makes it seem rather dry, the reader must pardon its + dryness in view of our desire to get through with these preliminaries as + speedily as possible, and the necessity of relating the main circumstances + which govern all dramas. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. PRELIMINARIES + </h2> + <p> + Jean Francois Bernard Dumay, born at Vannes, started as a soldier for the + army of Italy in 1799. His father, president of the revolutionary tribunal + of that town, had displayed so much energy in his office that the place + had become too hot to hold the son when the parent, a pettifogging lawyer, + perished on the scaffold after the ninth Thermidor. On the death of his + mother, who died of the grief this catastrophe occasioned, Jean sold all + that he possessed and rushed to Italy at the age of twenty-two, at the + very moment when our armies were beginning to yield. On the way he met a + young man in the department of Var, who for reasons analogous to his own + was in search of glory, believing a battle-field less perilous than his + own Provence. Charles Mignon, the last scion of an ancient family, which + gave its name to a street in Paris and to a mansion built by Cardinal + Mignon, had a shrewd and calculating father, whose one idea was to save + his feudal estate of La Bastie in the Comtat from the claws of the + Revolution. Like all timid folk of that day, the Comte de La Bastie, now + citizen Mignon, found it more wholesome to cut off other people’s heads + than to let his own be cut off. The sham terrorist disappeared after the + 9th Thermidor, and was then inscribed on the list of emigres. The estate + of La Bastie was sold; the towers and bastions of the old castle were + pulled down, and citizen Mignon was soon after discovered at Orleans and + put to death with his wife and all his children except Charles, whom he + had sent to find a refuge for the family in the Upper Alps. + </p> + <p> + Horrorstruck at the news, Charles waited for better times in a valley of + Mont Genevra; and there he remained till 1799, subsisting on a few louis + which his father had put into his hand at starting. Finally, when + twenty-three years of age, and without other fortune than his fine + presence and that southern beauty which, when it reaches perfection, may + be called sublime (of which Antinous, the favorite of Adrian, is the + type), Charles resolved to wager his Provencal audacity—taking it, + like many another youth, for a vocation—on the red cloth of war. On + his way to the base of the army at Nice he met the Breton. The pair became + intimate, partly from the contrasts in their characters; they drank from + the same cup at the wayside torrents, broke the same biscuit, and were + both made sergeants at the peace which followed the battle of Marengo. + </p> + <p> + When the war recommenced, Charles Mignon was promoted into the cavalry and + lost sight of his comrade. In 1812 the last of the Mignon de La Bastie was + an officer of the Legion of honor and major of a regiment of cavalry. + Taken prisoner by the Russians he was sent, like so many others, to + Siberia. He made the journey in company with another prisoner, a poor + lieutenant, in whom he recognized his old friend Jean Dumay, brave, + neglected, undecorated, unhappy, like a million of other woollen epaulets, + rank and file—that canvas of men on which Napoleon painted the + picture of the Empire. While in Siberia, the lieutenant-colonel, to kill + time, taught writing and arithmetic to the Breton, whose early education + had seemed a useless waste of time to Pere Scevola. Charles found in the + old comrade of his marching days one of those rare hearts into which a man + can pour his griefs while telling his joys. + </p> + <p> + The young Provencal had met the fate which attends all handsome bachelors. + In 1804, at Frankfort on the Main, he was adored by Bettina Wallenrod, + only daughter of a banker, and he married her with all the more enthusiasm + because she was rich and a noted beauty, while he was only a lieutenant + with no prospects but the extremely problematical future of a soldier of + fortune of that day. Old Wallenrod, a decayed German baron (there is + always a baron in a German bank) delighted to know that the handsome + lieutenant was the sole representative of the Mignon de La Bastie, + approved the love of the blonde Bettina, whose beauty an artist (at that + time there really was one in Frankfort) had lately painted as an ideal + head of Germany. Wallenrod invested enough money in the French funds to + give his daughter thirty thousand francs a year, and settled it on his + anticipated grandsons, naming them counts of La Bastie-Wallenrod. This + “dot” made only a small hole in his cash-box, the value of money being + then very low. But the Empire, pursuing a policy often attempted by other + debtors, rarely paid its dividends; and Charles was rather alarmed at this + investment, having less faith than his father-in-law in the imperial + eagle. The phenomenon of belief, or of admiration which is ephemeral + belief, is not so easily maintained when in close quarters with the idol. + The mechanic distrusts the machine which the traveller admires; and the + officers of the army might be called the stokers of the Napoleonic engine,—if, + indeed, they were not its fuel. + </p> + <p> + However, the Baron Wallenrod-Tustall-Bartenstild promised to come if + necessary to the help of the household. Charles loved Bettina Wallenrod as + much as she loved him, and that is saying a good deal; but when a + Provencal is moved to enthusiasm all his feelings and attachments are + genuine and natural. And how could he fail to adore that blonde beauty, + escaping, as it were, from the canvas of Durer, gifted with an angelic + nature and endowed with Frankfort wealth? The pair had four children, of + whom only two daughters survived at the time when he poured his griefs + into the Breton’s heart. Dumay loved these little ones without having seen + them, solely through the sympathy so well described by Charlet, which + makes a soldier the father of every child. The eldest, named Bettina + Caroline, was born in 1805; the other, Marie Modeste, in 1808. The + unfortunate lieutenant-colonel, long without tidings of these cherished + darlings, was sent, at the peace of 1814, across Russia and Prussia on + foot, accompanied by the lieutenant. No difference of epaulets could count + between the two friends, who reached Frankfort just as Napoleon was + disembarking at Cannes. + </p> + <p> + Charles found his wife in Frankfort, in mourning for her father, who had + always idolized her and tried to keep a smile upon her lips, even by his + dying bed. Old Wallenrod was unable to survive the disasters of the + Empire. At seventy years of age he speculated in cottons, relying on the + genius of Napoleon without comprehending that genius is quite as often + beyond as at the bottom of current events. The old man had purchased + nearly as many bales of cotton as the Emperor had lost men during his + magnificent campaign in France. “I tie in goddon,” said the father to the + daughter, a father of the Goriot type, striving to quiet a grief which + distressed him. “I owe no mann anything—” and he died, still trying + to speak to his daughter in the language that she loved. + </p> + <p> + Thankful to have saved his wife and daughters from the general wreck, + Charles Mignon returned to Paris, where the Emperor made him + lieutenant-colonel in the cuirassiers of the Guard and commander of the + Legion of honor. The colonel dreamed of being count and general after the + first victory. Alas! that hope was quenched in the blood of Waterloo. The + colonel, slightly wounded, retired to the Loire, and left Tours before the + disbandment of the army. + </p> + <p> + In the spring of 1816 Charles sold his wife’s property out of the funds to + the amount of nearly four hundred thousand francs, intending to seek his + fortune in America, and abandon his own country where persecution was + beginning to lay a heavy hand on the soldiers of Napoleon. He went to + Havre accompanied by Dumay, whose life he had saved at Waterloo by taking + him on the crupper of his saddle in the hurly-burly of the retreat. Dumay + shared the opinions and the anxieties of his colonel; the poor fellow + idolized the two little girls and followed Charles like a spaniel. The + latter, confident that the habit of obedience, the discipline of + subordination, and the honesty and affection of the lieutenant would make + him a useful as well as a faithful retainer, proposed to take him with him + in a civil capacity. Dumay was only too happy to be adopted into the + family, to which he resolved to cling like the mistletoe to an oak. + </p> + <p> + While waiting for an opportunity to embark, at the same time making choice + of a ship and reflecting on the chances offered by the various ports for + which they sailed, the colonel heard much talk about the brilliant future + which the peace seemed to promise to Havre. As he listened to these + conversations among the merchants, he foresaw the means of fortune, and + without loss of time he set about making himself the owner of landed + property, a banker, and a shipping-merchant. He bought land and houses in + the town, and despatched a vessel to New York freighted with silks + purchased in Lyons at reduced prices. He sent Dumay on the ship as his + agent; and when the latter returned, after making a double profit by the + sale of the silks and the purchase of cottons at a low valuation, he found + the colonel installed with his family in the handsomest house in the rue + Royale, and studying the principles of banking with the prodigious + activity and intelligence of a native of Provence. + </p> + <p> + This double operation of Dumay’s was worth a fortune to the house of + Mignon. The colonel purchased the villa at Ingouville and rewarded his + agent with the gift of a modest little house in the rue Royale. The poor + toiler had brought back from New York, together with his cottons, a pretty + little wife, attracted it would seem by his French nature. Miss Grummer + was worth about four thousand dollars (twenty thousand francs), which sum + Dumay placed with his colonel, to whom he now became an alter ego. In a + short time he learned to keep his patron’s books, a science which, to use + his own expression, pertains to the sergeant-majors of commerce. The + simple-hearted soldier, whom fortune had forgotten for twenty years, + thought himself the happiest man in the world as the owner of the little + house (which his master’s liberality had furnished), with twelve hundred + francs a year from money in the funds, and a salary of three thousand six + hundred. Never in his dreams had Lieutenant Dumay hoped for a situation so + good as this; but greater still was the satisfaction he derived from the + knowledge that his lucky enterprise had been the pivot of good fortune to + the richest commercial house in Havre. + </p> + <p> + Madame Dumay, a rather pretty little American, had the misfortune to lose + all her children at their birth; and her last confinement was so + disastrous as to deprive her of the hope of any other. She therefore + attached herself to the two little Mignons, whom Dumay himself loved, or + would have loved, even better than his own children had they lived. Madame + Dumay, whose parents were farmers accustomed to a life of economy, was + quite satisfied to receive only two thousand four hundred francs of her + own and her household expenses; so that every year Dumay laid by two + thousand and some extra hundreds with the house of Mignon. When the yearly + accounts were made up the colonel always added something to this little + store by way of acknowledging the cashier’s services, until in 1824 the + latter had a credit of fifty-eight thousand francs. In was then that + Charles Mignon, Comte de La Bastie, a title he never used, crowned his + cashier with the final happiness of residing at the Chalet, where at the + time when this story begins Madame Mignon and her daughter were living in + obscurity. + </p> + <p> + The deplorable state of Madame Mignon’s health was caused in part by the + catastrophe to which the absence of her husband was due. Grief had taken + three years to break down the docile German woman; but it was a grief that + gnawed at her heart like a worm at the core of a sound fruit. It is easy + to reckon up its obvious causes. Two children, dying in infancy, had a + double grave in a soul that could never forget. The exile of her husband + to Siberia was to such a woman a daily death. The failure of the rich + house of Wallenrod, and the death of her father, leaving his coffers + empty, was to Bettina, then uncertain about the fate of her husband, a + terrible blow. The joy of Charles’s return came near killing the tender + German flower. After that the second fall of the Empire and the proposed + expatriation acted on her feelings like a renewed attack of the same + fever. At last, however, after ten years of continual prosperity, the + comforts of her house, which was the finest in Havre, the dinners, balls, + and fetes of a prosperous merchant, the splendors of the villa Mignon, the + unbounded respect and consideration enjoyed by her husband, his absolute + affection, giving her an unrivalled love in return for her single-minded + love for him,—all these things brought the woman back to life. At + the moment when her doubts and fears at last left her, when she could look + forward to the bright evening of her stormy life, a hidden catastrophe, + buried in the heart of the family, and of which we shall presently make + mention, came as the precursor of renewed trials. + </p> + <p> + In January, 1826, on the day when Havre had unanimously chosen Charles + Mignon as its deputy, three letters, arriving from New York, Paris, and + London, fell with the destruction of a hammer upon the crystal palace of + his prosperity. In an instant ruin like a vulture swooped down upon their + happiness, just as the cold fell in 1812 upon the grand army in Russia. + One night sufficed Charles Mignon to decide upon his course, and he spent + it in settling his accounts with Dumay. All he owned, not excepting his + furniture, would just suffice to pay his creditors. + </p> + <p> + “Havre shall never see me doing nothing,” said the colonel to the + lieutenant. “Dumay, I take your sixty thousand francs at six per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “Three, my colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “At nothing, then,” cried Mignon, peremptorily; “you shall have your share + in the profits of what I now undertake. The ‘Modeste,’ which is no longer + mine, sails to-morrow, and I sail in her. I commit to you my wife and + daughter. I shall not write. No news must be taken as good news.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay, always subordinate, asked no questions of his colonel. “I think,” + he said to Latournelle with a knowing little glance, “that my colonel has + a plan laid out.” + </p> + <p> + The following day at dawn he accompanied his master on board the “Modeste” + bound for Constantinople. There, on the poop of the vessel, the Breton + said to the Provencal,— + </p> + <p> + “What are your last commands, my colonel?” + </p> + <p> + “That no man shall enter the Chalet,” cried the father with strong + emotion. “Dumay, guard my last child as though you were a bull-dog. Death + to the man who seduces another daughter! Fear nothing, not even the + scaffold—I will be with you.” + </p> + <p> + “My colonel, go in peace. I understand you. You shall find Mademoiselle + Mignon on your return such as you now give her to me, or I shall be dead. + You know me, and you know your Pyrenees hounds. No man shall reach your + daughter. Forgive me for troubling you with words.” + </p> + <p> + The two soldiers clasped arms like men who had learned to understand each + other in the solitudes of Siberia. + </p> + <p> + On the same day the Havre “Courier” published the following terrible, + simple, energetic, and honorable notice:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The house of Charles Mignon suspends payment. But the + undersigned, assignees of the estate, undertake to pay all + liabilities. On and after this date, holders of notes may obtain + the usual discount. The sale of the landed estates will fully + cover all current indebtedness. + + “This notice is issued for the honor of the house, and to prevent + any disturbance in the money-market of this town. + + “Monsieur Charles Mignon sailed this morning on the ‘Modeste’ for + Asia Minor, leaving full powers with the undersigned to sell his + whole property, both landed and personal. + + “DUMAY, assignee of the Bank accounts, + LATOURNELLE, notary, assignee of the city and villa property, + GOBENHEIM, assignee of the commercial property.” + </pre> + <p> + Latournelle owed his prosperity to the kindness of Monsieur Mignon, who + lent him one hundred thousand francs in 1817 to buy the finest law + practice in Havre. The poor man, who had no pecuniary means, was nearly + forty years of age and saw no prospect of being other than head-clerk for + the rest of his days. He was the only man in Havre whose devotion could be + compared with Dumay’s. As for Gobenheim, he profited by the liquidation to + get a part of Monsieur Mignon’s business, which lifted his own little bank + into prominence. + </p> + <p> + While unanimous regrets for the disaster were expressed in counting-rooms, + on the wharves, and in private houses, where praises of a man so + irreproachable, honorable, and beneficent filled every mouth, Latournelle + and Dumay, silent and active as ants, sold land, turned property into + money, paid the debts, and settled up everything. Vilquin showed a good + deal of generosity in purchasing the villa, the town-house, and a farm; + and Latournelle made the most of his liberality by getting a good price + out of him. Society wished to show civilities to Madame and Mademoiselle + Mignon; but they had already obeyed the father’s last wishes and taken + refuge in the Chalet, where they went on the very morning of his + departure, the exact hour of which had been concealed from them. Not to be + shaken in his resolution by his grief at parting, the brave man said + farewell to his wife and daughter while they slept. Three hundred visiting + cards were left at the house. A fortnight later, just as Charles had + predicted, complete forgetfulness settled down upon the Chalet, and proved + to these women the wisdom and dignity of his command. + </p> + <p> + Dumay sent agents to represent his master in New York, Paris, and London, + and followed up the assignments of the three banking-houses whose failure + had caused the ruin of the Havre house, thus realizing five hundred + thousand francs between 1826 and 1828, an eighth of Charles’s whole + fortune; then, according to the latter’s directions given on the night of + his departure, he sent that sum to New York through the house of Mongenod + to the credit of Monsieur Charles Mignon. All this was done with military + obedience, except in a matter of withholding thirty thousand francs for + the personal expenses of Madame and Mademoiselle Mignon as the colonel had + ordered him to do, but which Dumay did not do. The Breton sold his own + little house for twenty thousand francs, which sum he gave to Madame + Mignon, believing that the more capital he sent to his colonel the sooner + the latter would return. + </p> + <p> + “He might perish for the want of thirty thousand francs,” Dumay remarked + to Latournelle, who bought the little house at its full value, where an + apartment was always kept ready for the inhabitants of the Chalet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. A SIMPLE STORY + </h2> + <p> + Such was the result to the celebrated house of Mignon at Havre of the + crisis of 1825-26, which convulsed many of the principal business centres + in Europe and caused the ruin of several Parisian bankers, among them (as + those who remember that crisis will recall) the president of the chamber + of commerce. + </p> + <p> + We can now understand how this great disaster, coming suddenly at the + close of ten years of domestic happiness, might well have been the death + of Bettina Mignon, again separated from her husband and ignorant of his + fate,—to her as adventurous and perilous as the exile to Siberia. + But the grief which was dragging her to the grave was far other than these + visible sorrows. The caustic that was slowly eating into her heart lay + beneath a stone in the little graveyard of Ingouville, on which was + inscribed:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BETTINA CAROLINE MIGNON + + Died aged twenty-two. + + Pray for her. +</pre> + <p> + This inscription is to the young girl whom it covered what many another + epitaph has been for the dead lying beneath them,—a table of + contents to a hidden book. Here is the book, in its dreadful brevity; and + it will explain the oath exacted and taken when the colonel and the + lieutenant bade each other farewell. + </p> + <p> + A young man of charming appearance, named Charles d’Estourny, came to + Havre for the commonplace purpose of being near the sea, and there he saw + Bettina Mignon. A “soi-disant” fashionable Parisian is never without + introductions, and he was invited at the instance of a friend of the + Mignons to a fete given at Ingouville. He fell in love with Bettina and + with her fortune, and in three months he had done the work of seduction + and enticed her away. The father of a family of daughters should no more + allow a young man whom he does not know to enter his home than he should + leave books and papers lying about which he has not read. A young girl’s + innocence is like milk, which a small matter turns sour,—a clap of + thunder, an evil odor, a hot day, a mere breath. + </p> + <p> + When Charles Mignon read his daughter’s letter of farewell he instantly + despatched Madame Dumay to Paris. The family gave out that a journey to + another climate had suddenly been advised for Caroline by their physician; + and the physician himself sustained the excuse, though unable to prevent + some gossip in the society of Havre. “Such a vigorous young girl! with the + complexion of a Spaniard, and that black hair!—she consumptive!” + “Yes, they say she committed some imprudence.” “Ah, ah!” cried a Vilquin. + “I am told she came back bathed in perspiration after riding on horseback, + and drank iced water; at least, that is what Dr. Troussenard says.” + </p> + <p> + By the time Madame Dumay returned to Havre the catastrophe of the failure + had taken place, and society paid no further attention to the absence of + Bettina or the return of the cashier’s wife. At the beginning of 1827 the + newspapers rang with the trial of Charles d’Estourny, who was found guilty + of cheating at cards. The young corsair escaped into foreign parts without + taking thought of Mademoiselle Mignon, who was of little value to him + since the failure of the bank. Bettina heard of his infamous desertion and + of her father’s ruin almost at the same time. She returned home struck by + death, and wasted away in a short time at the Chalet. Her death at least + protected her reputation. The illness that Monsieur Mignon alleged to be + the cause of her absence, and the doctor’s order which sent her to Nice + were now generally believed. Up to the last moment the mother hoped to + save her daughter’s life. Bettina was her darling and Modeste was the + father’s. There was something touching in the two preferences. Bettina was + the image of Charles, just as Modeste was the reproduction of her mother. + Both parents continued their love for each other in their children. + Bettina, a daughter of Provence, inherited from her father the beautiful + hair, black as a raven’s wing, which distinguishes the women of the South, + the brown eye, almond-shaped and brilliant as a star, the olive tint, the + velvet skin as of some golden fruit, the arched instep, and the Spanish + waist from which the short basque skirt fell crisply. Both mother and + father were proud of the charming contrast between the sisters. “A devil + and an angel!” they said to each other, laughing, little thinking it + prophetic. + </p> + <p> + After weeping for a month in the solitude of her chamber, where she + admitted no one, the mother came forth at last with injured eyes. Before + losing her sight altogether she persisted, against the wishes of her + friends, in visiting her daughter’s grave, on which she riveted her gaze + in contemplation. That image remained vivid in the darkness which now fell + upon her, just as the red spectrum of an object shines in our eyes when we + close them in full daylight. This terrible and double misfortune made + Dumay, not less devoted, but more anxious about Modeste, now the only + daughter of the father who was unaware of his loss. Madame Dumay, + idolizing Modeste, like other women deprived of their children, cast her + motherliness about the girl,—yet without disregarding the commands + of her husband, who distrusted female intimacies. Those commands were + brief. “If any man, of any age, or any rank,” Dumay said, “speaks to + Modeste, ogles her, makes love to her, he is a dead man. I’ll blow his + brains out and give myself to the authorities; my death may save her. If + you don’t wish to see my head cut off, do you take my place in watching + her when I am obliged to go out.” + </p> + <p> + For the last three years Dumay had examined his pistols every night. He + seemed to have put half the burden of his oath upon the Pyrenean hounds, + two animals of uncommon sagacity. One slept inside the Chalet, the other + was stationed in a kennel which he never left, and where he never barked; + but terrible would have been the moment had the pair made their teeth meet + in some unknown adventurer. + </p> + <p> + We can now imagine the sort of life led by mother and daughter at the + Chalet. Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, often accompanied by Gobenheim, + came to call and play whist with Dumay nearly every evening. The + conversation turned on the gossip of Havre and the petty events of + provincial life. The little company separated between nine and ten + o’clock. Modeste put her mother to bed, and together they said their + prayers, kept up each other’s courage, and talked of the dear absent one, + the husband and father. After kissing her mother for good-night, the girl + went to her own room about ten o’clock. The next morning she prepared her + mother for the day with the same care, the same prayers, the same prattle. + To her praise be it said that from the day when the terrible infirmity + deprived her mother of a sense, Modeste had been like a servant to her, + displaying at all times the same solicitude; never wearying of the duty, + never thinking it monotonous. Such constant devotion, combined with a + tenderness rare among young girls, was thoroughly appreciated by those who + witnessed it. To the Latournelle family, and to Monsieur and Madame Dumay, + Modeste was, in soul, the pearl of price. + </p> + <p> + On sunny days, between breakfast and dinner, Madame Mignon and Madame + Dumay took a little walk toward the sea. Modeste accompanied them, for two + arms were needed to support the blind mother. About a month before the + scene to which this explanation is a parenthesis, Madame Mignon had taken + counsel with her friends, Madame Latournelle, the notary, and Dumay, while + Madame Dumay carried Modeste in another direction for a longer walk. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to what I have to say,” said the blind woman. “My daughter is in + love. I feel it; I see it. A singular change has taken place within her, + and I do not see how it is that none of you have perceived it.” + </p> + <p> + “In the name of all that’s honorable—” cried the lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t interrupt me, Dumay. For the last two months Modeste has taken as + much care of her personal appearance as if she expected to meet a lover. + She has grown extremely fastidious about her shoes; she wants to set off + her pretty feet; she scolds Madame Gobet, the shoemaker. It is the same + thing with her milliner. Some days my poor darling is absorbed in thought, + evidently expectant, as if waiting for some one. Her voice has curt tones + when she answers a question, as though she were interrupted in the current + of her thoughts and secret expectations. Then, if this awaited lover has + come—” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Dumay,” said the blind woman. “Well, then Modeste is gay. Oh! + she is not gay to your sight; you cannot catch these gradations; they are + too delicate for eyes that see only the outside of nature. Her gaiety is + betrayed to me by the tones of her voice, by certain accents which I alone + can catch and understand. Modeste then, instead of sitting still and + thoughtful, gives vent to a wild, inward activity by impulsive movements,—in + short, she is happy. There is a grace, a charm in the very ideas she + utters. Ah, my friends, I know happiness as well as I know sorrow; I know + its signs. By the kiss my Modeste gives me I can guess what is passing + within her. I know whether she has received what she was looking for, or + whether she is uneasy or expectant. There are many gradations in a kiss, + even in that of an innocent young girl, and Modeste is innocence itself; + but hers is the innocence of knowledge, not of ignorance. I may be blind, + but my tenderness is all-seeing, and I charge you to watch over my + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay, now actually ferocious, the notary, in the character of a man bound + to ferret out a mystery, Madame Latournelle, the deceived chaperone, and + Madame Dumay, alarmed for her husband’s safety, became at once a set of + spies, and Modeste from this day forth was never left alone for an + instant. Dumay passed nights under her window wrapped in his cloak like a + jealous Spaniard; but with all his military sagacity he was unable to + detect the least suspicious sign. Unless she loved the nightingales in the + villa park, or some fairy prince, Modeste could have seen no one, and had + neither given nor received a signal. Madame Dumay, who never went to bed + till she knew Modeste was asleep, watched the road from the upper windows + of the Chalet with a vigilance equal to her husband’s. Under these eight + Argus eyes the blameless child, whose every motion was studied and + analyzed, came out of the ordeal so fully acquitted of all criminal + conversation that the four friends declared to each other privately that + Madame Mignon was foolishly over-anxious. Madame Latournelle, who always + took Modeste to church and brought her back again, was commissioned to + tell the mother that she was mistaken about her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste,” she said, “is a young girl of very exalted ideas; she works + herself into enthusiasm for the poetry of one writer or the prose of + another. You have only to judge by the impression made upon her by that + scaffold symphony, ‘The Last Hours of a Convict’” (the saying was + Butscha’s, who supplied wit to his benefactress with a lavish hand); “she + seemed to me all but crazy with admiration for that Monsieur Hugo. I’m + sure I don’t know where such people” (Victor Hugo, Lamartine, Byron being + <i>such people</i> to the Madame Latournelles of the bourgeoisie) “get + their ideas. Modeste kept talking to me of Childe Harold, and as I did not + wish to get the worst of the argument I was silly enough to try to read + the thing. Perhaps it was the fault of the translator, but it actually + turned my stomach; I was dazed; I couldn’t possibly finish it. Why, the + man talks about comparisons that howl, rocks that faint, and waves of war! + However, he is only a travelling Englishman, and we must expect + absurdities,—though his are really inexcusable. He takes you to + Spain, and sets you in the clouds above the Alps, and makes the torrents + talk, and the stars; and he says there are too many virgins! Did you ever + hear the like? Then, after Napoleon’s campaigns, the lines are full of + sonorous brass and flaming cannon-balls, rolling along from page to page. + Modeste tells me that all that bathos is put in by the translator, and + that I ought to read the book in English. But I certainly sha’n’t learn + English to read Lord Byron when I didn’t learn it to teach Exupere. I much + prefer the novels of Ducray-Dumenil to all these English romances. I’m too + good a Norman to fall in love with foreign things,—above all when + they come from England.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Mignon, notwithstanding her melancholy, could not help smiling at + the idea of Madame Latournelle reading Childe Harold. The stern scion of a + parliamentary house accepted the smile as an approval of her doctrine. + </p> + <p> + “And, therefore, my dear Madame Mignon,” she went on, “you have taken + Modeste’s fancies, which are nothing but the results of her reading, for a + love-affair. Remember, she is just twenty. Girls fall in love with + themselves at that age; they dress to see themselves well-dressed. I + remember I used to make my little sister, now dead, put on a man’s hat and + pretend we were monsieur and madame. You see, you had a very happy youth + in Frankfort; but let us be just,—Modeste is living here without the + slightest amusement. Although, to be sure, her every wish is attended to, + still she knows she is shut up and watched, and the life she leads would + give her no pleasure at all if it were not for the amusement she gets out + of her books. Come, don’t worry yourself; she loves nobody but you. You + ought to be very glad that she goes into these enthusiasms for the + corsairs of Byron and the heroes of Walter Scott and your own Germans, + Egmont, Goethe, Werther, Schiller, and all the other ‘ers.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, madame, what do you say to that?” asked Dumay, respectfully, + alarmed at Madame Mignon’s silence. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste is not only inclined to love, but she loves some man,” answered + the mother, obstinately. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, my life is at stake, and you must allow me—not for my sake, + but for my wife, my colonel, for all of us—to probe this matter to + the bottom, and find out whether it is the mother or the watch-dog who is + deceived.” + </p> + <p> + “It is you who are deceived, Dumay. Ah! if I could but see my daughter!” + cried the poor woman. + </p> + <p> + “But whom is it possible for her to love?” asked the notary. “I’ll answer + for my Exupere.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be Gobenheim,” said Dumay, “for since the colonel’s departure he + has not spent nine hours a week in this house. Besides, he doesn’t even + notice Modeste—that five-franc piece of a man! His uncle + Gobenheim-Keller is all the time writing him, ‘Get rich enough to marry a + Keller.’ With that idea in his mind you may be sure he doesn’t know which + sex Modeste belongs to. No other men ever come here,—for of course I + don’t count Butscha, poor little fellow; I love him! He is your Dumay, + madame,” said the cashier to Madame Latournelle. “Butscha knows very well + that a mere glance at Modeste would cost him a Breton ducking. Not a soul + has any communication with this house. Madame Latournelle who takes + Modeste to church ever since your—your misfortune, madame, has + carefully watched her on the way and all through the service, and has seen + nothing suspicious. In short, if I must confess the truth, I have myself + raked all the paths about the house every evening for the last month, and + found no trace of footsteps in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Rakes are neither costly nor difficult to handle,” remarked the daughter + of Germany. + </p> + <p> + “But the dogs?” cried Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Lovers have philters even for dogs,” answered Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “If you are right, my honor is lost! I may as well blow my brains out,” + exclaimed Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Why so, Dumay?” said the blind woman. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madame, I could never meet my colonel’s eye if he did not find his + daughter—now his only daughter—as pure and virtuous as she was + when he said to me on the vessel, ‘Let no fear of the scaffold hinder you, + Dumay, if the honor of my Modeste is at stake.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I recognize you both,” said Madame Mignon in a voice of strong + emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll wager my salvation that Modeste is as pure as she was in her + cradle,” exclaimed Madame Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shall make certain of it,” replied her husband, “if Madame la + Comtesse will allow me to employ certain means; for old troopers + understand strategy.” + </p> + <p> + “I will allow you to do anything that shall enlighten us, provided it does + no injury to my last child.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do, Jean?” asked Madame Dumay; “how can you + discover a young girl’s secret if she means to hide it?” + </p> + <p> + “Obey me, all!” cried the lieutenant, “I shall need every one of you.” + </p> + <p> + If this rapid sketch were clearly developed it would give a whole picture + of manners and customs in which many a family could recognize the events + of their own history; but it must suffice as it is to explain the + importance of the few details heretofore given about persons and things on + the memorable evening when the old soldier had made ready his plot against + the young girl, intending to wrench from the recesses of her heart the + secret of a love and a lover seen only by a blind mother. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE PROBLEM STILL UNSOLVED + </h2> + <p> + An hour went by in solemn stillness broken only by the cabalistic phrases + of the whist-players: “Spades!” “Trumped!” “Cut!” “How are honors?” “Two + to four.” “Whose deal?”—phrases which represent in these days the + higher emotions of the European aristocracy. Modeste continued to work, + without seeming to be surprised at her mother’s silence. Madame Mignon’s + handkerchief slipped from her lap to the floor; Butscha precipitated + himself upon it, picked it up, and as he returned it whispered in + Modeste’s ear, “Take care!” Modeste raised a pair of wondering eyes, whose + puzzled glance filled the poor cripple with joy unspeakable. “She is not + in love!” he whispered to himself, rubbing his hands till the skin was + nearly peeled off. At this moment Exupere tore through the garden and the + house, plunged into the salon like an avalanche, and said to Dumay in an + audible whisper, “The young man is here!” Dumay sprang for his pistols and + rushed out. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! suppose he kills him!” cried Madame Dumay, bursting into tears. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” asked Modeste, looking innocently at her friends and + not betraying the slightest fear. + </p> + <p> + “It is all about a young man who is hanging round the house,” cried Madame + Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Modeste, “why should Dumay kill him?” + </p> + <p> + “Sancta simplicita!” ejaculated Butscha, looking at his master as proudly + as Alexander is made to contemplate Babylon in Lebrun’s great picture. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Modeste?” asked the mother as her daughter rose to + leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “To get ready for your bedtime, mamma,” answered Modeste, in a voice as + pure as the tones of an instrument. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t paid your expenses,” said the dwarf to Dumay when he + returned. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste is as pure as the Virgin on our altar,” cried Madame Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! such excitements wear me out,” said Dumay; “and yet I’m a + strong man.” + </p> + <p> + “May I lose that twenty-five sous if I have the slightest idea what you + are about,” remarked Gobenheim. “You seem to me to be crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet it is all about a treasure,” said Butscha, standing on tiptoe to + whisper in Gobenheim’s ear. + </p> + <p> + “Dumay, I am sorry to say that I am still almost certain of what I told + you,” persisted Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “The burden of proof is now on you, madame,” said Dumay, calmly; “it is + for you to prove that we are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + Discovering that the matter in question was only Modeste’s honor, + Gobenheim took his hat, made his bow, and walked off, carrying his ten + sous with him,—there being evidently no hope of another rubber. + </p> + <p> + “Exupere, and you too, Butscha, may leave us,” said Madame Latournelle. + “Go back to Havre; you will get there in time for the last piece at the + theatre. I’ll pay for your tickets.” + </p> + <p> + When the four friends were alone with Madame Mignon, Madame Latournelle, + after looking at Dumay, who being a Breton understood the mother’s + obstinacy, and at her husband who was fingering the cards, felt herself + authorized to speak up. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Mignon, come now, tell us what decisive thing has struck your + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my good friend, if you were a musician you would have heard, as I + have, the language of love that Modeste speaks.” + </p> + <p> + The piano of the demoiselles Mignon was among the few articles of + furniture which had been moved from the town-house to the Chalet. Modeste + often conjured away her troubles by practising, without a master. Born a + musician, she played to enliven her mother. She sang by nature, and loved + the German airs which her mother taught her. From these lessons and these + attempts at self-instruction came a phenomenon not uncommon to natures + with a musical vocation; Modeste composed, as far as a person ignorant of + the laws of harmony can be said to compose, tender little lyric melodies. + Melody is to music what imagery and sentiment are to poetry, a flower that + blossoms spontaneously. Consequently, nations have had melodies before + harmony,—botany comes later than the flower. In like manner, + Modeste, who knew nothing of the painter’s art except what she had seen + her sister do in the way of water-color, would have stood subdued and + fascinated before the pictures of Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Murillo, + Rembrandt, Albert Durer, Holbein,—in other words, before the great + ideals of many lands. Lately, for at least a month, Modeste had warbled + the songs of nightingales, musical rhapsodies whose poetry and meaning had + roused the attention of her mother, already surprised by her sudden + eagerness for composition and her fancy for putting airs into certain + verses. + </p> + <p> + “If your suspicions have no other foundation,” said Latournelle to Madame + Mignon, “I pity your susceptibilities.” + </p> + <p> + “When a Breton girl sings,” said Dumay gloomily, “the lover is not far + off.” + </p> + <p> + “I will let you hear Modeste when she is improvising,” said the mother, + “and you shall judge for yourselves—” + </p> + <p> + “Poor girl!” said Madame Dumay, “If she only knew our anxiety she would be + deeply distressed; she would tell us the truth,—especially if she + thought it would save Dumay.” + </p> + <p> + “My friends, I will question my daughter to-morrow,” said Madame Mignon; + “perhaps I shall obtain more by tenderness than you have discovered by + trickery.” + </p> + <p> + Was the comedy of the “Fille mal Gardee” being played here,—as it is + everywhere and forever,—under the noses of these faithful spies, + these honest Bartholos, these Pyrenean hounds, without their being able to + ferret out, detect, nor even surmise the lover, the love-affair, or the + smoke of the fire? At any rate it was certainly not the result of a + struggle between the jailers and the prisoner, between the despotism of a + dungeon and the liberty of a victim,—it was simply the never-ending + repetition of the first scene played by man when the curtain of the + Creation rose; it was Eve in Paradise. + </p> + <p> + And now, which of the two, the mother or the watch-dog, had the right of + it? + </p> + <p> + None of the persons who were about Modeste could understand that maiden + heart—for the soul and the face we have described were in harmony. + The girl had transported her existence into another world, as much denied + and disbelieved in in these days of ours as the new world of Christopher + Columbus in the sixteenth century. Happily, she kept her own counsel, or + they would have thought her crazy. But first we must explain the influence + of the past upon her nature. + </p> + <p> + Two events had formed the soul and developed the mind of this young girl. + Monsieur and Madame Mignon, warned by the fate that overtook Bettina, had + resolved, just before the failure, to marry Modeste. They chose the son of + a rich banker, formerly of Hamburg, but established in Havre since 1815,—a + man, moreover, who was under obligations to them. The young man, whose + name was Francois Althor, the dandy of Havre, blessed with a certain + vulgar beauty in which the middle classes delight, well-made, + well-fleshed, and with a fine complexion, abandoned his betrothed so + hastily on the day of her father’s failure that neither Modeste nor her + mother nor either of the Dumays had seen him since. Latournelle ventured a + question on the subject to Jacob Althor, the father; but he only shrugged + his shoulders and replied, “I really don’t know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + This answer, told to Modeste to give her some experience of life, was a + lesson which she learned all the more readily because Latournelle and + Dumay made many and long comments on the cowardly desertion. The daughters + of Charles Mignon, like spoiled children, had all their wishes gratified; + they rode on horseback, kept their own horses and grooms, and otherwise + enjoyed a perilous liberty. Seeing herself in possession of an official + lover, Modeste had allowed Francisque to kiss her hand, and take her by + the waist to mount her. She accepted his flowers and all the little proofs + of tenderness with which it is proper to surround the lady of our choice; + she even worked him a purse, believing in such ties,—strong indeed + to noble souls, but cobwebs for the Gobenheims, the Vilquins, and the + Althors. + </p> + <p> + Some time during the spring which followed the removal of Madame Mignon + and her daughter to the Chalet, Francisque Althor came to dine with the + Vilquins. Happening to see Modeste over the wall at the foot of the lawn, + he turned away his head. Six weeks later he married the eldest + Mademoiselle Vilquin. In this way Modeste, young, beautiful, and of high + birth, learned the lesson that for three whole months of her engagement + she had been nothing more than Mademoiselle Million. Her poverty, well + known to all, became a sentinel defending the approaches to the Chalet + fully as well as the prudence of the Latournelles or the vigilance of + Dumay. The talk of the town ran for a time on Mademoiselle Mignon’s + position only to insult her. + </p> + <p> + “Poor girl! what will become of her?—an old maid, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “What a fate! to have had the world at her feet; to have had the chance to + marry Francisque Althor,—and now, nobody willing to take her!” + </p> + <p> + “After a life of luxury, to come down to such poverty—” + </p> + <p> + And these insults were not uttered in secret or left to Modeste’s + imagination; she heard them spoken more than once by the young men and the + young women of Havre as they walked to Ingouville, and, knowing that + Madame Mignon and her daughter lived at the Chalet, talked of them as they + passed the house. Friends of the Vilquins expressed surprise that the + mother and daughter were willing to live on among the scenes of their + former splendor. From her open window behind the closed blinds Modeste + sometimes heard such insolence as this:— + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I can’t think how they can live there,” some one would say as + he paced the villa lawn,—perhaps to assist Vilquin in getting rid of + his tenant. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose they live on? they haven’t any means of earning + money.” + </p> + <p> + “I am told the old woman has gone blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Mademoiselle Mignon still pretty? Dear me, how dashing she used to be! + Well, she hasn’t any horses now.” + </p> + <p> + Most young girls on hearing these spiteful and silly speeches, born of an + envy that now rushed, peevish and drivelling, to avenge the past, would + have felt the blood mount to their foreheads; others would have wept; some + would have undergone spasms of anger; but Modeste smiled, as we smile at + the theatre while watching the actors. Her pride could not descend so low + as the level of such speeches. + </p> + <p> + The other event was more serious than these mercenary meannesses. Bettina + Caroline died in the arms of her younger sister, who had nursed her with + the devotion of girlhood, and the curiosity of an untainted imagination. + In the silence of long nights the sisters exchanged many a confidence. + With what dramatic interest was poor Bettina invested in the eyes of the + innocent Modeste? Bettina knew love through sorrow only, and she was dying + of it. Among young girls every man, scoundrel though he be, is still a + lover. Passion is the one thing absolutely real in the things of life, and + it insists on its supremacy. Charles d’Estourny, gambler, criminal, and + debauchee, remained in the memory of the sisters, the elegant Parisian of + the fetes of Havre, the admired of the womenkind. Bettina believed she had + carried him off from the coquettish Madame Vilquin, and to Modeste he was + her sister’s happy lover. Such adoration in young girls is stronger than + all social condemnations. To Bettina’s thinking, justice had been + deceived; if not, how could it have sentenced a man who had loved her for + six months?—loved her to distraction in the hidden retreat to which + he had taken her,—that he might, we may add, be at liberty to go his + own way. Thus the dying girl inoculated her sister with love. Together + they talked of the great drama which imagination enhances; and Bettina + carried with her to the grave her sister’s ignorance, leaving her, if not + informed, at least thirsting for information. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, remorse had set its fangs too sharply in Bettina’s heart not + to force her to warn her sister. In the midst of her own confessions she + had preached duty and implicit obedience to Modeste. On the evening of her + death she implored her to remember the tears that soaked her pillow, and + not to imitate a conduct which even suffering could not expiate. Bettina + accused herself of bringing a curse upon the family, and died in despair + at being unable to obtain her father’s pardon. Notwithstanding the + consolations which the ministers of religion, touched by her repentance, + freely gave her, she cried in heartrending tones with her latest breath: + “Oh father! father!” “Never give your heart without your hand,” she said + to Modeste an hour before she died; “and above all, accept no attentions + from any man without telling everything to papa and mamma.” + </p> + <p> + These words, so earnest in their practical meaning, uttered in the hour of + death, had more effect upon Modeste than if Bettina had exacted a solemn + oath. The dying girl, farseeing as prophet, drew from beneath her pillow a + ring which she had sent by her faithful maid, Francoise Cochet, to be + engraved in Havre with these words, “Think of Bettina, 1827,” and placed + it on her sister’s finger, begging her to keep it there until she married. + Thus there had been between these two young girls a strange commingling of + bitter remorse and the artless visions of a fleeting spring-time too early + blighted by the keen north wind of desertion; yet all their tears, regrets + and memories were always subordinate to their horror of evil. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, this drama of a poor seduced sister returning to die under a + roof of elegant poverty, the failure of her father, the baseness of her + betrothed, the blindness of her mother caused by grief, had touched the + surface only of Modeste’s life, by which alone the Dumays and the + Latournelles judged her; for no devotion of friends can take the place of + a mother’s eye. The monotonous life in the dainty little Chalet, + surrounded by the choice flowers which Dumay cultivated; the family + customs, as regular as clock-work, the provincial decorum, the games at + whist while the mother knitted and the daughter sewed, the silence, broken + only by the roar of the sea in the equinoctial storms,—all this + monastic tranquillity did in fact hide an inner and tumultuous life, the + life of ideas, the life of the spiritual being. We sometimes wonder how it + is possible for young girls to do wrong; but such as do so have no blind + mother to send her plummet line of intuition to the depths of the + subterranean fancies of a virgin heart. The Dumays slept when Modeste + opened her window, as it were to watch for the passing of a man,—the + man of her dreams, the expected knight who was to mount her behind him and + ride away under the fire of Dumay’s pistols. + </p> + <p> + During the depression caused by her sister’s death Modeste flung herself + into the practice of reading, until her mind became sodden in it. Born to + the use of two languages, she could speak and read German quite as well as + French; she had also, together with her sister, learned English from + Madame Dumay. Being very little overlooked in the matter of reading by the + people about her, who had no literary knowledge, Modeste fed her soul on + the modern masterpieces of three literatures, English, French, and German. + Lord Byron, Goethe, Schiller, Walter Scott, Hugo, Lamartine, Crabbe, + Moore, the great works of the 17th and 18th centuries, history, drama, and + fiction, from Astraea to Manon Lescaut, from Montaigne’s Essays to + Diderot, from the Fabliaux to the Nouvelle Heloise,—in short, the + thought of three lands crowded with confused images that girlish head, + august in its cold guilelessness, its native chastity, but from which + there sprang full-armed, brilliant, sincere, and strong, an overwhelming + admiration for genius. To Modeste a new book was an event; a masterpiece + that would have horrified Madame Latournelle made her happy,—equally + unhappy if the great work did not play havoc with her heart. A lyric + instinct bubbled in that girlish soul, so full of the beautiful illusions + of its youth. But of this radiant existence not a gleam reached the + surface of daily life; it escaped the ken of Dumay and his wife and the + Latournelles; the ears of the blind mother alone caught the crackling of + its flame. + </p> + <p> + The profound disdain which Modeste now conceived for ordinary men gave to + her face a look of pride, an inexpressible untamed shyness, which tempered + her Teutonic simplicity, and accorded well with a peculiarity of her head. + The hair growing in a point above the forehead seemed the continuation of + a slight line which thought had already furrowed between the eyebrows, and + made the expression of untameability perhaps a shade too strong. The voice + of this charming child, whom her father, delighting in her wit, was wont + to call his “little proverb of Solomon,” had acquired a precious + flexibility of organ through the practice of three languages. This + advantage was still further enhanced by a natural bell-like tone both + sweet and fresh, which touched the heart as delightfully as it did the + ear. If the mother could no longer see the signs of a noble destiny upon + her daughter’s brow, she could study the transitions of her soul’s + development in the accents of that voice attuned to love. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. A MAIDEN’S FIRST ROMANCE + </h2> + <p> + To this period of Modeste’s eager rage for reading succeeded the exercise + of a strange faculty given to vigorous imaginations,—the power, + namely, of making herself an actor in a dream-existence; of representing + to her own mind the things desired, with so vivid a conception that they + seemed actually to attain reality; in short, to enjoy by thought,—to + live out her years within her mind; to marry; to grow old; to attend her + own funeral like Charles V.; to play within herself the comedy of life + and, if need be, that of death. Modeste was indeed playing, but all alone, + the comedy of Love. She fancied herself adored to the summit of her wishes + in many an imagined phase of social life. Sometimes as the heroine of a + dark romance, she loved the executioner, or the wretch who ended her days + upon the scaffold, or, like her sister, some Parisian youth without a + penny, whose struggles were all beneath a garret-roof. Sometimes she was + Ninon, scorning men amid continual fetes; or some applauded actress, or + gay adventuress, exhausting in her own behalf the luck of Gil Blas, or the + triumphs of Pasta, Malibran, and Florine. Then, weary of the horrors and + excitements, she returned to actual life. She married a notary, she ate + the plain brown bread of honest everyday life, she saw herself a Madame + Latournelle; she accepted a painful existence, she bore all the trials of + a struggle with fortune. After that she went back to the romances: she was + loved for her beauty; a son of a peer of France, an eccentric, artistic + young man, divined her heart, recognized the star which the genius of a De + Stael had planted on her brow. Her father returned, possessing millions. + With his permission, she put her various lovers to certain tests (always + carefully guarding her own independence); she owned a magnificent estate + and castle, servants, horses, carriages, the choicest of everything that + luxury could bestow, and kept her suitors uncertain until she was forty + years old, at which age she made her choice. + </p> + <p> + This edition of the Arabian Nights in a single copy lasted nearly a year, + and taught Modeste the sense of satiety through thought. She held her life + too often in her hand, she said to herself philosophically and with too + real a bitterness, too seriously, and too often, “Well, what is it, after + all?” not to have plunged to her waist in the deep disgust which all men + of genius feel when they try to complete by intense toil the work to which + they have devoted themselves. Her youth and her rich nature alone kept + Modeste at this period of her life from seeking to enter a cloister. But + this sense of satiety cast her, saturated as she still was with Catholic + spirituality, into the love of Good, the infinite of heaven. She conceived + of charity, service to others, as the true occupation of life; but she + cowered in the gloomy dreariness of finding in it no food for the fancy + that lay crouching in her heart like an insect at the bottom of a calyx. + Meanwhile she sat tranquilly sewing garments for the children of the poor, + and listening abstractedly to the grumblings of Monsieur Latournelle when + Dumay held the thirteenth card or drew out his last trump. + </p> + <p> + Her religious faith drove Modeste for a time into a singular track of + thought. She imagined that if she became sinless (speaking + ecclesiastically) she would attain to such a condition of sanctity that + God would hear her and accomplish her desires. “Faith,” she thought, “can + move mountains; Christ has said so. The Saviour led his apostle upon the + waters of the lake Tiberias; and I, all I ask of God is a husband to love + me; that is easier than walking upon the sea.” She fasted through the next + Lent, and did not commit a single sin; then she said to herself that on a + certain day coming out of church she should meet a handsome young man who + was worthy of her, whom her mother would accept, and who would fall madly + in love with her. When the day came on which she had, as it were, summoned + God to send her an angel, she was persistently followed by a rather + disgusting beggar; moreover, it rained heavily, and not a single young man + was in the streets. On another occasion she went to walk on the jetty to + see the English travellers land; but each Englishman had an Englishwoman, + nearly as handsome as Modeste herself, who saw no one at all resembling a + wandering Childe Harold. Tears overcame her, as she sat down like Marius + on the ruins of her imagination. But on the day when she subpoenaed God + for the third time she firmly believed that the Elect of her dreams was + within the church, hiding, perhaps out of delicacy, behind one of the + pillars, round all of which she dragged Madame Latournelle on a tour of + inspection. After this failure, she deposed the Deity from omnipotence. + Many were her conversations with the imaginary lover, for whom she + invented questions and answers, bestowing upon him a great deal of wit and + intelligence. + </p> + <p> + The high ambitions of her heart hidden within these romances were the real + explanation of the prudent conduct which the good people who watched over + Modeste so much admired; they might have brought her any number of young + Althors or Vilquins, and she would never have stooped to such clowns. She + wanted, purely and simply, a man of genius,—talent she cared little + for; just as a lawyer is of no account to a girl who aims for an + ambassador. Her only desire for wealth was to cast it at the feet of her + idol. Indeed, the golden background of these visions was far less rich + than the treasury of her own heart, filled with womanly delicacy; for its + dominant desire was to make some Tasso, some Milton, a Jean-Jacques + Rousseau, a Murat, a Christopher Columbus happy. + </p> + <p> + Commonplace miseries did not seriously touch this youthful soul, who + longed to extinguish the fires of the martyrs ignored and rejected in + their own day. Sometimes she imagined balms of Gilead, soothing melodies + which might have allayed the savage misanthropy of Rousseau. Or she + fancied herself the wife of Lord Byron; guessing intuitively his contempt + for the real, she made herself as fantastic as the poetry of Manfred, and + provided for his scepticism by making him a Catholic. Modeste attributed + Moliere’s melancholy to the women of the seventeenth century. “Why is + there not some one woman,” she asked herself, “loving, beautiful, and + rich, ready to stand beside each man of genius and be his slave, like + Lara, the mysterious page?” She had, as the reader perceives, fully + understood “il pianto,” which the English poet chanted by the mouth of his + Gulmare. Modeste greatly admired the behavior of the young Englishwoman + who offered herself to Crebillon, the son, who married her. The story of + Sterne and Eliza Draper was her life and her happiness for several months. + She made herself ideally the heroine of a like romance, and many a time + she rehearsed in imagination the sublime role of Eliza. The sensibility so + charmingly expressed in that delightful correspondence filled her eyes + with tears which, it is said, were lacking in those of the wittiest of + English writers. + </p> + <p> + Modeste existed for some time on a comprehension, not only of the works, + but of the characters of her favorite authors,—Goldsmith, the author + of Obermann, Charles Nodier, Maturin. The poorest and the most suffering + among them were her deities; she guessed their trials, initiated herself + into a destitution where the thoughts of genius brooded, and poured upon + it the treasures of her heart; she fancied herself the giver of material + comfort to these great men, martyrs to their own faculty. This noble + compassion, this intuition of the struggles of toilers, this worship of + genius, are among the choicest perceptions that flutter through the souls + of women. They are, in the first place, a secret between the woman and + God, for they are hidden; in them there is nothing striking, nothing that + gratifies the vanity,—that powerful auxiliary to all action among + the French. + </p> + <p> + Out of this third period of the development of her ideas, there came to + Modeste a passionate desire to penetrate to the heart of one of these + abnormal beings; to understand the working of the thoughts and the hidden + griefs of genius,—to know not only what it wanted but what it was. + At the period when this story begins, these vagaries of fancy, these + excursions of her soul into the void, these feelers put forth into the + darkness of the future, the impatience of an ungiven love to find its + goal, the nobility of all her thoughts of life, the decision of her mind + to suffer in a sphere of higher things rather than flounder in the marshes + of provincial life like her mother, the pledge she had made to herself + never to fail in conduct, but to respect her father’s hearth and bring it + happiness,—all this world of feeling and sentiment had lately come + to a climax and taken shape. Modeste wished to be the friend and companion + of a poet, an artist, a man in some way superior to the crowd of men. But + she intended to choose him,—not to give him her heart, her life, her + infinite tenderness freed from the trammels of passion, until she had + carefully and deeply studied him. + </p> + <p> + She began this pretty romance by simply enjoying it. Profound tranquillity + settled down upon her soul. Her cheeks took on a soft color; and she + became the beautiful and noble image of Germany, such as we have lately + seen her, the glory of the Chalet, the pride of Madame Latournelle and the + Dumays. Modeste was living a double existence. She performed with humble, + loving care all the minute duties of the homely life at the Chalet, using + them as a rein to guide the poetry of her ideal life, like the Carthusian + monks who labor methodically on material things to leave their souls the + freer to develop in prayer. All great minds have bound themselves to some + form of mechanical toil to obtain greater mastery of thought. Spinosa + ground glasses for spectacles; Bayle counted the tiles on the roof; + Montesquieu gardened. The body being thus subdued, the soul could spread + its wings in all security. + </p> + <p> + Madame Mignon, reading her daughter’s soul, was therefore right. Modeste + loved; she loved with that rare platonic love, so little understood, the + first illusion of a young girl, the most delicate of all sentiments, a + very dainty of the heart. She drank deep draughts from the chalice of the + unknown, the vague, the visionary. She admired the blue plumage of the + bird that sings afar in the paradise of young girls, which no hand can + touch, no gun can cover, as it flits across the sight; she loved those + magic colors, like sparkling jewels dazzling to the eye, which youth can + see, and never sees again when Reality, the hideous hag, appears with + witnesses accompanied by the mayor. To live the very poetry of love and + not to see the lover—ah, what sweet intoxication! what visionary + rapture! a chimera with flowing man and outspread wings! + </p> + <p> + The following is the puerile and even silly event which decided the future + life of this young girl. + </p> + <p> + Modeste happened to see in a bookseller’s window a lithographic portrait + of one of her favorites, Canalis. We all know what lies such pictures + tell,—being as they are the result of a shameless speculation, which + seizes upon the personality of celebrated individuals as if their faces + were public property. + </p> + <p> + In this instance Canalis, sketched in a Byronic pose, was offering to + public admiration his dark locks floating in the breeze, a bare throat, + and the unfathomable brow which every bard ought to possess. Victor Hugo’s + forehead will make more persons shave their heads than the number of + incipient marshals ever killed by the glory of Napoleon. This portrait of + Canalis (poetic through mercantile necessity) caught Modeste’s eye. The + day on which it caught her eye one of Arthez’s best books happened to be + published. We are compelled to admit, though it may be to Modeste’s + injury, that she hesitated long between the illustrious poet and the + illustrious prose-writer. Which of these celebrated men was free?—that + was the question. + </p> + <p> + Modeste began by securing the co-operation of Francoise Cochet, a maid + taken from Havre and brought back again by poor Bettina, whom Madame + Mignon and Madame Dumay now employed by the day, and who lived in Havre. + Modeste took her to her own room and assured her that she would never + cause her parents any grief, never pass the bounds of a young girl’s + propriety, and that as to Francoise herself she would be well provided for + after the return of Monsieur Mignon, on condition that she would do a + certain service and keep it an inviolable secret. What was it? Why, a + nothing—perfectly innocent. All that Modeste wanted of her + accomplice was to put certain letters into the post at Havre and to bring + some back which would be directed to herself, Francoise Cochet. The treaty + concluded, Modeste wrote a polite note to Dauriat, publisher of the poems + of Canalis, asking, in the interest of that great poet, for some + particulars about him, among others if he were married. She requested the + publisher to address his answer to Mademoiselle Francoise, “poste + restante,” Havre. + </p> + <p> + Dauriat, incapable of taking the epistle seriously, wrote a reply in + presence of four or five journalists who happened to be in his office at + the time, each of whom added his particular stroke of wit to the + production. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mademoiselle,—Canalis (Baron of), Constant Cys Melchior, member + of the French Academy, born in 1800, at Canalis (Correze), five + feet four inches in height, of good standing, vaccinated, spotless + birth, has given a substitute to the conscription, enjoys perfect + health, owns a small patrimonial estate in the Correze, and wishes + to marry, but the lady must be rich. + + He beareth per pale, gules an axe or, sable three escallops + argent, surmounted by a baron’s coronet; supporters, two larches, + vert. Motto: “Or et fer” (no allusion to Ophir or auriferous). + + The original Canalis, who went to the Holy Land with the First + Crusade, is cited in the chronicles of Auvergne as being armed + with an axe on account of the family indigence, which to this day + weighs heavily on the race. This noble baron, famous for + discomfiting a vast number of infidels, died, without “or” or + “fer,” as naked as a worm, near Jerusalem, on the plains of + Ascalon, ambulances not being then invented. + + The chateau of Canalis (the domain yields a few chestnuts) + consists of two dismantled towers, united by a piece of wall + covered by a fine ivy, and is taxed at twenty-two francs. + + The undersigned (publisher) calls attention to the fact that he + pays ten thousand francs for every volume of poetry written by + Monsieur de Canalis, who does not give his shells, or his nuts + either, for nothing. + + The chanticler of the Correze lives in the rue de + Paradis-Poissoniere, number 29, which is a highly suitable + location for a poet of the angelic school. Letters must be + <i>post-paid</i>. + + Noble dames of the faubourg Saint-Germain are said to take the + path to Paradise and protect its god. The king, Charles X., thinks + so highly of this great poet as to believe him capable of + governing the country; he has lately made him officer of the + Legion of honor, and (what pays him better) president of the court + of Claims at the foreign office. These functions do not hinder + this great genius from drawing an annuity out of the fund for the + encouragement of the arts and belles letters. + + The last edition of the works of Canalis, printed on vellum, royal + 8vo, from the press of Didot, with illustrations by Bixiou, Joseph + Bridau, Schinner, Sommervieux, etc., is in five volumes, price, + nine francs post-paid. +</pre> + <p> + This letter fell like a cobble-stone on a tulip. A poet, secretary of + claims, getting a stipend in a public office, drawing an annuity, seeking + a decoration, adored by the women of the faubourg Saint-Germain—was + that the muddy minstrel lingering along the quays, sad, dreamy, worn with + toil, and re-entering his garret fraught with poetry? However, Modeste + perceived the irony of the envious bookseller, who dared to say, “I + invented Canalis; I made Nathan!” Besides, she re-read her hero’s poems,—verses + extremely seductive, insincere, and hypocritical, which require a word of + analysis, were it only to explain her infatuation. + </p> + <p> + Canalis may be distinguished from Lamartine, chief of the angelic school, + by a wheedling tone like that of a sick-nurse, a treacherous sweetness, + and a delightful correctness of diction. If the chief with his strident + cry is an eagle, Canalis, rose and white, is a flamingo. In him women find + the friend they seek, their interpreter, a being who understands them, who + explains them to themselves, and a safe confidant. The wide margins given + by Didot to the last edition were crowded with Modeste’s pencilled + sentiments, expressing her sympathy with this tender and dreamy spirit. + Canalis does not possess the gift of life; he cannot breathe existence + into his creations; but he knows how to calm vague sufferings like those + which assailed Modeste. He speaks to young girls in their own language; he + can allay the anguish of a bleeding wound and lull the moans, even the + sobs of woe. His gift lies not in stirring words, nor in the remedy of + strong emotions, he contents himself with saying in harmonious tones which + compel belief, “I suffer with you; I understand you; come with me; let us + weep together beside the brook, beneath the willows.” And they follow him! + They listen to his empty and sonorous poetry like infants to a nurse’s + lullaby. Canalis, like Nodier, enchants the reader by an artlessness which + is genuine in the prose writer and artificial in the poet, by his tact, + his smile, the shedding of his rose-leaves, in short by his infantile + philosophy. He imitates so well the language of our early youth that he + leads us back to the prairie-land of our illusions. We can be pitiless to + the eagles, requiring from them the quality of the diamond, incorruptible + perfection; but as for Canalis, we take him for what he is and let the + rest go. He seems a good fellow; the affectations of the angelic school + have answered his purpose and succeeded, just as a woman succeeds when she + plays the ingenue cleverly, and simulates surprise, youth, innocence + betrayed, in short, the wounded angel. + </p> + <p> + Modeste, recovering her first impression, renewed her confidence in that + soul, in that countenance as ravishing as the face of Bernardin de + Saint-Pierre. She paid no further attention to the publisher. And so, + about the beginning of the month of August she wrote the following letter + to this Dorat of the sacristy, who still ranks as a star of the modern + Pleiades. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis,—Many a time, monsieur, I have wished to + write to you; and why? Surely you guess why,—to tell you how much + I admire your genius. Yes, I feel the need of expressing to you + the admiration of a poor country girl, lonely in her little + corner, whose only happiness is to read your thoughts. I have read + Rene, and I come to you. Sadness leads to reverie. How many other + women are sending you the homage of their secret thoughts? What + chance have I for notice among so many? This paper, filled with my + soul,—can it be more to you than the perfumed letters which + already beset you. I come to you with less grace than others, for + I wish to remain unknown and yet to receive your entire confidence + —as though you had long known me. + + Answer my letter and be friendly with me. I cannot promise to make + myself known to you, though I do not positively say I will not + some day do so. + + What shall I add? Read between the lines of this letter, monsieur, + the great effort which I am making: permit me to offer you my + hand,—that of a friend, ah! a true friend. + + Your servant, O. d’Este M. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + P.S.—If you do me the favor to answer this letter address your + reply, if you please, to Mademoiselle F. Cochet, “poste restante,” + Havre. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. A POET OF THE ANGELIC SCHOOL + </h2> + <p> + All young girls, romantic or otherwise, can imagine the impatience in + which Modeste lived for the next few days. The air was full of tongues of + fire. The trees were like a plumage. She was not conscious of a body; she + hovered in space, the earth melted away under her feet. Full of admiration + for the post-office, she followed her little sheet of paper on its way; + she was happy, as we all are happy at twenty years of age, in the first + exercise of our will. She was possessed, as in the middle ages. She made + pictures in her mind of the poet’s abode, of his study; she saw him + unsealing her letter; and then followed myriads of suppositions. + </p> + <p> + After sketching the poetry we cannot do less than give the profile of the + poet. Canalis is a short, spare man, with an air of good-breeding, a + dark-complexioned, moon-shaped face, and a rather mean head like that of a + man who has more vanity than pride. He loves luxury, rank, and splendor. + Money is of more importance to him than to most men. Proud of his birth, + even more than of his talent, he destroys the value of his ancestors by + making too much of them in the present day,—after all, the Canalis + are not Navarreins, nor Cadignans, nor Grandlieus. Nature, however, helps + him out in his pretensions. He has those eyes of Eastern effulgence which + we demand in a poet, a delicate charm of manner, and a vibrant voice; yet + a taint of natural charlatanism destroys the effect of nearly all these + advantages; he is a born comedian. If he puts forward his well-shaped + foot, it is because the attitude has become a habit; if he uses + exclamatory terms they are part of himself; if he poses with high dramatic + action he has made that deportment his second nature. Such defects as + these are not incompatible with a general benevolence and a certain + quality of errant and purely ideal chivalry, which distinguishes the + paladin from the knight. Canalis has not devotion enough for a Don + Quixote, but he has too much elevation of thought not to put himself on + the nobler side of questions and things. His poetry, which takes the town + by storm on all profitable occasions, really injures the man as a poet; + for he is not without mind, but his talent prevents him from developing + it; he is overweighted by his reputation, and is always aiming to make + himself appear greater than he has the credit of being. Thus, as often + happens, the man is entirely out of keeping with the products of his + thought. The author of these naive, caressing, tender little lyrics, these + calm idylls pure and cold as the surface of a lake, these verses so + essentially feminine, is an ambitious little creature in a tightly + buttoned frock-coat, with the air of a diplomat seeking political + influence, smelling of the musk of aristocracy, full of pretension, + thirsting for money, already spoiled by success in two directions, and + wearing the double wreath of myrtle and of laurel. A government situation + worth eight thousand francs, three thousand francs’ annuity from the + literary fund, two thousand from the Academy, three thousand more from the + paternal estate (less the taxes and the cost of keeping it in order),—a + total fixed income of fifteen thousand francs, plus the ten thousand + bought in, one year with another, by his poetry; in all twenty-five + thousand francs,—this for Modeste’s hero was so precarious and + insufficient an income that he usually spent five or six thousand francs + more every year; but the king’s privy purse and the secret funds of the + foreign office had hitherto supplied the deficit. He wrote a hymn for the + king’s coronation which earned him a whole silver service,—having + refused a sum of money on the ground that a Canalis owed his duty to his + sovereign. + </p> + <p> + But about this time Canalis had, as the journalists say, exhausted his + budget. He felt himself unable to invent any new form of poetry; his lyre + did not have seven strings, it had one; and having played on that one + string so long, the public allowed him no other alternative but to hang + himself with it, or to hold his tongue. De Marsay, who did not like + Canalis, made a remark whose poisoned shaft touched the poet to the quick + of his vanity. “Canalis,” he said, “always reminds me of that brave man + whom Frederic the Great called up and commended after a battle because his + trumpet had never ceased tooting its one little tune.” Canalis’s ambition + was to enter political life, and he made capital of a journey he had taken + to Madrid as secretary to the embassy of the Duc de Chaulieu, though it + was really made, according to Parisian gossip, in the capacity of “attache + to the duchess.” How many times a sarcasm or a single speech has decided + the whole course of a man’s life. Colla, the late president of the + Cisalpine republic, and the best lawyer in Piedmont, was told by a friend + when he was forty years of age that he knew nothing of botany. He was + piqued, became a second Jussieu, cultivated flowers, and compiled and + published “The Flora of Piedmont,” in Latin, a labor of ten years. “I’ll + master De Marsay some of these days!” thought the crushed poet; “after + all, Canning and Chateaubriand are both in politics.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis would gladly have brought forth some great political poem, but he + was afraid of the French press, whose criticisms are savage upon any + writer who takes four alexandrines to express one idea. Of all the poets + of our day only three, Hugo, Theophile Gautier, and De Vigny, have been + able to win the double glory of poet and prose-writer, like Racine and + Voltaire, Moliere, and Rabelais,—a rare distinction in the + literature of France, which ought to give a man a right to the crowning + title of poet. + </p> + <p> + So then, the bard of the faubourg Saint-Germain was doing a wise thing in + trying to house his little chariot under the protecting roof of the + present government. When he became president of the court of Claims at the + foreign office, he stood in need of a secretary,—a friend who could + take his place in various ways; cook up his interests with publishers, see + to his glory in the newspapers, help him if need be in politics,—in + short, a cat’s paw and satellite. In Paris many men of celebrity in art, + science, and literature have one or more train-bearers, captains of the + guard, chamberlains as it were, who live in the sunshine of their + presence,—aides-de-camp entrusted with delicate missions, allowing + themselves to be compromised if necessary; workers round the pedestal of + the idol; not exactly his servants, nor yet his equals; bold in his + defence, first in the breach, covering all retreats, busy with his + business, and devoted to him just so long as their illusions last, or + until the moment when they have got all they wanted. Some of these + satellites perceive the ingratitude of their great man; others feel that + they are simply made tools of; many weary of the life; very few remain + contented with that sweet equality of feeling and sentiment which is the + only reward that should be looked for in an intimacy with a superior man,—a + reward that contented Ali when Mohammed raised him to himself. + </p> + <p> + Many of these men, misled by vanity, think themselves quite as capable as + their patron. Pure devotion, such as Modeste conceived it, without money + and without price, and more especially without hope, is rare. Nevertheless + there are Mennevals to be found, more perhaps in Paris than elsewhere, men + who value a life in the background with its peaceful toil; these are the + wandering Benedictines of our social world, which offers them no other + monastery. These brave, meek hearts live, by their actions and in their + hidden lives, the poetry that poets utter. They are poets themselves in + soul, in tenderness, in their lonely vigils and meditations,—as + truly poets as others of the name on paper, who fatten in the fields of + literature at so much a verse; like Lord Byron, like all who live, alas, + by ink, the Hippocrene water of to-day, for want of a better. + </p> + <p> + Attracted by the fame of Canalis, also by the prospect of political + interest, and advised thereto by Madame d’Espard, who acted in the matter + for the Duchesse de Chaulieu, a young lawyer of the court of Claims became + secretary and confidential friend of the poet, who welcomed and petted him + very much as a broker caresses his first dabbler in the funds. The + beginning of this companionship bore a very fair resemblance to + friendship. The young man had already held the same relation to a + minister, who went out of office in 1827, taking care before he did so to + appoint his young secretary to a place in the foreign office. Ernest de La + Briere, then about twenty-seven years of age, was decorated with the + Legion of honor but was without other means than his salary; he was + accustomed to the management of business and had learned a good deal of + life during his four years in a minister’s cabinet. Kindly, amiable, and + over-modest, with a heart full of pure and sound feelings, he was averse + to putting himself in the foreground. He loved his country, and wished to + serve her, but notoriety abashed him. To him the place of secretary to a + Napoleon was far more desirable than that of the minister himself. As soon + as he became the friend and secretary of Canalis he did a great amount of + labor for him, but by the end of eighteen months he had learned to + understand the barrenness of a nature that was poetic through literary + expression only. The truth of the old proverb, “The cowl doesn’t make the + monk,” is eminently shown in literature. It is extremely rare to find + among literary men a nature and a talent that are in perfect accord. The + faculties are not the man himself. This disconnection, whose phenomena are + amazing, proceeds from an unexplored, possibly an unexplorable mystery. + The brain and its products of all kinds (for in art the hand of man is a + continuation of his brain) are a world apart, which flourishes beneath the + cranium in absolute independence of sentiments, feelings, and all that is + called virtue, the virtue of citizens, fathers, and private life. This, + however true, is not absolutely so; nothing is absolutely true of man. It + is certain that a debauched man will dissipate his talent, that a drunkard + will waste it in libations; while, on the other hand, no man can give + himself talent by wholesome living: nevertheless, it is all but proved + that Virgil, the painter of love, never loved a Dido, and that Rousseau, + the model citizen, had enough pride to had furnished forth an aristocracy. + On the other hand Raphael and Michael Angelo do present the glorious + conjunction of genius with the lines of character. Talent in men is + therefore, in all moral points, very much what beauty is in women,—simply + a promise. Let us, therefore, doubly admire the man in whom both heart and + character equal the perfection of his genius. + </p> + <p> + When Ernest discovered within his poet an ambitious egoist, the worst + species of egoist (for there are some amiable forms of the vice), he felt + a delicacy in leaving him. Honest natures cannot easily break the ties + that bind them, especially if they have tied them voluntarily. The + secretary was therefore still living in domestic relations with the poet + when Modeste’s letter arrived,—in such relations, be it said, as + involved a perpetual sacrifice of his feelings. La Briere admitted the + frankness with which Canalis had laid himself bare before him. Moreover, + the defects of the man, who will always be considered a great poet during + his lifetime and flattered as Martmontel was flattered, were only the + wrong side of his brilliant qualities. Without his vanity and his + magniloquence it is possible that he might never have acquired the + sonorous elocution which is so useful and even necessary an instrument in + political life. His cold-bloodedness touched at certain points on + rectitude and loyalty; his ostentation had a lining of generosity. + Results, we must remember, are to the profit of society; motives concern + God. + </p> + <p> + But after the arrival of Modeste’s letter Ernest deceived himself no + longer as to Canalis. The pair had just finished breakfast and were + talking together in the poet’s study, which was on the ground-floor of a + house standing back in a court-yard, and looked into a garden. + </p> + <p> + “There!” exclaimed Canalis, “I was telling Madame de Chaulieu the other + day that I ought to bring out another poem; I knew admiration was running + short, for I have had no anonymous letters for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it from an unknown woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Unknown? yes!—a D’Este, in Havre; evidently a feigned name.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis passed the letter to La Briere. The little poem, with all its + hidden enthusiasms, in short, poor Modeste’s heart, was disdainfully + handed over, with the gesture of a spoiled dandy. + </p> + <p> + “It is a fine thing,” said the lawyer, “to have the power to attract such + feelings; to force a poor woman to step out of the habits which nature, + education, and the world dictate to her, to break through conventions. + What privileges genius wins! A letter such as this, written by a young + girl—a genuine young girl—without hidden meanings, with real + enthusiasm—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what?” said Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “Why, a man might suffer as much as Tasso and yet feel recompensed,” cried + La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “So he might, my dear fellow, by a first letter of that kind, and even a + second; but how about the thirtieth? And suppose you find out that these + young enthusiasts are little jades? Or imagine a poet rushing along the + brilliant path in search of her, and finding at the end of it an old + Englishwoman sitting on a mile-stone and offering you her hand! Or suppose + this post-office angel should really be a rather ugly girl in quest of a + husband? Ah, my boy! the effervescence then goes down.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to perceive,” said La Briere, smiling, “that there is something + poisonous in glory, as there is in certain dazzling flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” resumed Canalis, “all these women, even when they are + simple-minded, have ideals, and you can’t satisfy them. They never say to + themselves that a poet is a vain man, as I am accused of being; they can’t + conceive what it is for an author to be at the mercy of a feverish + excitement, which makes him disagreeable and capricious; they want him + always grand, noble; it never occurs to them that genius is a disease, or + that Nathan lives with Florine; that D’Arthez is too fat, and Joseph + Bridau is too thin; that Beranger limps, and that their own particular + deity may have the snuffles! A Lucien de Rubempre, poet and cupid, is a + phoenix. And why should I go in search of compliments only to pull the + string of a shower-bath of horrid looks from some disillusioned female?” + </p> + <p> + “Then the true poet,” said La Briere, “ought to remain hidden, like God, + in the centre of his worlds, and be only seen in his own creations.” + </p> + <p> + “Glory would cost too dear in that case,” answered Canalis. “There is some + good in life. As for that letter,” he added, taking a cup of tea, “I + assure you that when a noble and beautiful woman loves a poet she does not + hide in the corner boxes, like a duchess in love with an actor; she feels + that her beauty, her fortune, her name are protection enough, and she + dares to say openly, like an epic poem: ‘I am the nymph Calypso, enamored + of Telemachus.’ Mystery and feigned names are the resources of little + minds. For my part I no longer answer masks—” + </p> + <p> + “I should love a woman who came to seek me,” cried La Briere. “To all you + say I reply, my dear Canalis, that it cannot be an ordinary girl who + aspires to a distinguished man; such a girl has too little trust, too much + vanity; she is too faint-hearted. Only a star, a—” + </p> + <p> + “—princess!” cried Canalis, bursting into a shout of laughter; “only + a princess can descend to him. My dear fellow, that doesn’t happen once in + a hundred years. Such a love is like that flower that blossoms every + century. Princesses, let me tell you, if they are young, rich, and + beautiful, have something else to think of; they are surrounded like rare + plants by a hedge of fools, well-bred idiots as hollow as elder-bushes! My + dream, alas! the crystal of my dream, garlanded from hence to the Correze + with roses—ah! I cannot speak of it—it is in fragments at my + feet, and has long been so. No, no, all anonymous letters are begging + letters; and what sort of begging? Write yourself to that young woman, if + you suppose her young and pretty, and you’ll find out. There is nothing + like experience. As for me, I can’t reasonably be expected to love every + woman; Apollo, at any rate he of Belvedere, is a delicate consumptive who + must take care of his health.” + </p> + <p> + “But when a woman writes to you in this way her excuse must certainly be + in her consciousness that she is able to eclipse in tenderness and beauty + every other woman,” said Ernest, “and I should think you might feel some + curiosity—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Canalis, “permit me, my juvenile friend, to abide by the + beautiful duchess who is all my joy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, you are right!” cried Ernest. However, the young secretary + read and re-read Modeste’s letter, striving to guess the mind of its + hidden writer. + </p> + <p> + “There is not the least fine-writing here,” he said, “she does not even + talk of your genius; she speaks to your heart. In your place I should feel + tempted by this fragrance of modesty,—this proposed agreement—” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sign it!” cried Canalis, laughing; “answer the letter and go to the + end of the adventure yourself. You shall tell me the results three months + hence—if the affair lasts so long.” + </p> + <p> + Four days later Modeste received the following letter, written on + extremely fine paper, protected by two envelopes, and sealed with the arms + of Canalis. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mademoiselle,—The admiration for fine works (allowing that my + books are such) implies something so lofty and sincere as to + protect you from all light jesting, and to justify before the + sternest judge the step you have taken in writing to me. + + But first I must thank you for the pleasure which such proofs of + sympathy afford, even though we may not merit them,—for the maker + of verses and the true poet are equally certain of the intrinsic + worth of their writings,—so readily does self-esteem lend itself + to praise. The best proof of friendship that I can give to an + unknown lady in exchange for a faith which allays the sting of + criticism, is to share with her the harvest of my own experience, + even at the risk of dispelling her most vivid illusions. + + Mademoiselle, the noblest adornment of a young girl is the flower + of a pure and saintly and irreproachable life. Are you alone in + the world? If you are, there is no need to say more. But if you + have a family, a father or a mother, think of all the sorrow that + might come to them from such a letter as yours addressed to a poet + of whom you know nothing personally. All writers are not angels; + they have many defects. Some are frivolous, heedless, foppish, + ambitious, dissipated; and, believe me, no matter how imposing + innocence may be, how chivalrous a poet is, you will meet with + many a degenerate troubadour in Paris ready to cultivate your + affection only to betray it. By such a man your letter would be + interpreted otherwise than it is by me. He would see a thought + that is not in it, which you, in your innocence, have not + suspected. There are as many natures as there are writers. I am + deeply flattered that you have judged me capable of understanding + you; but had you, perchance, fallen upon a hypocrite, a scoffer, + one whose books may be melancholy but whose life is a perpetual + carnival, you would have found as the result of your generous + imprudence an evil-minded man, the frequenter of green-rooms, + perhaps a hero of some gay resort. In the bower of clematis where + you dream of poets, can you smell the odor of the cigar which + drives all poetry from the manuscript? + + But let us look still further. How could the dreamy, solitary life + you lead, doubtless by the sea-shore, interest a poet, whose + mission it is to imagine all, and to paint all? What reality can + equal imagination? The young girls of the poets are so ideal that + no living daughter of Eve can compete with them. And now tell me, + what will you gain,—you, a young girl, brought up to be the + virtuous mother of a family,—if you learn to comprehend the + terrible agitations of a poet’s life in this dreadful capital, + which may be defined by one sentence,—the hell in which men love. + + If the desire to brighten the monotonous existence of a young girl + thirsting for knowledge has led you to take your pen in hand and + write to me, has not the step itself the appearance of + degradation? What meaning am I to give to your letter? Are you one + of a rejected caste, and do you seek a friend far away from you? + Or, are you afflicted with personal ugliness, yet feeling within + you a noble soul which can give and receive a confidence? Alas, + alas, the conclusion to be drawn is grievous. You have said too + much, or too little; you have gone too far, or not far enough. + Either let us drop this correspondence, or, if you continue it, + tell me more than in the letter you have now written me. + + But, mademoiselle, if you are young, if you are beautiful, if you + have a home, a family, if in your heart you have the precious + ointment, the spikenard, to pour out, as did Magdalene on the feet + of Jesus, let yourself be won by a man worthy of you; become what + every pure young girl should be,—a good woman, the virtuous + mother of a family. A poet is the saddest conquest that a girl can + make; he is full of vanity, full of angles that will sharply wound + a woman’s proper pride, and kill a tenderness which has no + experience of life. The wife of a poet should love him long before + she marries him; she must train herself to the charity of angels, + to their forbearance, to all the virtues of motherhood. Such + qualities, mademoiselle, are but germs in a young girl. + + Hear the whole truth,—do I not owe it to you in return for your + intoxicating flattery? If it is a glorious thing to marry a great + renown, remember also that you must soon discover a superior man + to be, in all that makes a man, like other men. He therefore + poorly realizes the hopes that attach to him as a phoenix. He + becomes like a woman whose beauty is over-praised, and of whom we + say: “I thought her far more lovely.” She has not warranted the + portrait painted by the fairy to whom I owe your letter,—the + fairy whose name is Imagination. + + Believe me, the qualities of the mind live and thrive only in a + sphere invisible, not in daily life; the wife of a poet bears the + burden; she sees the jewels manufactured, but she never wears + them. If the glory of the position fascinates you, hear me now + when I tell you that its pleasures are soon at an end. You will + suffer when you find so many asperities in a nature which, from a + distance, you thought equable, and such coldness at the shining + summit. Moreover, as women never set their feet within the world + of real difficulties, they cease to appreciate what they once + admired as soon as they think they see the inner mechanism of it. + + I close with a last thought, in which there is no disguised + entreaty; it is the counsel of a friend. The exchange of souls can + take place only between persons who are resolved to hide nothing + from each other. Would you show yourself for such as you are to an + unknown man? I dare not follow out the consequences of that idea. + + Deign to accept, mademoiselle, the homage which we owe to all + women, even those who are disguised and masked. +</pre> + <p> + So this was the letter she had worn between her flesh and her corset above + her palpitating heart throughout one whole day! For this she had postponed + the reading until the midnight hour when the household slept, waiting for + the solemn silence with the eager anxiety of an imagination on fire! For + this she had blessed the poet by anticipation, reading a thousand letters + ere she opened one,—fancying all things, except this drop of cold + water falling upon the vaporous forms of her illusion, and dissolving them + as prussic acid dissolves life. What could she do but hide herself in her + bed, blow out her candle, bury her face in the sheets and weep? + </p> + <p> + All this happened during the first days of July. But Modeste presently got + up, walked across the room and opened the window. She wanted air. The + fragrance of the flowers came to her with the peculiar freshness of the + odors of the night. The sea, lighted by the moon, sparkled like a mirror. + A nightingale was singing in a tree. “Ah, there is the poet!” thought + Modeste, whose anger subsided at once. Bitter reflections chased each + other through her mind. She was cut to the quick; she wished to re-read + the letter, and lit a candle; she studied the sentences so carefully + studied when written; and ended by hearing the wheezing voice of the outer + world. + </p> + <p> + “He is right, and I am wrong,” she said to herself. “But who could ever + believe that under the starry mantle of a poet I should find nothing but + one of Moliere’s old men?” + </p> + <p> + When a woman or young girl is taken in the act, “flagrante delicto,” she + conceives a deadly hatred to the witness, the author, or the object of her + fault. And so the true, the single-minded, the untamed and untamable + Modeste conceived within her soul an unquenchable desire to get the better + of that righteous spirit, to drive him into some fatal inconsistency, and + so return him blow for blow. This girl, this child, as we may call her, so + pure, whose head alone had been misguided,—partly by her reading, + partly by her sister’s sorrows, and more perhaps by the dangerous + meditations of her solitary life,—was suddenly caught by a ray of + sunshine flickering across her face. She had been standing for three hours + on the shores of the vast sea of Doubt. Nights like these are never + forgotten. Modeste walked straight to her little Chinese table, a gift + from her father, and wrote a letter dictated by the infernal spirit of + vengeance which palpitates in the hearts of young girls. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. BLADE TO BLADE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis: + + Monsieur,—You are certainly a great poet, and you are something + more,—an honest man. After showing such loyal frankness to a + young girl who was stepping to the verge of an abyss, have you + enough left to answer without hypocrisy or evasion the following + question? + + Would you have written the letter I now hold in answer to mine, + —would your ideas, your language have been the same,—had some + one whispered in your ear (what may prove true), Mademoiselle O. + d’Este M. has six millions and does intend to have a dunce for a + master? + + Admit the supposition for a moment. Be with me what you are with + yourself; fear nothing. I am wiser than my twenty years; nothing + that is frank can hurt you in my mind. When I have read your + confidence, if you deign to make it, you shall receive from me an + answer to your first letter. + + Having admired your talent, often so sublime, permit me to do + homage to your delicacy and your integrity, which force me to + remain always, +</pre> + <p> + Your humble servant, O. d’Este M. + </p> + <p> + When Ernest de La Briere had held this letter in his hands for some little + time he went to walk along the boulevards, tossed in mind like a tiny + vessel by a tempest when the wind is blowing from all points of the + compass. Most young men, specially true Parisians, would have settled the + matter in a single phrase, “The girl is a little hussy.” But for a youth + whose soul was noble and true, this attempt to put him, as it were, upon + his oath, this appeal to truth, had the power to awaken the three judges + hidden in the conscience of every man. Honor, Truth, and Justice, getting + on their feet, cried out in their several ways energetically. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear Ernest,” said Truth, “you never would have read that lesson + to a rich heiress. No, my boy; you would have gone in hot haste to Havre + to find out if the girl were handsome, and you would have been very + unhappy indeed at her preference for genius; and if you could have tripped + up your friend and supplanted him in her affections, Mademoiselle d’Este + would have been a divinity.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Justice, “are you not always bemoaning yourselves, you + penniless men of wit and capacity, that rich girls marry beings whom you + wouldn’t take as your servants? You rail against the materialism of the + century which hastens to join wealth to wealth, and never marries some + fine young man with brains and no money to a rich girl. What an outcry you + make about it; and yet here is a young woman who revolts against that very + spirit of the age, and behold! the poet replies with a blow at her heart!” + </p> + <p> + “Rich or poor, young or old, ugly or handsome, the girl is right; she has + sense and judgment, she has tripped you over into the slough of + self-interest and lets you know it,” cried Honor. “She deserves an answer, + a sincere and loyal and frank answer, and, above all, the honest + expression of your thought. Examine yourself! sound your heart and purge + it of its meannesses. What would Moliere’s Alceste say?” + </p> + <p> + And La Briere, having started from the boulevard Poissoniere, walked so + slowly, absorbed in these reflections, that he was more than an hour in + reaching the boulevard des Capucines. Then he followed the quays, which + led him to the Cour des Comptes, situated in that time close to the + Saint-Chapelle. Instead of beginning on the accounts as he should have + done, he remained at the mercy of his perplexities. + </p> + <p> + “One thing is evident,” he said to himself; “she hasn’t six millions; but + that’s not the point—” + </p> + <p> + Six days later, Modeste received the following letter: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mademoiselle,—You are not a D’Este. The name is a feigned one to + conceal your own. Do I owe the revelations which you solicit to a + person who is untruthful about herself? Question for question: Are + you of an illustrious family? or a noble family? or a middle-class + family? Undoubtedly ethics and morality cannot change; they are + one: but obligations vary in the different states of life. Just as + the sun lights up a scene diversely and produces differences which + we admire, so morality conforms social duty to rank, to position. + The peccadillo of a soldier is a crime in a general, and + vice-versa. Observances are not alike in all cases. They are not + the same for the gleaner in the field, for the girl who sews at + fifteen sous a day, for the daughter of a petty shopkeeper, for + the young bourgoise, for the child of a rich merchant, for the + heiress of a noble family, for a daughter of the house of Este. A + king must not stoop to pick up a piece of gold, but a laborer + ought to retrace his steps to find ten sous; though both are + equally bound to obey the laws of economy. A daughter of Este, who + is worth six millions, has the right to wear a broad-brimmed hat + and plume, to flourish her whip, press the flanks of her barb, and + ride like an amazon decked in gold lace, with a lackey behind her, + into the presence of a poet and say: “I love poetry; and I would + fain expiate Leonora’s cruelty to Tasso!” but a daughter of the + people would cover herself with ridicule by imitating her. To what + class do you belong? Answer sincerely, and I will answer the + question you have put to me. + + As I have not the honor of knowing you personally, and yet am + bound to you, in a measure, by the ties of poetic communion, I am + unwilling to offer any commonplace compliments. Perhaps you have + already won a malicious victory by thus embarrassing a maker of + books. +</pre> + <p> + The young man was certainly not wanting in the sort of shrewdness which is + permissible to a man of honor. By return courier he received an answer:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis,—You grow more and more sensible, my dear + poet. My father is a count. The chief glory of our house was a + cardinal, in the days when cardinals walked the earth by the side + of kings. I am the last of our family, which ends in me; but I + have the necessary quarterings to make my entry into any court or + chapter-house in Europe. We are quite the equals of the Canalis. + You will be so kind as to excuse me from sending you our arms. + + Endeavor to answer me as truthfully as I have now answered you. I + await your response to know if I can then sign myself as I do now, + + Your servant, O. d’Este M. +</pre> + <p> + “The little mischief! how she abuses her privileges,” cried La Briere; + “but isn’t she frank!” + </p> + <p> + No young man can be four years private secretary to a cabinet minister, + and live in Paris and observe the carrying on of many intrigues, with + perfect impunity; in fact, the purest soul is more or less intoxicated by + the heady atmosphere of the imperial city. Happy in the thought that he + was not Canalis, our young secretary engaged a place in the mail-coach for + Havre, after writing a letter in which he announced that the promised + answer would be sent a few days later,—excusing the delay on the + ground of the importance of the confession and the pressure of his duties + at the ministry. + </p> + <p> + He took care to get from the director-general of the post-office a note to + the postmaster at Havre, requesting secrecy and attention to his wishes. + Ernest was thus enabled to see Francoise Cochet when she came for the + letters, and to follow her without exciting observation. Guided by her, he + reached Ingouville and saw Modeste Mignon at the window of the Chalet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Francoise?” he heard the young girl say, to which the maid + responded,— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mademoiselle, I have one.” + </p> + <p> + Struck by the girl’s great beauty, Ernest retraced his steps and asked a + man on the street the name of the owner of that magnificent estate. + </p> + <p> + “That?” said the man, nodding to the villa. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that belongs to Monsieur Vilquin, the richest shipping merchant in + Havre, so rich he doesn’t know what he is worth.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no Cardinal Vilquin that I know of in history,” thought Ernest, + as he walked back to Havre for the night mail to Paris. Naturally he + questioned the postmaster about the Vilquin family, and learned that it + possessed an enormous fortune. Monsieur Vilquin had a son and two + daughters, one of whom was married to Monsieur Althor, junior. Prudence + kept La Briere from seeming anxious about the Vilquins; the postmaster was + already looking at him slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Is there there any one staying with them at the present moment,” he + asked, “besides the family?” + </p> + <p> + “The d’Herouville family is there just now. They do talk of a marriage + between the young duke and the remaining Mademoiselle Vilquin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” thought Ernest; “there was a celebrated Cardinal d’Herouville under + the Valois, and a terrible marshal whom they made a duke in the time of + Henri IV.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest returned to Paris having seen enough of Modeste to dream of her, + and to think that, whether she were rich or whether she were poor, if she + had a noble soul he would like to make her Madame de La Briere; and so + thinking, he resolved to continue the correspondence. + </p> + <p> + Ah! you poor women of France, try to remain hidden if you can; try to + weave the least little romance about your lives in the midst of a + civilization which posts in the public streets the hours when the coaches + arrive and depart; which counts all letters and stamps them twice over, + first with the hour when they are thrown into the boxes, and next with + that of their delivery; which numbers the houses, prints the tax of every + tenant on a metal register at the doors (after verifying its particulars), + and will soon possess one vast register of every inch of its territory + down to the smallest parcel of land, and the most insignificant features + of it,—a giant work ordained by a giant. Try, imprudent young + ladies, to escape not only the eye of the police, but the incessant + chatter which takes place in a country town about the veriest trifles,—how + many dishes the prefect has at his dessert, how many slices of melon are + left at the door of some small householder,—which strains its ear to + catch the chink of the gold a thrifty man lays by, and spends its evenings + in calculating the incomes of the village and the town and the department. + It was mere chance that enabled Modeste to escape discovery through + Ernest’s reconnoitring expedition,—a step which he already + regretted; but what Parisian can allow himself to be the dupe of a little + country girl? Incapable of being duped! that horrid maxim is the + dissolvent of all noble sentiments in man. + </p> + <p> + We can readily guess the struggle of feeling to which this honest young + fellow fell a prey when we read the letter that he now indited, in which + every stroke of the flail which scourged his conscience will be found to + have left its trace. + </p> + <p> + This is what Modeste read a few days later, as she sat by her window on a + fine summer’s day:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mademoiselle,—Without hypocrisy or evasion, <i>yes</i>, if I had been + certain that you possessed an immense fortune I should have acted + differently. Why? I have searched for the reason; here it is. We + have within us an inborn feeling, inordinately developed by social + life, which drives us to the pursuit and to the possession of + happiness. Most men confound happiness with the means that lead to + it; money in their eyes is the chief element of happiness. I + should, therefore, have endeavored to win you, prompted by that + social sentiment which has in all ages made wealth a religion. At + least, I think I should. It is not to be expected of a man still + young that he can have the wisdom to substitute sound sense for + the pleasure of the senses; within sight of a prey the brutal + instincts hidden in the heart of man drive him on. Instead of that + lesson, I should have sent you compliments and flatteries. Should + I have kept my own esteem in so doing? I doubt it. Mademoiselle, + in such a case success brings absolution; but happiness? That is + another thing. Should I have distrusted my wife had I won her in + that way? Most assuredly I should. Your advance on me would sooner + or later have come between us. Your husband, however grand your + fancy may make him, would have ended by reproaching you for having + abased him. You, yourself, might have come, sooner or later, to + despise him. The strong man forgives, but the poet whines. Such, + mademoiselle, is the answer which my honesty compels me to make to + you. + + And now, listen to me. You have the triumph of forcing me to + reflect deeply,—first on you, whom I do not sufficiently know; + next, on myself, of whom I knew too little. You have had the power + to stir up many of the evil thoughts which crouched in my heart, + as in all hearts; but from them something good and generous has + come forth, and I salute you with my most fervent benedictions, + just as at sea we salute the lighthouse which shows the rocks on + which we were about to perish. Here is my confession, for I would + not lose your esteem nor my own for all the treasures of earth. + + I wished to know who you are. I have just returned from Havre, + where I saw Francoise Cochet, and followed her to Ingouville. You + are as beautiful as the woman of a poet’s dream; but I do not know + if you are Mademoiselle Vilquin concealed under Mademoiselle + d’Herouville, or Mademoiselle d’Herouville hidden under + Mademoiselle Vilquin. Though all is fair in war, I blushed at such + spying and stopped short in my inquiries. You have roused my + curiosity; forgive me for being somewhat of a woman; it is, I + believe, the privilege of a poet. + + Now that I have laid bare my heart and allowed you to read it, you + will believe in the sincerity of what I am about to add. Though + the glimpse I had of you was all too rapid, it has sufficed to + modify my opinion of your conduct. You are a poet and a poem, even + more than you are a woman. Yes, there is in you something more + precious than beauty; you are the beautiful Ideal of art, of + fancy. The step you took, blamable as it would be in an ordinary + young girl, allotted to an every-day destiny, has another aspect + if endowed with the nature which I now attribute to you. Among the + crowd of beings flung by fate into the social life of this planet + to make up a generation there are exceptional souls. If your + letter is the outcome of long poetic reveries on the fate which + conventions bring to women, if, constrained by the impulse of a + lofty and intelligent mind, you have wished to understand the life + of a man to whom you attribute the gift of genius, to the end that + you may create a friendship withdrawn from the ordinary relations + of life, with a soul in communion with your own, disregarding thus + the ordinary trammels of your sex,—then, assuredly, you are an + exception. The law which rightly limits the actions of the crowd + is too limited for you. But in that case, the remark in my first + letter returns in greater force,—you have done too much or not + enough. + + Accept once more my thanks for the service you have rendered me, + that of compelling me to sound my heart. You have corrected in me + the false idea, only too common in France, that marriage should be + a means of fortune. While I struggled with my conscience a sacred + voice spoke to me. I swore solemnly to make my fortune myself, and + not be led by motives of cupidity in choosing the companion of my + life. I have also reproached myself for the blamable curiosity you + have excited in me. You have not six millions. There is no + concealment possible in Havre for a young lady who possesses such + a fortune; you would be discovered at once by the pack of hounds + of great families whom I see in Paris on the hunt after heiresses, + and who have already sent one, the grand equerry, the young duke, + among the Vilquins. Therefore, believe me, the sentiments I have + now expressed are fixed in my mind as a rule of life, from which I + have abstracted all influences of romance or of actual fact. Prove + to me, therefore, that you have one of those souls which may be + forgiven for its disobedience to the common law, by perceiving and + comprehending the spirit of this letter as you did that of my + first letter. If you are destined to a middle-class life, obey the + iron law which holds society together. Lifted in mind above other + women, I admire you; but if you seek to obey an impulse which you + ought to repress, I pity you. The all-wise moral of that great + domestic epic “Clarissa Harlowe” is that legitimate and honorable + love led the poor victim to her ruin because it was conceived, + developed, and pursued beyond the boundaries of family restraint. + The family, however cruel and even foolish it may be, is in the + right against the Lovelaces. The family is Society. Believe me, + the glory of a young girl, of a woman, must always be that of + repressing her most ardent impulses within the narrow sphere of + conventions. If I had a daughter able to become a Madame de Stael + I should wish her dead at fifteen. Can you imagine a daughter of + yours flaunting on the stage of fame, exhibiting herself to win + the plaudits of a crowd, and not suffer anguish at the thought? No + matter to what heights a woman can rise by the inward poetry of + her soul, she must sacrifice the outer signs of superiority on the + altar of her home. Her impulse, her genius, her aspirations toward + Good, the whole poem of a young girl’s being, should belong to the + man she accepts and the children whom she brings into the world. I + think I perceive in you a secret desire to widen the narrow circle + of the life to which all women are condemned, and to put love and + passion into marriage. Ah! it is a lovely dream! it is not + impossible; it is difficult, but if realized, may it not be to the + despair of souls—forgive me the hackneyed word—“incompris”? + + If you seek a platonic friendship it will be to your sorrow in + after years. If your letter was a jest, discontinue it. Perhaps + this little romance is to end here—is it? It has not been without + fruit. My sense of duty is aroused, and you, on your side, will + have learned something of Society. Turn your thoughts to real + life; throw the enthusiasms you have culled from literature into + the virtues of your sex. + + Adieu, mademoiselle. Do me the honor to grant me your esteem. + Having seen you, or one whom I believe to be you, I have known + that your letter was simply natural; a flower so lovely turns to + the sun—of poetry. Yes, love poetry as you love flowers, music, + the grandeur of the sea, the beauties of nature; love them as an + adornment of the soul, but remember what I have had the honor of + telling you as to the nature of poets. Be cautious not to marry, + as you say, a dunce, but seek the partner whom God has made for + you. There are souls, believe me, who are fit to appreciate you, + and to make you happy. If I were rich, if you were poor, I would + lay my heart and my fortunes at your feet; for I believe your soul + to be full of riches and of loyalty; to you I could confide my + life and my honor in absolute security. + + Once more, adieu, adieu, fairest daughter of Eve the fair. +</pre> + <p> + The reading of this letter, swallowed like a drop of water in the desert, + lifted the mountain which weighed heavily on Modeste’s heart: then she saw + the mistake she had made in arranging her plan, and repaired it by giving + Francoise some envelopes directed to herself, in which the maid could put + the letters which came from Paris and drop them again into the box. + Modeste resolved to receive the postman herself on the steps of the Chalet + at the hour when he made his delivery. + </p> + <p> + As to the feelings that this reply, in which the noble heart of poor La + Briere beat beneath the brilliant phantom of Canalis, excited in Modeste, + they were as multifarious and confused as the waves which rushed to die + along the shore while with her eyes fixed on the wide ocean she gave + herself up to the joy of having (if we dare say so) harpooned an angelic + soul in the Parisian Gulf, of having divined that hearts of price might + still be found in harmony with genius, and, above all, for having followed + the magic voice of intuition. + </p> + <p> + A vast interest was now about to animate her life. The wires of her cage + were broken: the bolts and bars of the pretty Chalet—where were + they? Her thoughts took wings. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father!” she cried, looking out to the horizon. “Come back and make + us rich and happy.” + </p> + <p> + The answer which Ernest de La Briere received some five days later will + tell the reader more than any elaborate disquisition of ours. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE POWER OF THE UNSEEN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis: + + My friend,—Suffer me to give you that name,—you have delighted + me; I would not have you other than you are in this letter, the + first—oh, may it not be the last! Who but a poet could have + excused and understood a young girl so delicately? + + I wish to speak with the sincerity that dictated the first lines + of your letter. And first, let me say that most fortunately you do + not know me. I can joyfully assure you than I am neither that + hideous Mademoiselle Vilquin nor the very noble and withered + Mademoiselle d’Herouville who floats between twenty and forty + years of age, unable to decide on a satisfactory date. The + Cardinal d’Herouville flourished in the history of the Church at + least a century before the cardinal of whom we boast as our only + family glory,—for I take no account of lieutenant-generals, and + abbes who write trumpery little verses. + + Moreover, I do not live in the magnificent villa Vilquin; there is + not in my veins, thank God, the ten-millionth of a drop of that + chilly blood which flows behind a counter. I come on one side from + Germany, on the other from the south of France; my mind has a + Teutonic love of reverie, my blood the vivacity of Provence. I am + noble on my father’s and on my mother’s side. On my mother’s I + derive from every page of the Almanach de Gotha. In short, my + precautions are well taken. It is not in any man’s power, nor even + in the power of the law, to unmask my incognito. I shall remain + veiled, unknown. + + As to my person and as to my “belongings,” as the Normans say, + make yourself easy. I am at least as handsome as the little girl + (ignorantly happy) on whom your eyes chanced to light during your + visit to Havre; and I do not call myself poverty-stricken, + although ten sons of peers may not accompany me on my walks. I + have seen the humiliating comedy of the heiress sought for her + millions played on my account. In short, make no attempt, even on + a wager, to reach me. Alas! though free as air, I am watched and + guarded,—by myself, in the first place, and secondly, by people + of nerve and courage who would not hesitate to put a knife in your + heart if you tried to penetrate my retreat. I do not say this to + excite your courage or stimulate your curiosity; I believe I have + no need of such incentives to interest you and attach you to me. + + I will now reply to the second edition, considerably enlarged, of + your first sermon. + + Will you have a confession? I said to myself when I saw you so + distrustful, and mistaking me for Corinne (whose improvisations + bore me dreadfully), that in all probability dozes of Muses had + already led you, rashly curious, into their valleys, and begged + you to taste the fruits of their boarding-school Parnassus. Oh! + you are perfectly safe with me, my friend; I may love poetry, but + I have no little verses in my pocket-book, and my stockings are, + and will remain, immaculately white. You shall not be pestered + with the “Flowers of my Heart” in one or more volumes. And, + finally, should it ever happen that I say to you the word “Come!” + you will not find—you know it now—an old maid, no, nor a poor + and ugly one. + + Ah! my friend, if you only knew how I regret that you came to + Havre! You have lowered the charm of what you call my romance. God + alone knew the treasure I was reserving for the man noble enough, + and trusting enough, and perspicacious enough to come—having + faith in my letters, having penetrated step by step into the + depths of my heart—to come to our first meeting with the + simplicity of a child: for that was what I dreamed to be the + innocence of a man of genius. And now you have spoiled my + treasure! But I forgive you; you live in Paris and, as you say, + there is always a man within a poet. + + Because I tell you this will you think me some little girl who + cultivates a garden-full of illusions? You, who are witty and + wise, have you not guessed that when Mademoiselle d’Este received + your pedantic lesson she said to herself: “No, dear poet, my first + letter was not the pebble which a vagabond child flings about the + highway to frighten the owner of the adjacent fruit-trees, but a + net carefully and prudently thrown by a fisherman seated on a rock + above the sea, hoping and expecting a miraculous draught.” + + All that you say so beautifully about the family has my approval. + The man who is able to please me, and of whom I believe myself + worthy, will have my heart and my life,—with the consent of my + parents, for I will neither grieve them, nor take them unawares: + happily, I am certain of reigning over them; and, besides, they + are wholly without prejudice. Indeed, in every way, I feel myself + protected against any delusions in my dream. I have built the + fortress with my own hands, and I have let it be fortified by the + boundless devotion of those who watch over me as if I were a + treasure,—not that I am unable to defend myself in the open, if + need be; for, let me say, circumstances have furnished me with + armor of proof on which is engraved the word “Disdain.” I have the + deepest horror of all that is calculating,—of all that is not + pure, disinterested, and wholly noble. I worship the beautiful, + the ideal, without being romantic; though I HAVE been, in my heart + of hearts, in my dreams. But I recognize the truth of the various + things, just even to vulgarity, which you have written me about + Society and social life. + + For the time being we are, and we can only be, two friends. Why + seek an unseen friend? you ask. Your person may be unknown to me, + but your mind, your heart I <i>know</i>; they please me, and I feel an + infinitude of thoughts within my soul which need a man of genius + for their confidant. I do not wish the poem of my heart to be + wasted; I would have it known to you as it is to God. What a + precious thing is a true comrade, one to whom we can tell all! You + will surely not reject the unpublished leaflets of a young girl’s + thoughts when they fly to you like the pretty insects fluttering + to the sun? I am sure you have never before met with this good + fortune of the soul,—the honest confidences of an honest girl. + Listen to her prattle; accept the music that she sings to you in + her own heart. Later, if our souls are sisters, if our characters + warrant the attempt, a white-haired old serving-man shall await + you by the wayside and lead you to the cottage, the villa, the + castle, the palace—I don’t know yet what sort of bower it will + be, nor what its color, nor whether this conclusion will ever be + possible; but you will admit, will you not? that it is poetic, and + that Mademoiselle d’Este has a complying disposition. Has she not + left you free? Has she gone with jealous feet to watch you in the + salons of Paris? Has she imposed upon you the labors of some high + emprise, such as paladins sought voluntarily in the olden time? + No, she asks a perfectly spiritual and mystic alliance. Come to me + when you are unhappy, wounded, weary. Tell me all, hide nothing; I + have balms for all your ills. I am twenty years of age, dear + friend, but I have the sense of fifty, and unfortunately I have + known through the experience of another all the horrors and the + delights of love. I know what baseness the human heart can + contain, what infamy; yet I myself am an honest girl. No, I have + no illusions; but I have something better, something real,—I have + beliefs and a religion. See! I open the ball of our confidences. + + Whoever I marry—provided I choose him for myself—may sleep in + peace or go to the East Indies sure that he will find me on his + return working at the tapestry which I began before he left me; + and in every stitch he shall read a verse of the poem of which he + has been the hero. Yes, I have resolved within my heart never to + follow my husband where he does not wish me to go. I will be the + divinity of his hearth. That is my religion of humanity. But why + should I not test and choose the man to whom I am to be like the + life to the body? Is a man ever impeded by life? What can that + woman be who thwarts the man she loves?—an illness, a disease, + not life. By life, I mean that joyous health which makes each hour + a pleasure. + + But to return to your letter, which will always be precious to me. + Yes, jesting apart, it contains that which I desired, an + expression of prosaic sentiments which are as necessary to family + life as air to the lungs; and without which no happiness is + possible. To act as an honest man, to think as a poet, to love as + women love, that is what I longed for in my friend, and it is now + no longer a chimera. + + Adieu, my friend. I am poor at this moment. That is one of the + reasons why I cling to my concealment, my mask, my impregnable + fortress. I have read your last verses in the “Revue,”—ah! with + what delight, now that I am initiated in the austere loftiness of + your secret soul. + + Will it make you unhappy to know that a young girl prays for you; + that you are her solitary thought,—without a rival except in her + father and mother? Can there be any reason why you should reject + these pages full of you, written for you, seen by no eye but + yours? Send me their counterpart. I am so little of a woman yet + that your confidences—provided they are full and true—will + suffice for the happiness of your +</pre> + <p> + O. d’Este M. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! can I be in love already?” cried the young secretary, when + he perceived that he had held the above letter in his hands more than an + hour after reading it. “What shall I do? She thinks she is writing to the + great poet! Can I continue the deception? Is she a woman of forty, or a + girl of twenty?” + </p> + <p> + Ernest was now fascinated by the great gulf of the unseen. The unseen is + the obscurity of infinitude, and nothing is more alluring. In that sombre + vastness fires flash, and furrow and color the abyss with fancies like + those of Martin. For a busy man like Canalis, an adventure of this kind is + swept away like a harebell by a mountain torrent, but in the more + unoccupied life of the young secretary, this charming girl, whom his + imagination persistently connected with the blonde beauty at the window, + fastened upon his heart, and did as much mischief in his regulated life as + a fox in a poultry-yard. La Briere allowed himself to be preoccupied by + this mysterious correspondent; and he answered her last letter with + another, a pretentious and carefully studied epistle, in which, however, + passion begins to reveal itself through pique. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mademoiselle,—Is it quite loyal in you to enthrone yourself in + the heart of a poor poet with a latent intention of abandoning him + if he is not exactly what you wish, leaving him to endless + regrets,—showing him for a moment an image of perfection, were it + only assumed, and at any rate giving him a foretaste of happiness? + I was very short-sighted in soliciting this letter, in which you + have begun to unfold the elegant fabric of your thoughts. A man + can easily become enamored with a mysterious unknown who combines + such fearlessness with such originality, so much imagination with + so much feeling. Who would not wish to know you after reading your + first confidence? It requires a strong effort on my part to retain + my senses in thinking of you, for you combine all that can trouble + the head or the heart of man. I therefore make the most of the + little self-possession you have left me to offer you my humble + remonstrances. + + Do you really believe, mademoiselle, that letters, more or less + true in relation to the life of the writers, more or less + insincere,—for those which we write to each other are the + expressions of the moment at which we pen them, and not of the + general tenor of our lives,—do you believe, I say, that beautiful + as they may be, they can at all replace the representation that we + could make of ourselves to each other by the revelations of daily + intercourse? Man is dual. There is a life invisible, that of the + heart, to which letters may suffice; and there is a life material, + to which more importance is, alas, attached than you are aware of + at your age. These two existences must, however, be made to + harmonize in the ideal which you cherish; and this, I may remark + in passing, is very rare. + + The pure, spontaneous, disinterested homage of a solitary soul + which is both educated and chaste, is one of those celestial + flowers whose color and fragrance console for every grief, for + every wound, for every betrayal which makes up the life of a + literary man; and I thank you with an impulse equal to your own. + But after this poetical exchange of my griefs for the pearls of + your charity, what next? what do you expect? I have neither the + genius nor the splendid position of Lord Byron; above all, I have + not the halo of his fictitious damnation and his false social + woes. But what could you have hoped from him in like + circumstances? His friendship? Well, he who ought to have felt + only pride was eaten up by vanity of every kind,—sickly, + irritable vanity which discouraged friendship. I, a thousand-fold + more insignificant than he, may I not have discordances of + character, and make friendship a burden heavy indeed to bear? In + exchange for your reveries, what will you gain? The + dissatisfaction of a life which will not be wholly yours. The + compact is madness. Let me tell you why. In the first place, your + projected poem is a plagiarism. A young German girl, who was not, + like you, semi-German, but altogether so, adored Goethe with the + rash intoxication of girlhood. She made him her friend, her + religion, her god, knowing at the same time that he was married. + Madame Goethe, a worthy German woman, lent herself to this worship + with a sly good-nature which did not cure Bettina. But what was + the end of it all? The young ecstatic married a man who was + younger and handsomer than Goethe. Now, between ourselves, let us + admit that a young girl who should make herself the handmaid of a + man of genius, his equal through comprehension, and should piously + worship him till death, like one of those divine figures sketched + by the masters on the shutters of their mystic shrines, and who, + when Germany lost him, should have retired to some solitude away + from men, like the friend of Lord Bolingbroke,—let us admit, I + say, that the young girl would have lived forever, inlaid in the + glory of the poet as Mary Magdalene in the cross and triumph of + our Lord. If that is sublime, what say you to the reverse of the + picture? As I am neither Goethe nor Lord Byron, the colossi of + poetry and egotism, but simply the author of a few esteemed + verses, I cannot expect the honors of a cult. Neither am I + disposed to be a martyr. I have ambition, and I have a heart; I am + still young and I have my career to make. See me for what I am. + The bounty of the king and the protection of his ministers give me + sufficient means of living. I have the outward bearing of a very + ordinary man. I go to the soirees in Paris like any other + empty-headed fop; and if I drive, the wheels of my carriage do not + roll on the solid ground, absolutely indispensable in these days, + of property invested in the funds. But if I am not rich, neither do + I have the reliefs and consolations of life in a garret, the toil + uncomprehended, the fame in penury, which belong to men who are + worth far more than I,—D’Arthez, for instance. + + Ah! what prosaic conclusions will your young enthusiasm find to + these enchanting visions. Let us stop here. If I have had the + happiness of seeming to you a terrestrial paragon, you have been + to me a thing of light and a beacon, like those stars that shine + for a moment and disappear. May nothing ever tarnish this episode + of our lives. Were we to continue it I might love you; I might + conceive one of those mad passions which rend all obstacles, which + light fires in the heart whose violence is greater than their + duration. And suppose I succeeded in pleasing you? we should end + our tale in the common vulgar way,—marriage, a household, + children, Belise and Henriette Chrysale together!—could it be? + Therefore, adieu. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE MARRIAGE OF SOULS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis: + + My Friend,—Your letter gives me as much pain as pleasure. But + perhaps some day we shall find nothing but pleasure in writing to + each other. Understand me thoroughly. The soul speaks to God and + asks him for many things; he is mute. I seek to obtain in you the + answers that God does not make to me. Cannot the friendship of + Mademoiselle de Gournay and Montaigne be revived in us? Do you not + remember the household of Sismonde de Sismondi in Geneva? The most + lovely home ever known, as I have been told; something like that + of the Marquis de Pescaire and his wife,—happy to old age. Ah! + friend, is it impossible that two hearts, two harps, should exist + as in a symphony, answering each other from a distance, vibrating + with delicious melody in unison? Man alone of all creation is in + himself the harp, the musician, and the listener. Do you think to + find me uneasy and jealous like ordinary women? I know that you go + into the world and meet the handsomest and the wittiest women in + Paris. May I not suppose that some one of those mermaids has + deigned to clasp you in her cold and scaly arms, and that she has + inspired the answer whose prosaic opinions sadden me? There is + something in life more beautiful than the garlands of Parisian + coquetry; there grows a flower far up those Alpine peaks called + men of genius, the glory of humanity, which they fertilize with + the dews their lofty heads draw from the skies. I seek to + cultivate that flower and make it bloom; for its wild yet gentle + fragrance can never fail,—it is eternal. + + Do me the honor to believe that there is nothing low or + commonplace in me. Were I Bettina, for I know to whom you allude, + I should never have become Madame von Arnim; and had I been one of + Lord Byron’s many loves, I should be at this moment in a cloister. + You have touched me to the quick. You do not know me, but you + shall know me. I feel within me something that is sublime, of + which I dare speak without vanity. God has put into my soul the + roots of that Alpine flower born on the summits of which I speak, + and I cannot plant it in an earthen pot upon my window-sill and + see it die. No, that glorious flower-cup, single in its beauty, + intoxicating in its fragrance, shall not be dragged through the + vulgarities of life! it is yours—yours, before any eye has + blighted it, yours forever! Yes, my poet, to you belong my + thoughts,—all, those that are secret, those that are gayest; my + heart is yours without reserve and with its infinite affection. If + you should personally not please me, I shall never marry. I can + live in the life of the heart, I can exist on your mind, your + sentiments; they please me, and I will always be what I am, your + friend. Yours is a noble moral nature; I have recognized it, I + have appreciated it, and that suffices me. In that is all my + future. Do not laugh at a young and pretty handmaiden who shrinks + not from the thought of being some day the old companion of a + poet,—a sort of mother perhaps, or a housekeeper; the guide of + his judgment and a source of his wealth. This handmaiden—so + devoted, so precious to the lives of such as you—is Friendship, + pure, disinterested friendship, to whom you will tell all, who + listens and sometimes shakes her head; who knits by the light of + the lamp and waits to be present when the poet returns home soaked + with rain, or vexed in mind. Such shall be my destiny if I do not + find that of a happy wife attached forever to her husband; I smile + alike at the thought of either fate. Do you believe France will be + any the worse if Mademoiselle d’Este does not give it two or three + sons, and never becomes a Madame Vilquin-something-or-other? As + for me, I shall never be an old maid. I shall make myself a + mother, by taking care of others and by my secret co-operation in + the existence of a great man, to whom also I shall carry all my + thoughts and all my earthly efforts. + + I have the deepest horror of commonplaceness. If I am free, if I + am rich (and I know that I am young and pretty), I will never + belong to any ninny just because he is the son of a peer of + France, nor to a merchant who could ruin himself and me in a day, + nor to a handsome creature who would be a sort of woman in the + household, nor to a man of any kind who would make me blush twenty + times a day for being his. Make yourself easy on that point. My + father adores my wishes; he will never oppose them. If I please my + poet, and he pleases me, the glorious structure of our love shall + be built so high as to be inaccessible to any kind of misfortune. + I am an eaglet; and you will see it in my eyes. + + I shall not repeat what I have already said, but I will put its + substance in the least possible number of words, and confess to + you that I should be the happiest of women if I were imprisoned by + love as I am now imprisoned by the wish and will of a father. Ah! + my friend, may we bring to a real end the romance that has come to + us through the first exercise of my will: listen to its + argument:— + + A young girl with a lively imagination, locked up in a tower, is + weary with longing to run loose in the park where her eyes only + are allowed to rove. She invents a way to loosen her bars; she + jumps from the casement; she scales the park wall; she frolics + along the neighbor’s sward—it is the Everlasting comedy. Well, + that young girl is my soul, the neighbor’s park is your genius. Is + it not all very natural? Was there ever a neighbor that did not + complain that unknown feet broke down his trellises? I leave it to + my poet to answer. + + But does the lofty reasoner after the fashion of Moliere want + still better reasons? Well, here they are. My dear Geronte, + marriages are usually made in defiance of common-sense. Parents + make inquiries about a young man. If the Leander—who is supplied + by some friend, or caught in a ball-room—is not a thief, and has + no visible rent in his reputation, if he has the necessary + fortune, if he comes from a college or a law-school and so fulfils + the popular ideas of education, and if he wears his clothes with a + gentlemanly air, he is allowed to meet the young lady, whose + mother has ordered her to guard her tongue, to let no sign of her + heart or soul appear on her face, which must wear the smile of a + danseuse finishing a pirouette. These commands are coupled with + instructions as to the danger of revealing her real character, and + the additional advice of not seeming alarmingly well educated. If + the settlements have all been agreed upon, the parents are + good-natured enough to let the pair see each other for a few + moments; they are allowed to talk or walk together, but always + without the slightest freedom, and knowing that they are bound by + rigid rules. The man is as much dressed up in soul as he is in body, + and so is the young girl. This pitiable comedy, mixed with bouquets, + jewels, and theatre-parties is called “paying your addresses.” It + revolts me: I desire that actual marriage shall be the result of a + previous and long marriage of souls. A young girl, a woman, has + throughout her life only this one moment when reflection, second + sight, and experience are necessary to her. She plays her liberty, + her happiness, and she is not allowed to throw the dice; she risks + her all, and is forced to be a mere spectator. I have the right, + the will, the power to make my own unhappiness, and I use them, as + did my mother, who, won by beauty and led by instinct, married the + most generous, the most liberal, the most loving of men. I know + that you are free, a poet, and noble-looking. Be sure that I + should not have chosen one of your brothers in Apollo who was + already married. If my mother was won by beauty, which is perhaps + the spirit of form, why should I not be attracted by the spirit + and the form united? Shall I not know you better by studying you + in this correspondence than I could through the vulgar experience + of “receiving your addresses”? This is the question, as Hamlet + says. + + But my proceedings, dear Chrysale, have at least the merit of not + binding us personally. I know that love has its illusions, and + every illusion its to-morrow. That is why there are so many + partings among lovers vowed to each other for life. The proof of + love lies in two things,—suffering and happiness. When, after + passing through these double trials of life two beings have shown + each other their defects as well as their good qualities, when + they have really observed each other’s character, then they may go + to their grave hand in hand. My dear Argante, who told you that + our little drama thus begun was to have no future? In any case + shall we not have enjoyed the pleasures of our correspondence? + + I await your orders, monseigneur, and I am with all my heart, + + Your handmaiden, + + O. d’Este M. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Mademoiselle O. d’Este M.,—You are a witch, a spirit, and I + love you! Is that what you desire of me, most original of girls? + Perhaps you are only seeking to amuse your provincial leisure with + the follies which are you able to make a poet commit. If so, you + have done a bad deed. Your two letters have enough of the spirit + of mischief in them to force this doubt into the mind of a + Parisian. But I am no longer master of myself; my life, my future + depend on the answer you will make me. Tell me if the certainty of + an unbounded affection, oblivious of all social conventions, will + touch you,—if you will suffer me to seek you. There is anxiety + enough and uncertainty enough in the question as to whether I can + personally please you. If your reply is favorable I change my + life, I bid adieu to all the irksome pleasures which we have the + folly to call happiness. Happiness, my dear and beautiful unknown, + is what you dream it to be,—a fusion of feelings, a perfect + accordance of souls, the imprint of a noble ideal (such as God + does permit us to form in this low world) upon the trivial round + of daily life whose habits we must needs obey, a constancy of + heart more precious far than what we call fidelity. Can we say + that we make sacrifices when the end in view is our eternal good, + the dream of poets, the dream of maidens, the poem which, at the + entrance of life when thought essays its wings, each noble + intellect has pondered and caressed only to see it shivered to + fragments on some stone of stumbling as hard as it is vulgar?—for + to the great majority of men, the foot of reality steps instantly + on that mysterious egg so seldom hatched. + + I cannot speak to you any more of myself; not of my past life, nor + of my character, nor of an affection almost maternal on one side, + filial on mine, which you have already seriously changed—an + effect upon my life which must explain my use of the word + “sacrifice.” You have already rendered me forgetful, if not + ungrateful; does that satisfy you? Oh, speak! Say to me one word, + and I will love you till my eyes close in death, as the Marquis de + Pescaire loved his wife, as Romeo loved Juliet, and faithfully. + Our life will be, for me at least, that “felicity untroubled” + which Dante made the very element of his Paradiso,—a poem far + superior to his Inferno. Strange, it is not myself that I doubt in + the long reverie through which, like you, I follow the windings of + a dreamed existence; it is you. Yes, dear, I feel within me the + power to love, and to love endlessly,—to march to the grave with + gentle slowness and a smiling eye, with my beloved on my arm, and + with never a cloud upon the sunshine of our souls. Yes, I dare to + face our mutual old age, to see ourselves with whitening heads, + like the venerable historian of Italy, inspired always with the + same affection but transformed in soul by our life’s seasons. Hear + me, I can no longer be your friend only. Though Chrysale, Geronte, + and Argante re-live, you say, in me, I am not yet old enough to + drink from the cup held to my lips by the sweet hands of a veiled + woman without a passionate desire to tear off the domino and the + mask and see the face. Either write me no more, or give me hope. + Let me see you, or let me go. Must I bid you adieu? Will you + permit me to sign myself, + + Your Friend? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis,—What flattery! with what rapidity is the + grave Anselme transformed into a handsome Leander! To what must I + attribute such a change? to this black which I put upon this + white? to these ideas which are to the flowers of my soul what a + rose drawn in charcoal is to the roses in the garden? Or is it to + a recollection of the young girl whom you took for me, and who is + personally as like me as a waiting-woman is like her mistress? + Have we changed roles? Have I the sense? have you the fancy? But a + truce with jesting. + + Your letter has made me know the elating pleasures of the soul; + the first that I have known outside of my family affections. What, + says a poet, are the ties of blood which are so strong in ordinary + minds, compared to those divinely forged within us by mysterious + sympathies? Let me thank you—no, we must not thank each other for + such things—but God bless you for the happiness you have given + me; be happy in the joy you have shed into my soul. You explain to + me some of the apparent injustices in social life. There is + something, I know not what, so dazzling, so virile in glory, that + it belongs only to man; God forbids us women to wear its halo, but + he makes love our portion, giving us the tenderness which soothes + the brow scorched by his lightnings. I have felt my mission, and + you have now confirmed it. + + Sometimes, my friend, I rise in the morning in a state of + inexpressible sweetness; a sort of peace, tender and divine, gives + me an idea of heaven. My first thought is then like a benediction. + I call these mornings my little German wakings, in opposition to + my Southern sunsets, full of heroic deeds, battles, Roman fetes + and ardent poems. Well, after reading your letter, so full of + feverish impatience, I felt in my heart all the freshness of my + celestial wakings, when I love the air about me and all nature, + and fancy that I am destined to die for one I love. One of your + poems, “The Maiden’s Song,” paints these delicious moments, when + gaiety is tender, when aspiration is a need; it is one of my + favorites. Do you want me to put all my flatteries into one?—well + then, I think you worthy to be <i>me</i>! + + Your letter, though short, enables me to read within you. Yes, I + have guessed your tumultuous struggles, your piqued curiosity, + your projects; but I do not yet know you well enough to satisfy + your wishes. Hear me, dear; the mystery in which I am shrouded + allows me to use that word, which lets you see to the bottom of my + heart. Hear me: if we once meet, adieu to our mutual + comprehension! Will you make a compact with me? Was the first + disadvantageous to you? But remember it won you my esteem, and it + is a great deal, my friend, to gain an admiration lined throughout + with esteem. Here is the compact: write me your life in a few + words; then tell me what you do in Paris, day by day, with no + reservations, and as if you were talking to some old friend. Well, + having done that, I will take a step myself—I will see you, I + promise you that. And it is a great deal. + + This, dear, is no intrigue, no adventure; no gallantry, as you men + say, can come of it, I warn you frankly. It involves my life, and + more than that,—something that causes me remorse for the many + thoughts that fly to you in flocks—it involves my father’s and my + mother’s life. I adore them, and my choice must please them; they + must find a son in you. + + Tell me, to what extent can the superb spirits of your kind, to + whom God has given the wings of his angels, without always adding + their amiability,—how far can they bend under a family yoke, and + put up with its little miseries? That is a text I have meditated + upon. Ah! though I said to my heart before I came to you, Forward! + Onward! it did not tremble and palpitate any the less on the way; + and I did not conceal from myself the stoniness of the path nor + the Alpine difficulties I had to encounter. I thought of all in my + long, long meditations. Do I not know that eminent men like you + have known the love they have inspired quite as well as that which + they themselves have felt; that they have had many romances in + their lives,—you particularly, who send forth those airy visions + of your soul that women rush to buy? Yet still I cried to myself, + “Onward!” because I have studied, more than you give me credit + for, the geography of the great summits of humanity, which you + tell me are so cold. Did you not say that Goethe and Byron were + the colossi of egoism and poetry? Ah, my friend, there you shared + a mistake into which superficial minds are apt to fall; but in you + perhaps it came from generosity, false modesty, or the desire to + escape from me. Vulgar minds may mistake the effect of toil for + the development of personal character, but you must not. Neither + Lord Byron, nor Goethe, nor Walter Scott, nor Cuvier, nor any + inventor, belongs to himself, he is the slave of his idea. And + this mysterious power is more jealous than a woman; it sucks their + blood, it makes them live, it makes them die for its sake. The + visible developments of their hidden existence do seem, in their + results, like egotism; but who shall dare to say that the man who + has abnegated self to give pleasure, instruction, or grandeur to + his epoch, is an egoist? Is a mother selfish when she immolates + all things to her child? Well, the detractors of genius do not + perceive its fecund maternity, that is all. The life of a poet is + so perpetual a sacrifice that he needs a gigantic organization to + bear even the ordinary pleasures of life. Therefore, into what + sorrows may he not fall when, like Moliere, he wishes to live the + life of feeling in its most poignant crises; to me, remembering + his personal life, Moliere’s comedy is horrible. + + The generosity of genius seems to me half divine; and I place you + in this noble family of alleged egoists. Ah! if I had found + self-interest, ambition, a seared nature where I now can see my + best loved flowers of the soul, you know not what long anguish I + should have had to bear. I met with disappointment before I was + sixteen. What would have become of me had I learned at twenty that + fame is a lie, that he whose books express the feelings hidden in + my heart was incapable of feeling them himself? Oh! my friend, do + you know what would have become of me? Shall I take you into the + recesses of my soul? I should have gone to my father and said, + “Bring me the son-in-law whom you desire; my will abdicates,—marry + me to whom you please.” And the man might have been a notary, + banker, miser, fool, dullard, wearisome as a rainy day, common as + the usher of a school, a manufacturer, or some brave soldier without + two ideas,—he would have had a resigned and attentive servant in + me. But what an awful suicide! never could my soul have expanded + in the life-giving rays of a beloved sun. No murmur should have + revealed to my father, or my mother, or my children the suicide of + the creature who at this instant is shaking her fetters, casting + lightnings from her eyes, and flying towards you with eager wing. + See, she is there, at the angle of your desk, like Polyhymnia, + breathing the air of your presence, and glancing about her with a + curious eye. Sometimes in the fields where my husband would have + taken me to walk, I should have wept, apart and secretly, at sight + of a glorious morning; and in my heart, or hidden in a + bureau-drawer, I might have kept some treasure, the comfort of poor + girls ill-used by love, sad, poetic souls,—but ah! I have <i>you</i>, I + believe in <i>you</i>, my friend. That belief straightens all my thoughts + and fancies, even the most fantastic, and sometimes—see how far + my frankness leads me—I wish I were in the middle of the book we + are just beginning; such persistency do I feel in my sentiments, + such strength in my heart to love, such constancy sustained by + reason, such heroism for the duties for which I was created,—if + indeed love can ever be transmuted into duty. + + If you were able to follow me to the exquisite retreat where I + fancy ourselves happy, if you knew my plans and projects, the + dreadful word “folly!” might escape you, and I should be cruelly + punished for sending poetry to a poet. Yes, I wish to be a spring + of waters inexhaustible as a fertile land for the twenty years + that nature allows me to shine. I want to drive away satiety by + charm. I mean to be courageous for my friend as most women are for + the world. I wish to vary happiness. I wish to put intelligence + into tenderness, and to give piquancy to fidelity. I am filled + with ambition to kill the rivals of the past, to conjure away all + outside griefs by a wife’s gentleness, by her proud abnegation, to + take a lifelong care of the nest,—such as birds can only take for + a few weeks. + + Tell me, do you now think me to blame for my first letter? The + mysterious wind of will drove me to you, as the tempest brings the + little rose-tree to the pollard window. In your letter, which I + hold here upon my heart, you cried out, like your ancestor when he + departed for the Crusades, “God wills it.” + + Ah! but you will cry out, “What a chatterbox!” All the people + round me say, on the contrary, “Mademoiselle is very taciturn.” + </pre> + <p> + O. d’Este M. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. WHAT COMES OF CORRESPONDENCE + </h2> + <p> + The foregoing letters seemed very original to the persons from whom the + author of the “Comedy of Human Life” obtained them; but their interest in + this duel, this crossing of pens between two minds, may not be shared. For + every hundred readers, eighty might weary of the battle. The respect due + to the majority in every nation under a constitutional government, leads + us, therefore, to suppress eleven other letters exchanged between Ernest + and Modeste during the month of September. If, later on, some flattering + majority should arise to claim them, let us hope that we can then find + means to insert them in their proper place. + </p> + <p> + Urged by a mind that seemed as aggressive as the heart was lovable, the + truly chivalrous feelings of the poor secretary gave themselves free play + in these suppressed letters, which seem, perhaps, more beautiful than they + really are, because the imagination is charmed by a sense of the communion + of two free souls. Ernest’s whole life was now wrapped up in these sweet + scraps of paper; they were to him what banknotes are to a miser; while in + Modeste’s soul a deep love took the place of her delight in agitating a + glorious life, and being, in spite of distance, its mainspring. Ernest’s + heart was the complement of Canalis’s glory. Alas! it often takes two men + to make a perfect lover, just as in literature we compose a type by + collecting the peculiarities of several similar characters. How many a + time a woman has been heard to say in her own salon after close and + intimate conversations:— + </p> + <p> + “Such a one is my ideal as to soul, and I love the other who is only a + dream of the senses.” + </p> + <p> + The last letter written by Modeste, which here follows, gives us a glimpse + of the enchanted isle to which the meanderings of this correspondence had + led the two lovers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis,—Be at Havre next Sunday; go to church; + after the morning service, walk once or twice round the nave, and + go out without speaking to any one; but wear a white rose in your + button-hole. Then return to Paris, where you shall receive an + answer. I warn you that this answer will not be what you wish; + for, as I told you, the future is not yet mine. But should I not + indeed be mad and foolish to say yes without having seen you? When + I have seen you I can say no without wounding you; I can make sure + that you shall not see me. +</pre> + <p> + This letter had been sent off the evening before the day when the abortive + struggle between Dumay and Modeste had taken place. The happy girl was + impatiently awaiting Sunday, when her eyes were to vindicate or condemn + her heart and her actions,—a solemn moment in the life of any woman, + and which three months of close communion of souls now rendered as + romantic as the most imaginative maiden could have wished. Every one, + except the mother, had taken this torpor of expectation for the calm of + innocence. No matter how firmly family laws and religious precepts may + bind, there will always be the Clarissas and the Julies, whose souls like + flowing cups o’erlap the brim under some spiritual pressure. Modeste was + glorious in the savage energy with which she repressed her exuberant + youthful happiness and remained demurely quiet. Let us say frankly that + the memory of her sister was more potent upon her than any social + conventions; her will was iron in the resolve to bring no grief upon her + father and her mother. But what tumultuous heavings were within her + breast! no wonder that a mother guessed them. + </p> + <p> + On the following day Modeste and Madame Dumay took Madame Mignon about + mid-day to a seat in the sun among the flowers. The blind woman turned her + wan and blighted face toward the ocean; she inhaled the odors of the sea + and took the hand of her daughter who remained beside her. The mother + hesitated between forgiveness and remonstrance ere she put the important + question; for she comprehended the girl’s love and recognized, as the + pretended Canalis had done, that Modeste was exceptional in nature. + </p> + <p> + “God grant that your father return in time! If he delays much longer he + will find none but you to love him. Modeste, promise me once more never to + leave him,” she said in a fond maternal tone. + </p> + <p> + Modeste lifted her mother’s hands to her lips and kissed them gently, + replying: “Need I say it again?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my child! I did this thing myself. I left my father to follow my + husband; and yet my father was all alone; I was all the child he had. Is + that why God has so punished me? What I ask of you is to marry as your + father wishes, to cherish him in your heart, not to sacrifice him to your + own happiness, but to make him the centre of your home. Before losing my + sight, I wrote him all my wishes, and I know he will execute them. I + enjoined him to keep his property intact and in his own hands; not that I + distrust you, my Modeste, for a moment, but who can be sure of a + son-in-law? Ah! my daughter, look at me; was I reasonable? One glance of + the eye decided my life. Beauty, so often deceitful, in my case spoke + true; but even were it the same with you, my poor child, swear to me that + you will let your father inquire into the character, the habits, the + heart, and the previous life of the man you distinguish with your love—if, + by chance, there is such a man.” + </p> + <p> + “I will never marry without the consent of my father,” answered Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “You see, my darling,” said Madame Mignon after a long pause, “that if I + am dying by inches through Bettina’s wrong-doing, your father would not + survive yours, no, not for a moment. I know him; he would put a pistol to + his head,—there could be no life, no happiness on earth for him.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste walked a few steps away from her mother, but immediately came + back. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you leave me?” demanded Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “You made me cry, mamma,” answered Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my little darling, kiss me. You love no one here? you have no lover, + have you?” she asked, holding Modeste on her lap, heart to heart. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear mamma,” said the little Jesuit. + </p> + <p> + “Can you swear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” cried Modeste. + </p> + <p> + Madame Mignon said no more; but she still doubted. + </p> + <p> + “At least, if you do choose your husband, you will tell your father?” she + resumed. + </p> + <p> + “I promised that to my sister, and to you, mother. What evil do you think + I could commit while I wear that ring upon my finger and read those words: + ‘Think of Bettina?’ Poor sister!” + </p> + <p> + At these words a truce of silence came between the pair; the mother’s + blighted eyes rained tears which Modeste could not check, though she threw + herself upon her knees, and cried: “Forgive me! oh, forgive me, mother!” + </p> + <p> + At this instant the excellent Dumay was coming up the hill of Ingouville + on the double-quick,—a fact quite abnormal in the present life of + the cashier. + </p> + <p> + Three letters had brought ruin to the Mignons; a single letter now + restored their fortunes. Dumay had received from a sea-captain just + arrived from the China Seas the following letter containing the first news + of his patron and friend, Charles Mignon:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur Jean Dumay: + + My Dear Dumay,—I shall quickly follow, barring the chances of the + voyage, the vessel which carries this letter. In fact, I should + have taken it, but I did not wish to leave my own ship to which I + am accustomed. + + I told you that no new was to be good news. But the first words of + this letter ought to make you a happy man. I have made seven + millions at the least. I am bringing back a large part of it in + indigo, one third in safe London securities, and another third in + good solid gold. Your remittances helped me to make the sum I had + settled in my own mind much sooner than I expected. I wanted two + millions for my daughters and a competence for myself. + + I have been engaged in the opium trade with the largest houses in + Canton, all ten times richer than ever I was. You have no idea, in + Europe, what these rich East India merchants are. I went to Asia + Minor and purchased opium at low prices, and from thence to Canton + where I delivered my cargoes to the companies who control the + trade. My last expedition was to the Philippine Islands where I + exchanged opium for indigo of the first quality. In fact, I may + have half a million more than I stated, for I reckoned the indigo + at what it cost me. I have always been well in health; not the + slightest illness. That is the result of working for one’s + children. Since the second year I have owned a pretty little brig + of seven hundred tons, called the “Mignon.” She is built of oak, + double-planked, and copper-fastened; and all the interior fittings + were done to suit me. She is, in fact, an additional piece of + property. + + A sea-life and the active habits required by my business have kept + me in good health. To tell you all this is the same as telling it + to my two daughters and my dear wife. I trust that the wretched + man who took away my Bettina deserted her when he heard of my + ruin; and that I shall find the poor lost lamb at the Chalet. My + three dear women and my Dumay! All four of you have been ever + present in my thoughts for the last three years. You are a rich + man, now, Dumay. Your share, outside of my own fortune, amounts to + five hundred and sixty thousand francs, for which I send you + herewith a check, which can only be paid to you in person by the + Mongenods, who have been duly advised from New York. + + A few short months, and I shall see you all again, and all well, I + trust. My dear Dumay, if I write this letter to you it is because + I am anxious to keep my fortune a secret for the present. I + therefore leave to you the happiness of preparing my dear angels + for my return. I have had enough of commerce; and I am resolved to + leave Havre. My intention is to buy back the estate of La Bastie, + and to entail it, so as to establish an estate yielding at least a + hundred thousand francs a year, and then to ask the king to grant + that one of my sons-in-law may succeed to my name and title. You + know, my poor Dumay, what a terrible misfortune overtook us + through the fatal reputation of a large fortune,—my daughter’s + honor was lost. I have therefore resolved that the amount of my + present fortune shall not be known. I shall not disembark at + Havre, but at Marseilles. I shall sell my indigo, and negotiate + for the purchase of La Bastie through the house of Mongenod in + Paris. I shall put my funds in the Bank of France and return to + the Chalet giving out that I have a considerable fortune in + merchandise. My daughters will be supposed to have two or three + hundred thousand francs. To choose which of my sons-in-law is + worthy to succeed to my title and estates and to live with us, is + now the object of my life; but both of them must be, like you and + me, honest, loyal, and firm men, and absolutely honorable. + + My dear old fellow, I have never doubted you for a moment. We have + gone through wars and commerce together and now we will undertake + agriculture; you shall be my bailiff. You will like that, will you + not? And so, old friend, I leave it to your discretion to tell + what you think best to my wife and daughters; I rely upon your + prudence. In four years great changes may have taken place in + their characters. + + Adieu, my old Dumay. Say to my daughters and to my wife that I + have never failed to kiss them in my thoughts morning and evening + since I left them. The second check for forty thousand francs + herewith enclosed is for my wife and children. + + Till we meet.—Your colonel and friend, + + Charles Mignon. +</pre> + <p> + “Your father is coming,” said Madame Mignon to her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so, mamma?” asked Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing else could make Dumay hurry himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Victory! victory!” cried the lieutenant as soon as he reached the garden + gate. “Madame, the colonel has not been ill a moment; he is coming back—coming + back on the ‘Mignon,’ a fine ship of his own, which together with its + cargo is worth, he tells me, eight or nine hundred thousand francs. But he + requires secrecy from all of us; his heart is still wrung by the + misfortunes of our dear departed girl.” + </p> + <p> + “He has still to learn her death,” said Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “He attributes her disaster, and I think he is right, to the rapacity of + young men after great fortunes. My poor colonel expects to find the lost + sheep here. Let us be happy among ourselves but say nothing to any one, + not even to Latournelle, if that is possible. Mademoiselle,” he whispered + in Modeste’s ear, “write to your father and tell him of his loss and also + the terrible results on your mother’s health and eyesight; prepare him for + the shock he has to meet. I will engage to get the letter into his hands + before he reaches Havre, for he will have to pass through Paris on his + way. Write him a long letter; you have plenty of time. I will take the + letter on Monday; Monday I shall probably go to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste was so afraid that Canalis and Dumay would meet that she started + hastily for the house to write to her poet and put off the rendezvous. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Dumay, in a very humble manner and barring Modeste’s + way, “may your father find his daughter with no other feelings in her + heart than those she had for him and for her mother before he was obliged + to leave her.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sworn to myself, to my sister, and to my mother to be the joy, the + consolation, and the glory of my father, and <i>I shall keep my oath</i>!” + replied Modeste with a haughty and disdainful glance at Dumay. “Do not + trouble my delight in the thought of my father’s return with insulting + suspicions. You cannot prevent a girl’s heart from beating—you don’t + want me to be a mummy, do you?” she said. “My hand belongs to my family, + but my heart is my own. If I love any one, my father and my mother will + know it. Does that satisfy you, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mademoiselle; you restore me to life,” said Dumay, “but you + might still call me Dumay, even when you box my ears!” + </p> + <p> + “Swear to me,” said her mother, “that you have not engaged a word or a + look with any young man.” + </p> + <p> + “I can swear that, my dear mother,” said Modeste, laughing, and looking at + Dumay who was watching her and smiling to himself like a mischievous girl. + </p> + <p> + “She must be false indeed if you are right,” cried Dumay, when Modeste had + left them and gone into the house. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter Modeste may have faults,” said her mother, “but falsehood is + not one of them; she is incapable of saying what is not true.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! then let us feel easy,” continued Dumay, “and believe that + misfortune has closed his account with us.” + </p> + <p> + “God grant it!” answered Madame Mignon. “You will see <i>him</i>, Dumay; + but I shall only hear him. There is much of sadness in my joy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. A DECLARATION OF LOVE,—SET TO MUSIC + </h2> + <p> + At this moment Modeste, happy as she was in the return of her father, was, + nevertheless, pacing her room disconsolate as Perrette on seeing her eggs + broken. She had hoped her father would bring back a much larger fortune + than Dumay had mentioned. Nothing could satisfy her new-found ambition on + behalf of her poet less than at least half the six millions she had talked + of in her second letter. Trebly agitated by her two joys and the grief + caused by her comparative poverty, she seated herself at the piano, that + confidant of so many young girls, who tell out their wishes and + provocations on the keys, expressing them by the notes and tones of their + music. Dumay was talking with his wife in the garden under the windows, + telling her the secret of their own wealth, and questioning her as to her + desires and her intentions. Madame Dumay had, like her husband, no other + family than the Mignons. Husband and wife agreed, therefore, to go and + live in Provence, if the Comte de La Bastie really meant to live in + Provence, and to leave their money to whichever of Modeste’s children + might need it most. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to Modeste,” said Madame Mignon, addressing them. “None but a girl + in love can compose such airs without having studied music.” + </p> + <p> + Houses may burn, fortunes be engulfed, fathers return from distant lands, + empires may crumble away, the cholera may ravage cities, but a maiden’s + love wings its way as nature pursues hers, or that alarming acid which + chemistry has lately discovered, and which will presently eat through the + globe, if nothing stops it. + </p> + <p> + Modeste, under the inspiration of her present situation, was putting to + music certain stanzas which we are compelled to quote here—albeit + they are printed in the second volume of the edition Dauriat had mentioned—because, + in order to adapt them to her music, which had the inexpressible charm of + sentiment so admired in great singers, Modeste had taken liberties with + the lines in a manner that may astonish the admirers of a poet so famous + for the correctness, sometimes too precise, of his measures. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE MAIDEN’S SONG + + Hear, arise! the lark is shaking + Sunlit wings that heavenward rise; + Sleep no more; the violet, waking, + Wafts her incense to the skies. + + Flowers revived, their eyes unclosing, + See themselves in drops of dew + In each calyx-cup reposing, + Pearls of a day their mirror true. + + Breeze divine, the god of roses, + Passed by night to bless their bloom; + See! for him each bud uncloses, + Glows, and yields its rich perfume. + + Then arise! the lark is shaking + Sunlit wings that heavenward rise; + Nought is sleeping—Heart, awaking, + Lift thine incense to the skies. +</pre> + <p> + “It is very pretty,” said Madame Dumay. “Modeste is a musician, and that’s + the whole of it.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil is in her!” cried the cashier, into whose heart the suspicion + of the mother forced its way and made him shiver. + </p> + <p> + “She loves,” persisted Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + By succeeding, through the undeniable testimony of the song, in making the + cashier a sharer in her belief as to the state of Modeste’s heart, Madame + Mignon destroyed the happiness the return and the prosperity of his master + had brought him. The poor Breton went down the hill to Havre and to his + desk in Gobenheim’s counting-room with a heavy heart; then, before + returning to dinner, he went to see Latournelle, to tell his fears, and + beg once more for the notary’s advice and assistance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear friend,” said Dumay, when they parted on the steps of the + notary’s door, “I now agree with madame; she loves,—yes, I am sure + of it; and the devil knows the rest. I am dishonored.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t make yourself unhappy, Dumay,” answered the little notary. “Among + us all we can surely get the better of the little puss; sooner or later, + every girl in love betrays herself,—you may be sure of that. But we + will talk about it this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it happened that all those devoted to the Mignon family were fully as + disquieted and uncertain as they were before the old soldier tried the + experiment which he expected would be so decisive. The ill-success of his + past efforts so stimulated Dumay’s sense of duty, that he determined not + to go to Paris to see after his own fortune as announced by his patron, + until he had guessed the riddle of Modeste’s heart. These friends, to whom + feelings were more precious than interests, well knew that unless the + daughter were pure and innocent, the father would die of grief when he + came to know the death of Bettina and the blindness of his wife. The + distress of poor Dumay made such an impression on the Latournelles that + they even forgot their parting with Exupere, whom they had sent off that + morning to Paris. During dinner, while the three were alone, Monsieur and + Madame Latournelle and Butscha turned the problem over and over in their + minds, and discussed every aspect of it. + </p> + <p> + “If Modeste loved any one in Havre she would have shown some fear + yesterday,” said Madame Latournelle; “her lover, therefore, lives + somewhere else.” + </p> + <p> + “She swore to her mother this morning,” said the notary, “in presence of + Dumay, that she had not exchanged a look or a word with any living soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she loves after my fashion!” exclaimed Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “And how is that, my poor lad?” asked Madame Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the little cripple, “I love alone and afar—oh! as far + as from here to the stars.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you manage it, you silly fellow?” said Madame Latournelle, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madame!” said Butscha, “what you call my hump is the socket of my + wings.” + </p> + <p> + “So that is the explanation of your seal, is it?” cried the notary. + </p> + <p> + Butscha’s seal was a star, and under it the words “Fulgens, sequar,”—“Shining + One, I follow thee,”—the motto of the house of Chastillonest. + </p> + <p> + “A beautiful woman may feel as distrustful as the ugliest,” said Butscha, + as if speaking to himself; “Modeste is clever enough to fear she may be + loved only for her beauty.” + </p> + <p> + Hunchbacks are extraordinary creations, due entirely to society for, + according to Nature’s plan, feeble or aborted beings ought to perish. The + curvature or distortion of the spinal column creates in these outwardly + deformed subjects as it were a storage-battery, where the nerve currents + accumulate more abundantly than under normal conditions,—where they + develop, and whence they are emitted, so to say, in lightning flashes, to + energize the interior being. From this, forces result which are sometimes + brought to light by magnetism, though they are far more frequently lost in + the vague spaces of the spiritual world. It is rare to find a deformed + person who is not gifted with some special faculty,—a whimsical or + sparkling gaiety perhaps, an utter malignity, or an almost sublime + goodness. Like instruments which the hand of art can never fully waken, + these beings, highly privileged though they know it not, live within + themselves, as Butscha lived, provided their natural forces so + magnificently concentrated have not been spent in the struggle they have + been forced to maintain, against tremendous odds, to keep alive. This + explains many superstitions, the popular legends of gnomes, frightful + dwarfs, deformed fairies,—all that race of bottles, as Rabelais + called them, containing elixirs and precious balms. + </p> + <p> + Butscha, therefore, had very nearly found the key to the puzzle. With all + the anxious solicitude of a hopeless lover, a vassal ever ready to die,—like + the soldiers alone and abandoned in the snows of Russia, who still cried + out, “Long live the Emperor,”—he meditated how to capture Modeste’s + secret for his own private knowledge. So thinking, he followed his patrons + to the Chalet that evening, with a cloud of care upon his brow: for he + knew it was most important to hide from all these watchful eyes and ears + the net, whatever it might be, in which he should entrap his lady. It + would have to be, he thought, by some intercepted glance, some sudden + start or quiver, as when a surgeon lays his finger on a hidden sore. That + evening Gobenheim did not appear, and Butscha was Dumay’s partner against + Monsieur and Madame Latournelle. During the few moment’s of Modeste’s + absence, about nine o’clock, to prepare for her mother’s bedtime, Madame + Mignon and her friends spoke openly to one another; but the poor clerk, + depressed by the conviction of Modeste’s love, which had now seized upon + him as upon the rest, seemed as remote from the discussion as Gobenheim + had been the night before. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s the matter with you, Butscha?” cried Madame Latournelle; + “one would really think you hadn’t a friend in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Tears shone in the eyes of the poor fellow, who was the son of a Swedish + sailor, and whose mother was dead. + </p> + <p> + “I have no one in the world but you,” he answered with a troubled voice; + “and your compassion is so much a part of your religion that I can never + lose it—and I will never deserve to lose it.” + </p> + <p> + This answer struck the sensitive chord of true delicacy in the minds of + all present. + </p> + <p> + “We love you, Monsieur Butscha,” said Madame Mignon, with much feeling in + her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve six hundred thousand francs of my own, this day,” cried Dumay, “and + you shall be a notary and the successor of Latournelle.” + </p> + <p> + The American wife took the hand of the poor hunchback and pressed it. + </p> + <p> + “What! you have six hundred thousand francs!” exclaimed Latournelle, + pricking up his ears as Dumay let fall the words; “and you allow these + ladies to live as they do! Modeste ought to have a fine horse; and why + doesn’t she continue to take lessons in music, and painting, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he has only had the money a few hours!” cried the little wife. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” murmured Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + While these words were exchanged, Butscha’s august mistress turned towards + him, preparing to make a speech:— + </p> + <p> + “My son,” she said, “you are so surrounded by true affection that I never + thought how my thoughtless use of that familiar phrase might be construed; + but you must thank me for my little blunder, because it has served to show + you what friends your noble qualities have won.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must have news from Monsieur Mignon,” resumed the notary. + </p> + <p> + “He is on his way home,” said Madame Mignon; “but let us keep the secret + to ourselves. When my husband learns how faithful Butscha has been to us, + how he has shown us the warmest and the most disinterested friendship when + others have given us the cold shoulder, he will not let you alone provide + for him, Dumay. And so, my friend,” she added, turning her blind face + toward Butscha; “you can begin at once to negotiate with Latournelle.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s of legal age, twenty-five and a half years. As for me, it will be + paying a debt, my boy, to make the purchase easy for you,” said the + notary. + </p> + <p> + Butscha was kissing Madame Mignon’s hand, and his face was wet with tears + as Modeste opened the door of the salon. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing to my Black Dwarf?” she demanded. “Who is making him + unhappy?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Mademoiselle Mignon, do we luckless fellows, cradled in misfortune, + ever weep for grief? They have just shown me as much affection as I could + feel for them if they were indeed my own relations. I’m to be a notary; I + shall be rich. Ha! ha! the poor Butscha may become the rich Butscha. You + don’t know what audacity there is in this abortion,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + With that he gave himself a resounding blow on the cavity of his chest and + took up a position before the fireplace, after casting a glance at + Modeste, which slipped like a ray of light between his heavy half-closed + eyelids. He perceived, in this unexpected incident, a chance of + interrogating the heart of his sovereign. Dumay thought for a moment that + the clerk dared to aspire to Modeste, and he exchanged a rapid glance with + the others, who understood him, and began to eye the little man with a + species of terror mingled with curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “I, too, have my dreams,” said Butscha, not taking his eyes from Modeste. + </p> + <p> + The young girl lowered her eyelids with a movement that was a revelation + to the young man. + </p> + <p> + “You love romance,” he said, addressing her. “Let me, in this moment of + happiness, tell you mine; and you shall tell me in return whether the + conclusion of the tale I have invented for my life is possible. To me + wealth would bring greater happiness than to other men; for the highest + happiness I can imagine would be to enrich the one I loved. You, + mademoiselle, who know so many things, tell me if it is possible for a man + to make himself beloved independently of his person, be it handsome or + ugly, and for his spirit only?” + </p> + <p> + Modeste raised her eyes and looked at Butscha. It was a piercing and + questioning glance; for she shared Dumay’s suspicion of Butscha’s motive. + </p> + <p> + “Let me be rich, and I will seek some beautiful poor girl, abandoned like + myself, who has suffered, who knows what misery is. I will write to her + and console her, and be her guardian spirit; she shall read my heart, my + soul; she shall possess by double wealth, my two wealths,—my gold, + delicately offered, and my thought robed in all the splendor which the + accident of birth has denied to my grotesque body. But I myself shall + remain hidden like the cause that science seeks. God himself may not be + glorious to the eye. Well, naturally, the maiden will be curious; she will + wish to see me; but I shall tell her that I am a monster of ugliness; I + shall picture myself hideous.” + </p> + <p> + At these words Modeste gave Butscha a glance that looked him through and + through. If she had said aloud, “What do you know of my love?” she could + not have been more explicit. + </p> + <p> + “If I have the honor of being loved for the poem of my heart, if some day + such love may make a woman think me only slightly deformed, I ask you, + mademoiselle, shall I not be happier than the handsomest of men,—as + happy as a man of genius beloved by some celestial being like yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The color which suffused the young girl’s face told the cripple nearly all + he sought to know. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that be so,” he went on, “if we enrich the one we love, if we + please the spirit and withdraw the body, is not that the way to make one’s + self beloved? At any rate it is the dream of your poor dwarf,—a + dream of yesterday; for to-day your mother gives me the key to future + wealth by promising me the means of buying a practice. But before I become + another Gobenheim, I seek to know whether this dream could be really + carried out. What do you say, mademoiselle, <i>you</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Modeste was so astonished that she did not notice the question. The trap + of the lover was much better baited than that of the soldier, for the poor + girl was rendered speechless. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Butscha!” whispered Madame Latournelle to her husband. “Do you think + he is going mad?” + </p> + <p> + “You want to realize the story of Beauty and the Beast,” said Modeste at + length; “but you forget that the Beast turned into Prince Charming.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” said the dwarf. “Now I have always thought that that + transformation meant the phenomenon of the soul made visible, obliterating + the form under the light of the spirit. If I were not loved I should stay + hidden, that is all. You and yours, madame,” he continued, addressing his + mistress, “instead of having a dwarf at your service, will now have a life + and a fortune.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Butscha resumed his seat, remarking to the three whist-players + with an assumption of calmness, “Whose deal is it?” but within his soul he + whispered sadly to himself: “She wants to be loved for herself; she + corresponds with some pretended great man; how far has it gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear mamma, it is nearly ten o’clock,” said Modeste. + </p> + <p> + Madame Mignon said good-night to her friends, and went to bed. + </p> + <p> + They who wish to love in secret may have Pyrenean hounds, mothers, Dumays, + and Latournelles to spy upon them, and yet not be in any danger; but when + it comes to a lover!—ah! that is diamond cut diamond, flame against + flame, mind to mind, an equation whose terms are mutual. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday morning Butscha arrived at the Chalet before Madame Latournelle, + who always came to take Modeste to church, and he proceeded to blockade + the house in expectation of the postman. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a letter for Mademoiselle Mignon?” he said to that humble + functionary when he appeared. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, none.” + </p> + <p> + “This house has been a good customer to the post of late,” remarked the + clerk. + </p> + <p> + “You may well say that,” replied the man. + </p> + <p> + Modeste both heard and saw the little colloquy from her chamber window, + where she always posted herself behind the blinds at this particular hour + to watch for the postman. She ran downstairs, went into the little garden, + and called in an imperative voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Butscha!” + </p> + <p> + “Here am I, mademoiselle,” said the cripple, reaching the gate as Modeste + herself opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be good enough to tell me whether among your various titles to a + woman’s affection you count that of the shameless spying in which you are + now engaged?” demanded the girl, endeavoring to crush her slave with the + glance and gesture of a queen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mademoiselle,” he answered proudly. “Ah! I never expected,” he + continued in a low tone, “that the grub could be of service to a star,—but + so it is. Would you rather that your mother and Monsieur Dumay and Madame + Latournelle had guessed your secret than one, excluded as it were from + life, who seeks to be to you one of those flowers that you cut and wear + for a moment? They all know you love; but I, I alone, <i>know how</i>. Use + me as you would a vigilant watch-dog; I will obey you, protect you, and + never bark; neither will I condemn you. I ask only to be of service to + you. Your father has made Dumay keeper of the hen-roost, take Butscha to + watch outside,—poor Butscha, who doesn’t ask for anything, not so + much as a bone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve give you a trial,” said Modeste, whose strongest desire was to + get rid of so clever a watcher. “Please go at once to all the hotels in + Graville and in Havre, and ask if a gentleman has arrived from England + named Monsieur Arthur—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, mademoiselle,” said Butscha, interrupting Modeste + respectfully. “I will go and take a walk on the seashore, for you don’t + want me to go to church to-day; that’s what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste looked at her dwarf with a perfectly stupid astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, you have wrapped your face in cotton-wool and a silk + handkerchief, but there’s nothing the matter with you; and you have put + that thick veil on your bonnet to see some one yourself without being + seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you acquire all that perspicacity?” cried Modeste, blushing. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, mademoiselle, you have not put on your corset; a cold in the + head wouldn’t oblige you to disfigure your waist and wear half a dozen + petticoats, nor hide your hands in these old gloves, and your pretty feet + in those hideous shoes, nor dress yourself like a beggar-woman, nor—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough,” she said. “How am I to be certain that you will obey me?” + </p> + <p> + “My master is obliged to go to Sainte-Adresse. He does not like it, but he + is so truly good he won’t deprive me of my Sunday; I will offer to go for + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, and I will trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure I can do nothing for you in Havre?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Hear me, mysterious dwarf,—look,” she continued, pointing + to the cloudless sky; “can you see a single trace of that bird that flew + by just now? No; well then, my actions are pure as the air is pure, and + leave no stain behind them. You may reassure Dumay and the Latournelles, + and my mother. That hand,” she said, holding up a pretty delicate hand, + with the points of the rosy fingers, through which the light shone, + slightly turning back, “will never be given, it will never even be kissed + by what people call a lover until my father has returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you want me in the church to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you venture to question me after all I have done you the honor to say, + and to ask of you?” + </p> + <p> + Butscha bowed without another word, and departed to find his master, in + all the rapture of being taken into the service of his goddess. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, Monsieur and Madame Latournelle came to fetch Modeste, + who complained of a horrible toothache. + </p> + <p> + “I really have not had the courage to dress myself,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well then,” replied the worthy chaperone, “stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Modeste. “I would rather not. I have bundled myself up, and + I don’t think it will do me any harm to go out.” + </p> + <p> + And Mademoiselle Mignon marched off beside Latournelle, refusing to take + his arm lest she should be questioned about the outward trembling which + betrayed her inward agitation at the thought of at last seeing her great + poet. One look, the first,—was it not about to decide her fate? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR DE LA BRIERE + </h2> + <p> + Is there in the life of man a more delightful moment than that of a first + rendezvous? Are the sensations then hidden at the bottom of our hearts and + finding their first expression ever renewed? Can we feel again the + nameless pleasures that we felt when, like Ernest de La Briere, we looked + up our sharpest razors, our finest shirt, an irreproachable collar, and + our best clothes? We deify the garments associated with that all-supreme + moment. We weave within us poetic fancies quite equal to those of the + woman; and the day when either party guesses them they take wings to + themselves and fly away. Are not such things like the flower of wild + fruits, bitter-sweet, grown in the heart of a forest, the joy of the scant + sun-rays, the joy, as Canalis says in the “Maiden’s Song,” of the plant + itself whose eyes unclosing see its own image within its breast? + </p> + <p> + Such emotions, now taking place in La Briere, tend to show that, like + other poor fellows for whom life begins in toil and care, he had never yet + been loved. Arriving at Havre overnight, he had gone to bed at once, like + a true coquette, to obliterate all traces of fatigue; and now, after + taking his bath, he had put himself into a costume carefully adapted to + show him off to the best advantage. This is, perhaps, the right moment to + exhibit a full-length portrait of him, if only to justify the last letter + that Modeste was still to write to him. + </p> + <p> + Born of a good family in Toulouse, and allied by marriage to the minister + who first took him under his protection, Ernest had that air of + good-breeding which comes of an education begun in the cradle; and the + habit of managing business affairs gave him a certain sedateness which was + not pedantic,—though pedantry is the natural outgrowth of premature + gravity. He was of ordinary height; his face, which won upon all who saw + him by its delicacy and sweetness, was warm in the flesh-tints, though + without color, and relieved by a small moustache and imperial a la + Mazarin. Without this evidence of virility he might have resembled a young + woman in disguise, so refined was the shape of his face and the cut of his + lips, so feminine the transparent ivory of a set of teeth, regular enough + to have seemed artificial. Add to these womanly points a habit of speech + as gentle as the expression of the face; as gentle, too, as the blue eyes + with their Turkish eyelids, and you will readily understand how it was + that the minister occasionally called his young secretary Mademoiselle de + La Briere. The full, clear forehead, well framed by abundant black hair, + was dreamy, and did not contradict the character of the face, which was + altogether melancholy. The prominent arch of the upper eyelid, though very + beautifully cut, overshadowed the glance of the eye, and added a physical + sadness,—if we may so call it,—produced by the droop of the + lid over the eyeball. This inward doubt or eclipse—which is put into + language by the word modesty—was expressed in his whole person. + Perhaps we shall be able to make his appearance better understood if we + say that the logic of design required greater length in the oval of his + head, more space between the chin, which ended abruptly, and the forehead, + which was reduced in height by the way in which the hair grew. The face + had, in short, a rather compressed appearance. Hard work had already drawn + furrows between the eyebrows, which were somewhat too thick and too near + together, like those of a jealous nature. Though La Briere was then + slight, he belonged to the class of temperaments which begin, after they + are thirty, to take on an unexpected amount of flesh. + </p> + <p> + The young man would have seemed to a student of French history a very fair + representative of the royal and almost inconceivable figure of Louis + XIII.,—that historical figure of melancholy modesty without known + cause; pallid beneath the crown; loving the dangers of war and the + fatigues of hunting, but hating work; timid with his mistress to the + extent of keeping away from her; so indifferent as to allow the head of + his friend to be cut off,—a figure that nothing can explain but his + remorse for having avenged his father on his mother. Was he a Catholic + Hamlet, or merely the victim of incurable disease? But the undying worm + which gnawed at the king’s vitals was in Ernest’s case simply distrust of + himself,—the timidity of a man to whom no woman had ever said, “Ah, + how I love thee!” and, above all, the spirit of self-devotion without an + object. After hearing the knell of the monarchy in the fall of his + patron’s ministry, the poor fellow had next fallen upon a rock covered + with exquisite mosses, named Canalis; he was, therefore, still seeking a + power to love, and this spaniel-like search for a master gave him + outwardly the air of a king who has met with his. This play of feeling, + and a general tone of suffering in the young man’s face made it more + really beautiful than he was himself aware of; for he had always been + annoyed to find himself classed by women among the “handsome + disconsolate,”—a class which has passed out of fashion in these + days, when every man seeks to blow his own trumpet and put himself in the + advance. + </p> + <p> + The self-distrustful Ernest now rested his immediate hopes on the + fashionable clothes he intended to wear. He put on, for this sacred + interview, where everything depended on a first impression, a pair of + black trousers and carefully polished boots, a sulphur-colored waistcoat, + which left to sight an exquisitely fine shirt with opal buttons, a black + cravat, and a small blue surtout coat which seemed glued to his back and + shoulders by some newly-invented process. The ribbon of the Legion of + honor was in his buttonhole. He wore a well-fitting pair of kid gloves of + the Florentine bronze color, and carried his cane and hat in the left hand + with a gesture and air that was worthy of the Grand Monarch, and enabled + him to show, as the sacred precincts required, his bare head with the + light falling on his carefully arranged hair. He stationed himself before + the service began in the church porch, from whence he could examine the + church, and the Christians—more particularly the female Christians—who + dipped their fingers in the holy water. + </p> + <p> + An inward voice cried to Modeste as she entered, “It is he!” That surtout, + and indeed the whole bearing of the young man were essentially Parisian; + the ribbon, the gloves, the cane, the very perfume of his hair were not of + Havre. So when La Briere turned about to examine the tall and imposing + Madame Latournelle, the notary, and the bundled-up (expression sacred to + women) figure of Modeste, the poor child, though she had carefully tutored + herself for the event, received a violent blow on her heart when her eyes + rested on this poetic figure, illuminated by the full light of day as it + streamed through the open door. She could not be mistaken; a small white + rose nearly hid the ribbon of the Legion. Would he recognize his unknown + mistress muffled in an old bonnet with a double veil? Modeste was so in + fear of love’s clairvoyance that she began to stoop in her walk like an + old woman. + </p> + <p> + “Wife,” said little Latournelle as they took their seats, “that gentleman + does not belong to Havre.” + </p> + <p> + “So many strangers come here,” answered his wife. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the notary, “strangers never come to look at a church like + ours, which is less than two centuries old.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest remained in the porch throughout the service without seeing any + woman who realized his hopes. Modeste, on her part, could not control the + trembling of her limbs until Mass was nearly over. She was in the grasp of + a joy that none but she herself could depict. At last she heard the + foot-fall of a gentleman on the pavement of the aisle. The service over, + La Briere was making a circuit of the church, where no one now remained + but the punctiliously pious, whom he proceeded to subject to a shrewd and + keen analysis. Ernest noticed that a prayer-book shook violently in the + hands of a veiled woman as he passed her; as she alone kept her face + hidden his suspicions were aroused, and then confirmed by Modeste’s dress, + which the lover’s eye now scanned and noted. He left the church with the + Latournelles and followed them at a distance to the rue Royale, where he + saw them enter a house accompanied by Modeste, whose custom it was to stay + with her friends till the hour of vespers. After examining the little + house, which was ornamented with scutcheons, he asked the name of the + owner, and was told that he was Monsieur Latournelle, the chief notary in + Havre. As Ernest lounged along the rue Royale hoping for a glimpse into + the house, Modeste caught sight of him, and thereupon declared herself too + ill to go to vespers. Poor Ernest thus had his trouble for his pains. He + dared not wander about Ingouville; moreover, he made it a point of honor + to obey orders, and he therefore went back to Paris, previously writing a + letter which Francoise Cochet duly delivered on the morrow with the Havre + postmark. + </p> + <p> + It was the custom of Monsieur and Madame Latournelle to dine at the Chalet + every Sunday when they brought back Modeste after vespers. So, as soon as + the invalid felt a little better, they started for Ingouville, accompanied + by Butscha. Once at home, the happy Modeste forgot her pretended illness + and her disguise, and dressed herself charmingly, humming as she came down + to dinner,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Nought is sleeping—Heart! awaking, + Lift thine incense to the skies.” + </pre> + <p> + Butscha shuddered slightly when he caught sight of her, so changed did she + seem to him. The wings of love were fastened to her shoulders; she had the + air of a nymph, a Psyche; her cheeks glowed with the divine color of + happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Who wrote the words to which you have put that pretty music?” asked her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Canalis, mamma,” she answered, flushing rosy red from her throat to her + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Canalis!” cried the dwarf, to whom the inflections of the girl’s voice + and her blush told the only thing of which he was still ignorant. “He, + that great poet, does he write songs?” + </p> + <p> + “They are only simple verses,” she said, “which I have ventured to set to + German airs.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” interrupted Madame Mignon, “the music is your own, my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste, feeling that she grew more and more crimson, went off into the + garden, calling Butscha after her. + </p> + <p> + “You can do me a great service,” she said. “Dumay is keeping a secret from + my mother and me as to the fortune which my father is bringing back with + him; and I want to know what it is. Did not Dumay send papa when he first + went away over five hundred thousand francs? Yes. Well, papa is not the + kind of man to stay away four years and only double his capital. It seems + he is coming back on a ship of his own, and Dumay’s share amounts to + almost six hundred thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no need to question Dumay,” said Butscha. “Your father lost, as + you know, about four millions when he went away, and he has doubtless + recovered them. He would of course give Dumay ten per cent of his profits; + the worthy man admitted the other day how much it was, and my master and I + think that in that case the colonel’s fortune must amount to six or seven + millions—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa!” cried Modeste, crossing her hands on her breast and looking up + to heaven, “twice you have given me life!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle!” said Butscha, “you love a poet. That kind of man is + more or less of a Narcissus. Will he know how to love you? A phrase-maker, + always busy in fitting words together, must be a bore. Mademoiselle, a + poet is no more poetry than a seed is a flower.” + </p> + <p> + “Butscha, I never saw so handsome a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Beauty is a veil which often serves to hide imperfections.” + </p> + <p> + “He has the most angelic heart of heaven—” + </p> + <p> + “I pray God you may be right,” said the dwarf, clasping his hands, “—and + happy! That man shall have, as you have, a servant in Jean Butscha. I will + not be notary; I shall give that up; I shall study the sciences.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle, to train up your children, if you will deign to make me + their tutor. But, oh! if you would only listen to some advice. Let me take + up this matter; let me look into the life and habits of this man,—find + out if he is kind, or bad-tempered, or gentle, if he commands the respect + which you merit in a husband, if he is able to love utterly, preferring + you to everything, even his own talent—” + </p> + <p> + “What does that signify if I love him?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true!” cried the dwarf. + </p> + <p> + At that instant Madame Mignon was saying to her friends,— + </p> + <p> + “My daughter saw the man she loves this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it must have been that sulphur waistcoat which puzzled you so, + Latournelle,” said his wife. “The young man had a pretty white rose in his + buttonhole.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” sighed the mother, “the sign of recognition.” + </p> + <p> + “And he also wore the ribbon of an officer of the Legion of honor. He is a + charming young man. But we are all deceiving ourselves; Modeste never + raised her veil, and her clothes were huddled on like a beggar-woman’s—” + </p> + <p> + “And she said she was ill,” cried the notary; “but she has taken off her + mufflings and is just as well as she ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “It is incomprehensible!” said Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said the notary; “it is now as clear as day.” + </p> + <p> + “My child,” said Madame Mignon to Modeste, as she came into the room, + followed by Butscha, “did you see a well-dressed young man at church this + morning, with a white rose in his button-hole?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him,” said Butscha quickly, perceiving by everybody’s strained + attention that Modeste was likely to fall into a trap. “It was Grindot, + the famous architect, with whom the town is in treaty for the restoration + of the church. He has just come from Paris, and I met him this morning + examining the exterior as I was on my way to Sainte-Adresse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, an architect, was he? he puzzled me,” said Modeste, for whom Butscha + had thus gained time to recover herself. + </p> + <p> + Dumay looked askance at Butscha. Modeste, fully warned, recovered her + impenetrable composure. Dumay’s distrust was now thoroughly aroused, and + he resolved to go the mayor’s office early in the morning and ascertain if + the architect had really been in Havre the previous day. Butscha, on the + other hand, was equally determined to go to Paris and find out something + about Canalis. + </p> + <p> + Gobenheim came to play whist, and by his presence subdued and compressed + all this fermentation of feelings. Modeste awaited her mother’s bedtime + with impatience. She intended to write, but never did so except at night. + Here is the letter which love dictated to her while all the world was + sleeping:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur de Canalis,—Ah! my friend, my well-beloved! What + atrocious falsehoods those portraits in the shop-windows are! And + I, who made that horrible lithograph my joy!—I am humbled at the + thought of loving one so handsome. No; it is impossible that those + Parisian women are so stupid as not to have seen their dreams + fulfilled in you. You neglected! you unloved! I do not believe a + word of all that you have written me about your lonely and obscure + life, your hunger for an idol,—sought in vain until now. You have + been too well loved, monsieur; your brow, white and smooth as a + magnolia leaf, reveals it; and it is I who must be neglected,—for + who am I? Ah! why have you called me to life? I felt for a moment + as though the heavy burden of the flesh was leaving me; my soul + had broken the crystal which held it captive; it pervaded my whole + being; the cold silence of material things had ceased; all things + in nature had a voice and spoke to me. The old church was + luminous. It’s arched roof, brilliant with gold and azure like + those of an Italian cathedral, sparkled above my head. Melodies + such as the angels sang to martyrs, quieting their pains, sounded + from the organ. The rough pavements of Havre seemed to my feet a + flowery mead; the sea spoke to me with a voice of sympathy, like + an old friend whom I had never truly understood. I saw clearly how + the roses in my garden had long adored me and bidden me love; they + lifted their heads and smiled as I came back from church. I heard + your name, “Melchior,” chiming in the flower-bells; I saw it + written on the clouds. Yes, yes, I live, I am living, thanks to + thee,—my poet, more beautiful than that cold, conventional Lord + Byron, with a face as dull as the English climate. One glance of + thine, thine Orient glance, pierced through my double veil and + sent thy blood to my heart, and from thence to my head and feet. + Ah! that is not the life our mother gave us. A hurt to thee would + hurt me too at the very instant it was given,—my life exists by + thy thought only. I know now the purpose of the divine faculty of + music; the angels invented it to utter love. Ah, my Melchior, to + have genius and to have beauty is too much; a man should be made + to choose between them at his birth. + + When I think of the treasures of tenderness and affection which + you have given me, and more especially for the last month, I ask + myself if I dream. No, but you hide some mystery; what woman can + yield you up to me and not die? Ah! jealousy has entered my heart + with love,—love in which I could not have believed. How could I + have imagined so mighty a conflagration? And now—strange and + inconceivable revulsion!—I would rather you were ugly. + + What follies I committed after I came home! The yellow dahlias + reminded me of your waistcoat, the white roses were my loving + friends; I bowed to them with a look that belonged to you, like + all that is of me. The very color of the gloves, moulded to hands + of a gentleman, your step along the nave,—all, all, is so printed + on my memory that sixty years hence I shall see the veriest + trifles of this day of days,—the color of the atmosphere, the ray + of sunshine that flickered on a certain pillar; I shall hear the + prayer your step interrupted; I shall inhale the incense of the + altar; forever I shall feel above our heads the priestly hands + that blessed us both as you passed by me at the closing + benediction. The good Abbe Marcelin married us then! The + happiness, above that of earth, which I feel in this new world of + unexpected emotions can only be equalled by the joy of telling it + to you, of sending it back to him who poured it into my heart with + the lavishness of the sun itself. No more veils, no more + disguises, my beloved. Come back to me, oh, come back soon. With + joy I now unmask. + + You have no doubt heard of the house of Mignon in Havre? Well, I + am, through an irreparable misfortune, its sole heiress. But you + are not to look down upon us, descendant of an Auvergne knight; + the arms of the Mignon de La Bastie will do no dishonor to those + of Canalis. We bear gules, on a bend sable four bezants or; + quarterly four crosses patriarchal or; a cardinal’s hat as crest, + and the fiocchi for supports. Dear, I will be faithful to our + motto: “Una fides, unus Dominus!”—the true faith, and one only + Master. + + Perhaps, my friend, you will find some irony in my name, after all + that I have done, and all that I herein avow. I am named Modeste. + Therefore I have not deceived you by signing “O. d’Este M.” + Neither have I misled you about our fortune; it will amount, I + believe, to the sum which rendered you so virtuous. I know that to + you money is a consideration of small importance; therefore I + speak of it without reserve. Let me tell you how happy it makes me + to give freedom of action to our happiness,—to be able to say, + when the fancy for travel takes us, “Come, let us go in a + comfortable carriage, sitting side by side, without a thought of + money”—happy, in short, to tell the king, “I have the fortune + which you require in your peers.” Thus Modeste Mignon can be of + service to you, and her gold will have the noblest of uses. + + As to your servant herself,—you did see her once, at her window. + Yes, “the fairest daughter of Eve the fair” was indeed your + unknown damozel; but how little the Modeste of to-day resembles + her of that long past era! That one was in her shroud, this one + —have I made you know it?—has received from you the life of life. + Love, pure, and sanctioned, the love my father, now returning + rich and prosperous, will authorize, has raised me with its + powerful yet childlike hand from the grave in which I slept. You + have wakened me as the sun wakens the flowers. The eyes of your + beloved are no longer those of the little Modeste so daring in her + ignorance,—no, they are dimmed with the sight of happiness, and + the lids close over them. To-day I tremble lest I can never + deserve my fate. The king has come in his glory; my lord has now a + subject who asks pardon for the liberties she has taken, like the + gambler with loaded dice after cheating Monsieur de Grammont. + + My cherished poet! I will be thy Mignon—happier far than the + Mignon of Goethe, for thou wilt leave me in mine own land,—in thy + heart. Just as I write this pledge of our betrothal a nightingale + in the Vilquin park answers for thee. Ah, tell me quick that his + note, so pure, so clear, so full, which fills my heart with joy + and love like an Annunciation, does not lie to me. + + My father will pass through Paris on his way from Marseilles; the + house of Mongenod, with whom he corresponds, will know his + address. Go to him, my Melchior, tell him that you love me; but do + not try to tell him how I love you,—let that be forever between + ourselves and God. I, my dear one, am about to tell everything to + my mother. Her heart will justify my conduct; she will rejoice in + our secret poem, so romantic, human and divine in one. + + You have the confession of the daughter; you must now obtain the + consent of the Comte de La Bastie, father of your +</pre> + <p> + Modeste. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + P.S.—Above all, do not come to Havre without having first + obtained my father’s consent. If you love me you will not fail to + find him on his way through Paris. +</pre> + <p> + “What are you doing, up at this hour, Mademoiselle Modeste?” said the + voice of Dumay at her door. + </p> + <p> + “Writing to my father,” she answered; “did you not tell me you should + start in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + Dumay had nothing to say to that, and he went to bed, while Modeste wrote + another long letter, this time to her father. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow, Francois Cochet, terrified at seeing the Havre postmark on + the envelope which Ernest had mailed the night before, brought her young + mistress the following letter and took away the one which Modeste had + written:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Mademoiselle O. d’Este M.,—My heart tells me that you were the + woman so carefully veiled and disguised, and seated between + Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, who have but one child, a son. + Ah, my love, if you have only a modest station, without + distinction, without importance, without money even, you do not + know how happy that would make me. You ought to understand me by + this time; why will you not tell me the truth? I am no poet, + —except in heart, through love, through you. Oh! what power of + affection there is in me to keep me here in this hotel, instead of + mounting to Ingouville which I can see from my windows. Will you + ever love me as I love you? To leave Havre in such uncertainty! Am + I not punished for loving you as if I had committed a crime? But I + obey you blindly. Let me have a letter quickly, for if you have + been mysterious, I have returned you mystery for mystery, and I + must at last throw off my disguise, show you the poet that I am, + and abdicate my borrowed glory. +</pre> + <p> + This letter made Modeste terribly uneasy. She could not get back the one + which Francoise had carried away before she came to the last words, whose + meaning she now sought by reading them again and again; but she went to + her own room and wrote an answer in which she demanded an immediate + explanation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. MATTERS GROWN COMPLICATED + </h2> + <p> + During these little events other little events were going on in Havre, + which caused Modeste to forget her present uneasiness. Dumay went down to + Havre early in the morning, and soon discovered that no architect had been + in town the day before. Furious at Butscha’s lie, which revealed a + conspiracy of which he was resolved to know the meaning, he rushed from + the mayor’s office to his friend Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s your Master Butscha?” he demanded of the notary, when he saw that + the clerk was not in his place. + </p> + <p> + “Butscha, my dear fellow, has gone to Paris. He heard some news of his + father this morning on the quays, from a Swedish sailor. It seems the + father went to the Indies and served a prince, or something, and he is now + in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Lies! it’s all a trick! infamous! I’ll find that damned cripple if I’ve + got to go express to Paris for him,” cried Dumay. “Butscha is deceiving + us; he knows something about Modeste, and hasn’t told us. If he meddles in + this thing he shall never be a notary. I’ll roll him in the mud from which + he came, I’ll—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, my friend; never hang a man before you try him,” said + Latournelle, frightened at Dumay’s rage. + </p> + <p> + After stating the facts on which his suspicions were founded, Dumay begged + Madame Latournelle to go and stay at the Chalet during his absence. + </p> + <p> + “You will find the colonel in Paris,” said the notary. “In the shipping + news quoted this morning in the Journal of Commerce, I found under the + head of Marseilles—here, see for yourself,” he said, offering the + paper. “‘The Bettina Mignon, Captain Mignon, arrived October 6’; it is now + the 17th, and the colonel is sure to be in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay requested Gobenheim to do without him in future, and then went back + to the Chalet, which he reached just as Modeste was sealing her two + letters, to her father and Canalis. Except for the address the letters + were precisely alike both in weight and appearance. Modeste thought she + had laid that to her father over that to her Melchior, but had, in fact, + done exactly the reverse. This mistake, so often made in the little things + of life, occasioned the discovery of her secret by Dumay and her mother. + The former was talking vehemently to Madame Mignon in the salon, and + revealing to her his fresh fears caused by Modeste’s duplicity and + Butscha’s connivance. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he cried, “he is a serpent whom we have warmed in our bosoms; + there’s no place in his contorted little body for a soul!” + </p> + <p> + Modeste put the letter for her father into the pocket of her apron, + supposing it to be that for Canalis, and came downstairs with the letter + for her lover in her hand, to see Dumay before he started for Paris. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened to my Black Dwarf? why are you talking so loud!” she + said, appearing at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, Butscha has gone to Paris, and you, no doubt, know why,—to + carry on that affair of the little architect with the sulphur waistcoat, + who, unluckily for the hunchback’s lies, has never been here.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste was struck dumb; feeling sure that the dwarf had departed on a + mission of inquiry as to her poet’s morals, she turned pale, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going after him; I shall find him,” continued Dumay. “Is that the + letter for your father, mademoiselle?” he added, holding out his hand. “I + will take it to the Mongenods. God grant the colonel and I may not pass + each other on the road.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste gave him the letter. Dumay looked mechanically at the address. + </p> + <p> + “‘Monsieur le Baron de Canalis, rue de Paradis-Poissoniere, No. 29’!” he + cried out; “what does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my daughter! that is the man you love,” exclaimed Madame Mignon; “the + stanzas you set to music were his—” + </p> + <p> + “And that’s his portrait that you have in a frame upstairs,” added Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Give me back that letter, Monsieur Dumay,” said Modeste, erecting herself + like a lioness defending her cubs. + </p> + <p> + “There it is, mademoiselle,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + Modeste put it into the bosom of her dress, and gave Dumay the one + intended for her father. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are capable of, Dumay,” she said; “and if you take one + step against Monsieur de Canalis, I shall take another out of this house, + to which I will never return.” + </p> + <p> + “You will kill your mother, mademoiselle,” replied Dumay, who left the + room and called his wife. + </p> + <p> + The poor mother was indeed half-fainting,—struck to the heart by + Modeste’s words. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, wife,” said the Breton, kissing the American. “Take care of the + mother; I go to save the daughter.” + </p> + <p> + He made his preparations for the journey in a few minutes, and started for + Havre. An hour later he was travelling post to Paris, with the haste that + nothing but passion or speculation can get out of wheels. + </p> + <p> + Recovering herself under Modeste’s tender care, Madame Mignon went up to + her bedroom leaning on the arm of her daughter, to whom she said, as her + sole reproach, when they were alone:— + </p> + <p> + “My unfortunate child, see what you have done! Why did you conceal + anything from me? Am I so harsh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I was just going to tell it to you comfortably,” sobbed Modeste. + </p> + <p> + She thereupon related everything to her mother, read her the letters and + their answers, and shed the rose of her poem petal by petal into the heart + of the kind German woman. When this confidence, which took half the day, + was over, when she saw something that was almost a smile on the lips of + the too indulgent mother, Modeste fell upon her breast in tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” she said amid her sobs, “you, whose heart, all gold and + poetry, is a chosen vessel, chosen of God to hold a sacred love, a single + and celestial love that endures for life; you, whom I wish to imitate by + loving no one but my husband,—you will surely understand what bitter + tears I am now shedding. This butterfly, this Psyche of my thoughts, this + dual soul which I have nurtured with maternal care, my love, my sacred + love, this living mystery of mysteries—it is about to fall into + vulgar hands, and they will tear its diaphanous wings and rend its veil + under the miserable pretext of enlightening me, of discovering whether + genius is as prudent as a banker, whether my Melchior has saved his money, + or whether he has some entanglement to shake off; they want to find out if + he is guilty to bourgeois eyes of youthful indiscretions,—which to + the sun of our love are like the clouds of the dawn. Oh! what will come of + it? what will they do? See! feel my hand, it burns with fever. Ah! I shall + never survive it.” + </p> + <p> + And Modeste, really taken with a chill, was forced to go to bed, causing + serious uneasiness to her mother, Madame Latournelle, and Madame Dumay, + who took good care of her during the journey of the lieutenant to Paris,—to + which city the logic of events compels us to transport our drama for a + moment. + </p> + <p> + Truly modest minds, like that of Ernest de La Briere, but especially those + who, knowing their own value, also know that they are neither loved nor + appreciated, can understand the infinite joy to which the young secretary + abandoned himself on reading Modeste’s letter. Could it be that after + thinking him lofty and witty in soul, his young, his artless, his + tricksome mistress now thought him handsome? This flattery is the flattery + supreme. And why? Beauty is, undoubtedly, the signature of the master to + the work into which he has put his soul; it is the divine spirit + manifested. And to see it where it is not, to create it by the power of an + inward look,—is not that the highest reach of love? And so the poor + youth cried aloud with all the rapture of an applauded author, “At last I + am beloved!” When a woman, be she maid, wife, or widow, lets the charming + words escape her, “Thou art handsome,” the words may be false, but the man + opens his thick skull to their subtle poison, and thenceforth he is + attached by an everlasting tie to the pretty flatterer, the true or the + deceived judge; she becomes his particular world, he thirsts for her + continual testimony, and he never wearies of it, even if he is a crowned + prince. Ernest walked proudly up and down his room; he struck a + three-quarter, full-face, and profile attitude before the glass; he tried + to criticise himself; but a voice, diabolically persuasive, whispered to + him, “Modeste is right.” He took up her letter and re-read it; he saw his + fairest of the fair; he talked with her; then, in the midst of his + ecstacy, a dreadful thought came to him:— + </p> + <p> + “She thinks me Canalis, and she has a million of money!” + </p> + <p> + Down went his happiness, just as a somnambulist, having attained the peak + of a roof, hears a voice, awakes, and falls crushed upon the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Without the halo of fame I shall be hideous in her eyes,” he cried; “what + a maddening situation I have put myself in!” + </p> + <p> + La Briere was too much the man of his letters which we have read, his + heart was too noble and pure to allow him to hesitate at the call of + honor. He at once resolved to find Modeste’s father, if he were in Paris, + and confess all to him, and to let Canalis know the serious results of + their Parisian jest. To a sensitive nature like his, Modeste’s large + fortune was in itself a determining reason. He could not allow it to be + even suspected that the ardor of the correspondence, so sincere on his + part, had in view the capture of a “dot.” Tears were in his eyes as he + made his way to the rue Chantereine to find the banker Mongenod, whose + fortune and business connections were partly the work of the minister to + whom Ernest owed his start in life. + </p> + <p> + At the hour when La Briere was inquiring about the father of his beloved + from the head of the house of Mongenod, and getting information that might + be useful to him in his strange position, a scene was taking place in + Canalis’s study which the ex-lieutenant’s hasty departure from Havre may + have led the reader to foresee. + </p> + <p> + Like a true soldier of the imperial school, Dumay, whose Breton blood had + boiled all the way to Paris, considered a poet to be a poor stick of a + fellow, of no consequence whatever,—a buffoon addicted to choruses, + living in a garret, dressed in black clothes that were white at every + seam, wearing boots that were occasionally without soles, and linen that + was unmentionable, and whose fingers knew more about ink than soap; in + short, one who looked always as if he had tumbled from the moon, except + when scribbling at a desk, like Butscha. But the seething of the Breton’s + heart and brain received a violent application of cold water when he + entered the courtyard of the pretty house occupied by the poet and saw a + groom washing a carriage, and also, through the windows of a handsome + dining-room, a valet dressed like a banker, to whom the groom referred + him, and who answered, looking the stranger over from head to foot, that + Monsieur le baron was not visible. “There is,” added the man, “a meeting + of the council of state to-day, at which Monsieur le baron is obliged to + be present.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this really the house of Monsieur Canalis,” said Dumay, “a writer of + poetry?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron de Canalis,” replied the valet, “is the great poet of + whom you speak; but he is also the president of the court of Claims + attached to the ministry of foreign affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay, who had come to box the ears of a scribbling nobody, found himself + confronted by a high functionary of the state. The salon where he was told + to wait offered, as a topic for his meditations, the insignia of the + Legion of honor glittering on a black coat which the valet had left upon a + chair. Presently his eyes were attracted by the beauty and brilliancy of a + silver-gilt cup bearing the words “Given by <i>Madame</i>.” Then he beheld + before him, on a pedestal, a Sevres vase on which was engraved, “The gift + of Madame la <i>Dauphine</i>.” + </p> + <p> + These mute admonitions brought Dumay to his senses while the valet went to + ask his master if he would receive a person who had come from Havre + expressly to see him,—a stranger named Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man?” asked Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “He is well-dressed, and wears the ribbon of the Legion of honor.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis made a sign of assent, and the valet retreated, and then returned + and announced, “Monsieur Dumay.” + </p> + <p> + When he heard himself announced, when he was actually in presence of + Canalis, in a study as gorgeous as it was elegant, with his feet on a + carpet far handsomer than any in the house of Mignon, and when he met the + studied glance of the poet who was playing with the tassels of a sumptuous + dressing-gown, Dumay was so completely taken aback that he allowed the + great poet to have the first word. + </p> + <p> + “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” began Dumay, who remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “If you have a good deal to say,” interrupted Canalis, “I must ask you to + be seated.” + </p> + <p> + And Canalis himself plunged into an armchair a la Voltaire, crossed his + legs, raised the upper one to the level of his eye and looked fixedly at + Dumay, who became, to use his own martial slang, “bayonetted.” + </p> + <p> + “I am listening, monsieur,” said the poet; “my time is precious,—the + ministers are expecting me.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Dumay, “I shall be brief. You have seduced—how, I + do not know—a young lady in Havre, young, beautiful, and rich; the + last and only hope of two noble families; and I have come to ask your + intentions.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis, who had been busy during the last three months with serious + matters of his own, and was trying to get himself made commander of the + Legion of honor and minister to a German court, had completely forgotten + Modeste’s letter.” + </p> + <p> + “I!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “You!” repeated Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” answered Canalis, smiling; “I know no more of what you are + talking about than if you had said it in Hebrew. I seduce a young girl! I, + who—” and a superb smile crossed his features. “Come, come, + monsieur, I’m not such a child as to steal fruit over the hedges when I + have orchards and gardens of my own where the finest peaches ripen. All + Paris knows where my affections are set. Very likely there may be some + young girl in Havre full of enthusiasm for my verses,—of which they + are not worthy; that would not surprise me at all; nothing is more common. + See! look at that lovely coffer of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and + edged with that iron-work as fine as lace. That coffer belonged to Pope + Leo X., and was given to me by the Duchesse de Chaulieu, who received it + from the king of Spain. I use it to hold the letters I receive from ladies + and young girls living in every quarter of Europe. Oh! I assure you I feel + the utmost respect for these flowers of the soul, cut and sent in moments + of enthusiasm that are worthy of all reverence. Yes, to me the impulse of + a heart is a noble and sublime thing! Others—scoffers—light + their cigars with such letters, or give them to their wives for + curl-papers; but I, who am a bachelor, monsieur, I have too much delicacy + not to preserve these artless offerings—so fresh, so disinterested—in + a tabernacle of their own. In fact, I guard them with a species of + veneration, and at my death they will be burned before my eyes. People may + call that ridiculous, but I do not care. I am grateful; these proofs of + devotion enable me to bear the criticisms and annoyances of a literary + life. When I receive a shot in the back from some enemy lurking under + cover of a daily paper, I look at that casket and think,—here and + there in this wide world there are hearts whose wounds have been healed, + or soothed, or dressed by me!” + </p> + <p> + This bit of poetry, declaimed with all the talent of a great actor, + petrified the lieutenant, whose eyes opened to their utmost extent, and + whose astonishment delighted the poet. + </p> + <p> + “I will permit you,” continued the peacock, spreading his tail, “out of + respect for your position, which I fully appreciate, to open that coffer + and look for the letter of your young lady. Though I know I am right, I + remember names, and I assure you you are mistaken in thinking—” + </p> + <p> + “And this is what a poor child comes to in this gulf of Paris!” cried + Dumay,—“the darling of her parents, the joy of her friends, the hope + of all, petted by all, the pride of a family, who has six persons so + devoted to her that they would willingly make a rampart of their lives and + fortunes between her and sorrow. Monsieur,” Dumay remarked after a pause, + “you are a great poet, and I am only a poor soldier. For fifteen years I + served my country in the ranks; I have had the wind of many a bullet in my + face; I have crossed Siberia and been a prisoner there; the Russians flung + me on a kibitka, and God knows what I suffered. I have seen thousands of + my comrades die,—but you, you have given me a chill to the marrow of + my bones, such as I never felt before.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay fancied that his words moved the poet, but in fact they only + flattered him,—a thing which at this period of his life had become + almost an impossibility; for his ambitious mind had long forgotten the + first perfumed phial that praise had broken over his head. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my soldier!” he said solemnly, laying his hand on Dumay’s shoulder, + and thinking to himself how droll it was to make a soldier of the empire + tremble, “this young girl may be all in all to you, but to society at + large what is she? nothing. At this moment the greatest mandarin in China + may be yielding up the ghost and putting half the universe in mourning, + and what is that to you? The English are killing thousands of people in + India more worthy than we are; why, at this very moment while I am + speaking to you some ravishing woman is being burned alive,—did that + make you care less for your cup of coffee this morning at breakfast? Not a + day passes in Paris that some mother in rags does not cast her infant on + the world to be picked up by whoever finds it; and yet see! here is this + delicious tea in a cup that cost five louis, and I write verses which + Parisian women rush to buy, exclaiming, ‘Divine! delicious! charming! food + for the soul!’ Social nature, like Nature herself, is a great forgetter. + You will be quite surprised ten years hence at what you have done to-day. + You are here in a city where people die, where they marry, where they + adore each other at an assignation, where young girls suffocate + themselves, where the man of genius with his cargo of thoughts teeming + with humane beneficence goes to the bottom,—all side by side, + sometimes under the same roof, and yet ignorant of each other, ignorant + and indifferent. And here you come among us and ask us to expire with + grief at this commonplace affair.” + </p> + <p> + “You call yourself a poet!” cried Dumay, “but don’t you feel what you + write?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! if we endured the joys or the woes we sing we should be as + worn out in three months as a pair of old boots,” said the poet, smiling. + “But stay, you shall not come from Havre to Paris to see Canalis without + carrying something back with you. Warrior!” (Canalis had the form and + action of an Homeric hero) “learn this from the poet: Every noble + sentiment in man is a poem so exclusively individual that his nearest + friend, his other self, cares nothing for it. It is a treasure which is + his alone, it is—” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me for interrupting you,” said Dumay, who was gazing at the poet + with horror, “but did you ever come to Havre?” + </p> + <p> + “I was there for a day and a night in the spring of 1824 on my way to + London.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a man of honor,” continued Dumay; “will you give me your word + that you do not know Mademoiselle Modeste Mignon?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the first time that name ever struck my ear,” replied Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur!” said Dumay, “into what dark intrigue am I about to plunge? + Can I count upon you to help me in my inquiries?—for I am certain + that some one has been using your name. You ought to have had a letter + yesterday from Havre.” + </p> + <p> + “I received none. Be sure, monsieur, that I will help you,” said Canalis, + “so far as I have the opportunity of doing so.” + </p> + <p> + Dumay withdrew, his heart torn with anxiety, believing that the wretched + Butscha had worn the skin of the poet to deceive Modeste; whereas Butscha + himself, keen-witted as a prince seeking revenge, and far cleverer than + any paid spy, was ferretting out the life and actions of Canalis, escaping + notice by his insignificance, like an insect that bores its way into the + sap of a tree. + </p> + <p> + The Breton had scarcely left the poet’s house when La Briere entered his + friend’s study. Naturally, Canalis told him of the visit of the man from + Havre. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Ernest, “Modeste Mignon; that is just what I have come to speak + of.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, bah!” cried Canalis; “have I had a triumph by proxy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and here is the key to it. My friend, I am loved by the sweetest + girl in all the world,—beautiful enough to shine beside the greatest + beauties in Paris, with a heart and mind worthy of Clarissa. She has seen + me; I have pleased her, and she thinks me the great Canalis. But that is + not all. Modeste Mignon is of high birth, and Mongenod has just told me + that her father, the Comte de La Bastie, has something like six millions. + The father is here now, and I have asked him through Mongenod for an + interview at two o’clock. Mongenod is to give him a hint, just a word, + that it concerns the happiness of his daughter. But you will readily + understand that before seeing the father I feel I ought to make a clean + breast of it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Among the plants whose flowers bloom in the sunshine of fame,” said + Canalis, impressively, “there is one, and the most magnificent, which + bears like the orange-tree a golden fruit amid the mingled perfumes of + beauty and of mind; a lovely plant, a true tenderness, a perfect bliss, + and—it eludes me.” Canalis looked at the carpet that Ernest might + not read his eyes. “Could I,” he continued after a pause to regain his + self-possession, “how could I have divined that flower from a pretty sheet + of perfumed paper, that true heart, that young girl, that woman in whom + love wears the livery of flattery, who loves us for ourselves, who offers + us felicity? It needed but an angel or a demon to perceive her; and what + am I but the ambitious head of a Court of Claims! Ah, my friend, fame + makes us the target of a thousand arrows. One of us owes his rich marriage + to an hydraulic piece of poetry, while I, more seductive, more a woman’s + man than he, have missed mine,—for, do you love her, poor girl?” he + said, looking up at La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” ejaculated the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Well then,” said the poet, taking his secretary’s arm and leaning heavily + upon it, “be happy, Ernest. By a mere accident I have been not ungrateful + to you. You are richly rewarded for your devotion, and I will generously + further your happiness.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis was furious; but he could not behave otherwise than with + propriety, and he made the best of his disappointment by mounting it as a + pedestal. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Canalis, I have never really known you till this moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect to? It takes some time to go round the world,” replied the + poet with his pompous irony. + </p> + <p> + “But think,” said La Briere, “of this enormous fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my friend, is it not well invested in you?” cried Canalis, + accompanying the words with a charming gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Melchior,” said La Briere, “I am yours for life and death.” + </p> + <p> + He wrung the poet’s hand and left him abruptly, for he was in haste to + meet Monsieur Mignon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. A FATHER STEPS IN + </h2> + <p> + The Comte de La Bastie was at this moment overwhelmed with the sorrows + which lay in wait for him as their prey. He had learned from his + daughter’s letter of Bettina’s death and of his wife’s infirmity, and + Dumay related to him, when they met, his terrible perplexity as to + Modeste’s love affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me to myself,” he said to his faithful friend. + </p> + <p> + As the lieutenant closed the door, the unhappy father threw himself on a + sofa, with his head in his hands, weeping those slow, scanty tears which + suffuse the eyes of a man of sixty, but do not fall,—tears soon + dried, yet quick to start again,—the last dews of the human autumn. + </p> + <p> + “To have children, to have a wife, to adore them—what is it but to + have many hearts and bare them to a dagger?” he cried, springing up with + the bound of a tiger and walking up and down the room. “To be a father is + to give one’s self over, bound hand and foot to sorrow. If I meet that + D’Estourny I will kill him. To have daughters!—one gives her life to + a scoundrel, the other, my Modeste, falls a victim to whom? a coward, who + deceives her with the gilded paper of a poet. If it were Canalis himself + it might not be so bad; but that Scapin of a lover!—I will strangle + him with my two hands,” he cried, making an involuntary gesture of furious + determination. “And what then? suppose my Modeste were to die of grief?” + </p> + <p> + He gazed mechanically out of the windows of the hotel des Princes, and + then returned to the sofa, where he sat motionless. The fatigues of six + voyages to India, the anxieties of speculation, the dangers he had + encountered and evaded, and his many griefs, had silvered Charles Mignon’s + head. His handsome soldierly face, so pure in outline and now bronzed by + the suns of China and the southern seas, had acquired an air of dignity + which his present grief rendered almost sublime. + </p> + <p> + “Mongenod told me he felt confidence in the young man who is coming to ask + me for my daughter,” he thought at last; and at this moment Ernest de La + Briere was announced by one of the servants whom Monsieur de La Bastie had + attached to himself during the last four years. + </p> + <p> + “You have come, monsieur, from my friend Mongenod?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ernest, growing timid when he saw before him a face as + sombre as Othello’s. “My name is Ernest de La Briere, related to the + family of the late cabinet minister, and his private secretary during his + term of office. On his dismissal, his Excellency put me in the Court of + Claims, to which I am legal counsel, and where I may possibly succeed as + chief—” + </p> + <p> + “And how does all this concern Mademoiselle de La Bastie?” asked the + count. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I love her; and I have the unhoped-for happiness of being loved + by her. Hear me, monsieur,” cried Ernest, checking a violent movement on + the part of the angry father. “I have the strangest confession to make to + you, a shameful one for a man of honor; but the worst punishment of my + conduct, natural enough in itself, is not the telling of it to you; no, I + fear the daughter even more than the father.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest then related simply, and with the nobleness that comes of + sincerity, all the facts of his little drama, not omitting the twenty or + more letters, which he had brought with him, nor the interview which he + had just had with Canalis. When Monsieur Mignon had finished reading the + letters, the unfortunate lover, pale and suppliant, actually trembled + under the fiery glance of the Provencal. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the latter, “in this whole matter there is but one error, + but that is cardinal. My daughter will not have six millions; at the + utmost, she will have a marriage portion of two hundred thousand francs, + and very doubtful expectations.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur!” cried Ernest, rising and grasping Monsieur Mignon’s hand; + “you take a load from my breast. Nothing can now hinder my happiness. I + have friends, influence; I shall certainly be chief of the Court of + Claims. Had Mademoiselle Mignon no more than ten thousand francs, if I had + even to make a settlement on her, she should still be my wife; and to make + her happy as you, monsieur, have made your wife happy, to be to you a real + son (for I have no father), are the deepest desires of my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Charles Mignon stepped back three paces and fixed upon La Briere a look + which entered the eyes of the young man as a dagger enters its sheath; he + stood silent a moment, recognizing the absolute candor, the pure + truthfulness of that open nature in the light of the young man’s inspired + eyes. “Is fate at last weary of pursuing me?” he asked himself. “Am I to + find in this young man the pearl of sons-in-law?” He walked up and down + the room in strong agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said at last, “you are bound to submit wholly to the + judgment which you have come here to seek, otherwise you are now playing a + farce.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me,” said the father, nailing La Briere where he stood with a + glance. “I shall be neither harsh, nor hard, nor unjust. You shall have + the advantages and the disadvantages of the false position in which you + have placed yourself. My daughter believes that she loves one of the great + poets of the day, whose fame is really that which has attracted her. Well, + I, her father, intend to give her the opportunity to choose between the + celebrity which has been a beacon to her, and the poor reality which the + irony of fate has flung at her feet. Ought she not to choose between + Canalis and yourself? I rely upon your honor not to repeat what I have + told you as to the state of my affairs. You may each come, I mean you and + your friend the Baron de Canalis, to Havre for the last two weeks of + October. My house will be open to both of you, and my daughter must have + an opportunity to study you. You must yourself bring your rival, and not + disabuse him as to the foolish tales he will hear about the wealth of the + Comte de La Bastie. I go to Havre to-morrow, and I shall expect you three + days later. Adieu, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Poor La Briere went back to Canalis with a dragging step. The poet, + meantime, left to himself, had given way to a current of thought out of + which had come that secondary impulse which Monsieur de Talleyrand valued + so much. The first impulse is the voice of nature, the second that of + society. + </p> + <p> + “A girl worth six millions,” he thought to himself, “and my eyes were not + able to see that gold shining in the darkness! With such a fortune I could + be peer of France, count, marquis, ambassador. I’ve replied to + middle-class women and silly women, and crafty creatures who wanted + autographs; I’ve tired myself to death with masked-ball intrigues,—at + the very moment when God was sending me a soul of price, an angel with + golden wings! Bah! I’ll make a poem on it, and perhaps the chance will + come again. Heavens! the luck of that little La Briere,—strutting + about in my lustre—plagiarism! I’m the cast and he’s to be the + statue, is he? It is the old fable of Bertrand and Raton. Six millions, a + beauty, a Mignon de La Bastie, an aristocratic divinity loving poetry and + the poet! And I, who showed my muscle as man of the world, who did those + Alcide exercises to silence by moral force the champion of physical force, + that old soldier with a heart, that friend of this very young girl, whom + he’ll now go and tell that I have a heart of iron!—I, to play + Napoleon when I ought to have been seraphic! Good heavens! True, I shall + have my friend. Friendship is a beautiful thing. I have kept him, but at + what a price! Six millions, that’s the cost of it; we can’t have many + friends if we pay all that for them.” + </p> + <p> + La Briere entered the room as Canalis reached this point in his + meditations. He was gloom personified. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s the matter?” said Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “The father exacts that his daughter shall choose between the two Canalis—” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy!” cried the poet, laughing, “he’s a clever fellow, that father.” + </p> + <p> + “I have pledged my honor that I will take you to Havre,” said La Briere, + piteously. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Canalis, “if it is a question of your honor you may + count on me. I’ll ask for leave of absence for a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Modeste is so beautiful!” exclaimed La Briere, in a despairing tone. “You + will crush me out of sight. I wondered all along that fate should be so + kind to me; I knew it was all a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! we will see about that,” said Canalis with inhuman gaiety. + </p> + <p> + That evening, after dinner, Charles Mignon and Dumay, were flying, by + virtue of three francs to each postilion, from Paris to Havre. The father + had eased the watch-dog’s mind as to Modeste and her love affairs; the + guard was relieved, and Butscha’s innocence established. + </p> + <p> + “It is all for the best, my old Dumay,” said the count, who had been + making certain inquiries of Mongenod respecting Canalis and La Briere. “We + are going to have two actors for one part!” he cried gaily. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, he requested his old comrade to be absolutely silent about + the comedy which was now to be played at the Chalet,—a comedy it + might be, but also a gentle punishment, or, if you prefer it, a lesson + given by the father to the daughter. + </p> + <p> + The two friends kept up a long conversation all the way from Paris to + Havre, which put the colonel in possession of the facts relating to his + family during the past four years, and informing Dumay that Desplein, the + great surgeon, was coming to Havre at the end of the present month to + examine the cataract on Madame Mignon’s eyes, and decide if it were + possible to restore her sight. + </p> + <p> + A few moments before the breakfast-hour at the Chalet, the clacking of a + postilion’s whip apprised the family that the two soldiers were arriving; + only a father’s joy at returning after long absence could be heralded with + such clatter, and it brought all the women to the garden gate. There is + many a father and many a child—perhaps more fathers than children—who + will understand the delights of such an arrival, and that happy fact shows + that literature has no need to depict it. Perhaps all gentle and tender + emotions are beyond the range of literature. + </p> + <p> + Not a word that could trouble the peace of the family was uttered on this + joyful day. Truce was tacitly established between father, mother, and + child as to the so-called mysterious love which had paled Modeste’s + cheeks,—for this was the first day she had left her bed since + Dumay’s departure for Paris. The colonel, with the charming delicacy of a + true soldier, never left his wife’s side nor released her hand; but he + watched Modeste with delight, and was never weary of noting her refined, + elegant, and poetic beauty. Is it not by such seeming trifles that we + recognize a man of feeling? Modeste, who feared to interrupt the subdued + joy of the husband and wife kept at a little distance, coming from time to + time to kiss her father’s forehead, and when she kissed it overmuch she + seemed to mean that she was kissing it for two,—for Bettina and + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my darling, I understand you,” said the colonel, pressing her hand as + she assailed him with kisses. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” whispered the young girl, glancing at her mother. + </p> + <p> + Dumay’s rather sly and pregnant silence made Modeste somewhat uneasy as to + the upshot of his journey to Paris. She looked at him furtively every now + and then, without being able to get beneath his epidermis. The colonel, + like a prudent father, wanted to study the character of his only daughter, + and above all consult his wife, before entering on a conference upon which + the happiness of the whole family depended. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, my precious child,” he said as they parted for the night, “get + up early, and we will go and take a walk on the seashore. We have to talk + about your poems, Mademoiselle de La Bastie.” + </p> + <p> + His last words, accompanied by a smile, which reappeared like an echo on + Dumay’s lips, were all that gave Modeste any clew to what was coming; but + it was enough to calm her uneasiness and keep her awake far into the night + with her head full of suppositions; this, however, did not prevent her + from being dressed and ready in the morning long before the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “You know all, my kind papa?” she said as soon as they were on the road to + the beach. + </p> + <p> + “I know all, and a good deal more than you do,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + After that remark father and daughter went some little way in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Explain to me, my child, how it happens that a girl whom her mother + idolizes could have taken such an important step as to write to a stranger + without consulting her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa! because mamma would never have allowed it.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think, my daughter, that that was proper? Though you have been + educating your mind in this fatal way, how is it that your good sense and + your intellect did not, in default of modesty, step in and show you that + by acting as you did you were throwing yourself at a man’s head. To think + that my daughter, my only remaining child, should lack pride and delicacy! + Oh, Modeste, you made your father pass two hours in hell when he heard of + it; for, after all, your conduct has been the same as Bettina’s without + the excuse of a heart’s seduction; you were a coquette in cold blood, and + that sort of coquetry is head-love, the worst vice of French women.” + </p> + <p> + “I, without pride!” said Modeste, weeping; “but <i>he</i> has not yet seen + me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> knows your name.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not tell it to him till my eyes had vindicated the correspondence, + lasting three months, during which our souls had spoken to each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear misguided angel, you have mixed up a species of reason with a + folly that has compromised your own happiness and that of your family.” + </p> + <p> + “But, after all, papa, happiness is the absolution of my temerity,” she + said, pouting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your conduct is temerity, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “A temerity that my mother practised before me,” she retorted quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Rebellious child! your mother after seeing me at a ball told her father, + who adored her, that she thought she could be happy with me. Be honest, + Modeste; is there any likeness between a love hastily conceived, I admit, + but under the eyes of a father, and your mad action of writing to a + stranger?” + </p> + <p> + “A stranger, papa? say rather one of our greatest poets, whose character + and whose life are exposed to the strongest light of day, to detraction, + to calumny,—a man robed in fame, and to whom, my dear father, I was + a mere literary and dramatic personage, one of Shakespeare’s women, until + the moment when I wished to know if the man himself were as beautiful as + his soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! my poor child, you are turning marriage into poetry. But if, + from time immemorial, girls have been cloistered in the bosom of their + families, if God, if social laws put them under the stern yoke of parental + sanction, it is, mark my words, to spare them the misfortunes that this + very poetry which charms and dazzles you, and which you are therefore + unable to judge of, would entail upon them. Poetry is indeed one of the + pleasures of life, but it is not life itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa, that is a suit still pending before the Court of Facts; the + struggle is forever going on between our hearts and the claims of family.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas for the child that finds her happiness in resisting them,” said the + colonel, gravely. “In 1813 I saw one of my comrades, the Marquis + d’Aiglemont, marry his cousin against the wishes of her father, and the + pair have since paid dear for the obstinacy which the young girl took for + love. The family must be sovereign in marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “My poet has told me all that,” she answered. “He played Orgon for some + time; and he was brave enough to disparage the personal lives of poets.” + </p> + <p> + “I have read your letters,” said Charles Mignon, with the flicker of a + malicious smile on his lips that made Modeste very uneasy, “and I ought to + remark that your last epistle was scarcely permissible in any woman, even + a Julie d’Etanges. Good God! what harm novels do!” + </p> + <p> + “We should live them, my dear father, whether people wrote them or not; I + think it is better to read them. There are not so many adventures in these + days as there were under Louis XIV. and Louis XV., and so they publish + fewer novels. Besides, if you have read those letters, you must know that + I have chosen the most angelic soul, the most sternly upright man for your + son-in-law, and you must have seen that we love one another at least as + much as you and mamma love each other. Well, I admit that it was not all + exactly conventional; I did, if you <i>will</i> have me say so, wrong—” + </p> + <p> + “I have read your letters,” said her father, interrupting her, “and I know + exactly how far your lover justified you in your own eyes for a proceeding + which might be permissible in some woman who understood life, and who was + led away by strong passion, but which in a young girl of twenty was a + monstrous piece of wrong-doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, wrong-doing for commonplace people, for the narrow-minded + Gobenheims, who measure life with a square rule. Please let us keep to the + artistic and poetic life, papa. We young girls have only two ways to act; + we must let a man know we love him by mincing and simpering, or we must go + to him frankly. Isn’t the last way grand and noble? We French girls are + delivered over by our families like so much merchandise, at sixty days’ + sight, sometimes thirty, like Mademoiselle Vilquin; but in England, and + Switzerland, and Germany, they follow very much the plan I have adopted. + Now what have you got to say to that? Am I not half German?” + </p> + <p> + “Child!” cried the colonel, looking at her; “the supremacy of France comes + from her sound common-sense, from the logic to which her noble language + constrains her mind. France is the reason of the whole world. England and + Germany are romantic in their marriage customs,—though even there + noble families follow our customs. You certainly do not mean to deny that + your parents, who know life, who are responsible for your soul and for + your happiness, have no right to guard you from the stumbling-blocks that + are in your way? Good heavens!” he continued, speaking half to himself, + “is it their fault, or is it ours? Ought we to hold our children under an + iron yoke? Must we be punished for the tenderness that leads us to make + them happy, and teaches our hearts how to do so?” + </p> + <p> + Modeste watched her father out of the corner of her eye as she listened to + this species of invocation, uttered in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “Was it wrong,” she said, “in a girl whose heart was free, to choose for + her husband not only a charming companion, but a man of noble genius, born + to an honorable position, a gentleman; the equal of myself, a + gentlewoman?” + </p> + <p> + “You love him?” asked her father. + </p> + <p> + “Father!” she said, laying her head upon his breast, “would you see me + die?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” said the old soldier. “I see your love is inextinguishable.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, inextinguishable.” + </p> + <p> + “Can nothing change it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No circumstances, no treachery, no betrayal? You mean that you will love + him in spite of everything, because of his personal attractions? Even + though he proved a D’Estourny, would you love him still?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my father! you do not know your daughter. Could I love a coward, a + man without honor, without faith?” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he had deceived you?” + </p> + <p> + “He? that honest, candid soul, half melancholy? You are joking, father, or + else you have never met him.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see now that your love is not inextinguishable, as you chose to + call it. I have already made you admit that circumstances could alter your + poem; don’t you now see that fathers are good for something?” + </p> + <p> + “You want to give me a lecture, papa; it is positively l’Ami des Enfants + over again.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor deceived girl,” said her father, sternly; “it is no lecture of mine, + I count for nothing in it; indeed, I am only trying to soften the blow.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, don’t play tricks with my life,” exclaimed Modeste, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my daughter, summon all your courage. It is you who have been + playing tricks with your life, and life is now tricking you.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste looked at her father in stupid amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose that young man whom you love, whom you saw four days ago at + church in Havre, was a deceiver?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” she cried; “that noble head, that pale face full of poetry—” + </p> + <p> + “—was a lie,” said the colonel interrupting her. “He was no more + Monsieur de Canalis than I am that sailor over there putting out to sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what you are killing in me?” she said in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Comfort yourself, my child; though accident has put the punishment of + your fault into the fault itself, the harm done is not irreparable. The + young man whom you have seen, and with whom you exchanged hearts by + correspondence, is a loyal and honorable fellow; he came to me and + confided everything. He loves you, and I have no objection to him as a + son-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “If he is not Canalis, who is he then?” said Modeste in a changed voice. + </p> + <p> + “The secretary; his name is Ernest de La Briere. He is not a nobleman; but + he is one of those plain men with fixed principles and sound morality who + satisfy parents. However, that is not the point; you have seen him and + nothing can change your heart; you have chosen him, comprehend his soul, + it is as beautiful as he himself.” + </p> + <p> + The count was interrupted by a heavy sigh from Modeste. The poor girl sat + with her eyes fixed on the sea, pale and rigid as death, as if a pistol + shot had struck her in those fatal words, <i>a plain man, with fixed + principles and sound morality</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Deceived!” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Like your poor sister, but less fatally.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go home, father,” she said, rising from the hillock on which they + were sitting. “Papa, hear me, I swear before God to obey your wishes, + whatever they may be, in the <i>affair</i> of my marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t love him any longer?” asked her father. + </p> + <p> + “I loved an honest man, with no falsehood on his face, upright as + yourself, incapable of disguising himself like an actor, with the paint of + another man’s glory on his cheeks.” + </p> + <p> + “You said nothing could change you”; remarked the colonel, ironically. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do not trifle with me!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking + at her father in distressful anxiety; “don’t you see that you are wringing + my heart and destroying my beliefs with your jokes.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid! I have told you the exact truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, father,” she said after a pause, and with a sort of + solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “He has kept your letters,” resumed the colonel; “now suppose the rash + caresses of your soul had fallen into the hands of one of those poets who, + as Dumay says, light their cigars with them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—you are going too far.” + </p> + <p> + “Canalis told him so.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Dumay seen Canalis?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered her father. + </p> + <p> + The two walked along in silence. + </p> + <p> + “So that is why that <i>gentleman</i>,” resumed Modeste, “told me so much + harm of poets and poetry; no wonder the little secretary said—Why,” + she added, interrupting herself, “his virtues, his noble qualities, his + fine sentiments are nothing but an epistolary theft! The man who steals + glory and a name may very likely—” + </p> + <p> + “—break locks, steal purses, and cut people’s throats on the + highway,” cried the colonel. “Ah, you young girls, that’s just like you,—with + your peremptory opinions and your ignorance of life. A man who once + deceives a woman was born under the scaffold on which he ought to die.” + </p> + <p> + This ridicule stopped Modeste’s effervescence for a moment and least, and + again there was silence. + </p> + <p> + “My child,” said the colonel, presently, “men in society, as in nature + everywhere, are made to win the hearts of women, and women must defend + themselves. You have chosen to invert the parts. Was that wise? Everything + is false in a false position. The first wrong-doing was yours. No, a man + is not a monster because he seeks to please a woman; it is our right to + win her by aggression with all its consequences, short of crime and + cowardice. A man may have many virtues even if he does deceive a woman; if + he deceives her, it is because he finds her wanting in some of the + treasures that he sought in her. None but a queen, an actress, or a woman + placed so far above a man that she seems to him a queen, can go to him of + herself without incurring blame—and for a young girl to do it! Why, + she is false to all that God has given her that is sacred and lovely and + noble,—no matter with what grace or what poetry or what precautions + she surrounds her fault.” + </p> + <p> + “To seek the master and find the servant!” she said bitterly, “oh! I can + never recover from it!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Monsieur Ernest de La Briere is, to my thinking, fully the + equal of the Baron de Canalis. He was private secretary of a cabinet + minister, and he is now counsel for the Court of Claims; he has a heart, + and he adores you, but—he <i>does not write verses</i>. No, I admit, + he is not a poet; but for all that he may have a heart full of poetry. At + any rate, my dear girl,” added her father, as Modeste made a gesture of + disgust, “you are to see both of them, the sham and the true Canalis—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa!—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not swear just now to obey me in everything, even in the <i>affair</i> + of your marriage? Well, I allow you to choose which of the two you like + best for a husband. You have begun by a poem, you shall finish with a + bucolic, and try if you can discover the real character of these gentlemen + here, in the country, on a few hunting or fishing excursions.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste bowed her head and walked home with her father, listening to what + he said but replying only in monosyllables. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. DISENCHANTED + </h2> + <p> + The poor girl had fallen humiliated from the alp she had scaled in search + of her eagle’s nest, into the mud of the swamp below, where (to use the + poetic language of an author of our day) “after feeling the soles of her + feet too tender to tread the broken glass of reality, Imagination—which + in that delicate bosom united the whole of womanhood, from the + violet-hidden reveries of a chaste young girl to the passionate desires of + the sex—had led her into enchanted gardens where, oh, bitter sight! + she now saw, springing from the ground, not the sublime flower of her + fancy, but the hairy, twisted limbs of the black mandragora.” Modeste + suddenly found herself brought down from the mystic heights of her love to + a straight, flat road bordered with ditches,—in short the work-day + path of common life. What ardent, aspiring soul would not have been + bruised and broken by such a fall? Whose feet were these at which she had + shed her thoughts? The Modeste who re-entered the Chalet was no more the + Modeste who had left it two hours earlier than an actress in the street is + like an actress on the boards. She fell into a state of numb depression + that was pitiful to see. The sun was darkened, nature veiled itself, even + the flowers no longer spoke to her. Like all young girls with a tendency + to extremes, she drank too deeply of the cup of disillusion. She fought + against reality, and would not bend her neck to the yoke of family and + conventions; it was, she felt, too heavy, too hard, too crushing. She + would not listen to the consolations of her father and mother, and tasted + a sort of savage pleasure in letting her soul suffer to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Butscha was right,” she said one evening. + </p> + <p> + The words indicate the distance she travelled in a short space of time and + in gloomy sadness across the barren plain of reality. Sadness, when caused + by the overgrowth of hope, is a disease,—sometimes a fatal one. It + would be no mean object for physiology to search out in what ways and by + what means Thought produces the same internal disorganization as poison; + and how it is that despair affects the appetite, destroys the pylorus, and + changes all the physical conditions of the strongest life. Such was the + case with Modeste. In three short days she became the image of morbid + melancholy; she did not sing, she could not be made to smile. Charles + Mignon, becoming uneasy at the non-arrival of the two friends, thought of + going to fetch them, when, on the evening of the fifth day, he received + news of their movements through Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + Canalis, excessively delighted at the idea of a rich marriage, was + determined to neglect nothing that might help him to cut out La Briere, + without, however, giving La Briere a chance to reproach him for having + violated the laws of friendship. The poet felt that nothing would lower a + lover so much in the eyes of a young girl as to exhibit him in a + subordinate position; and he therefore proposed to La Briere, in the most + natural manner, to take a little country-house at Ingouville for a month, + and live there together on pretence of requiring sea-air. As soon as La + Briere, who at first saw nothing amiss in the proposal, had consented, + Canalis declared that he should pay all expenses, and he sent his valet to + Havre, telling him to see Monsieur Latournelle and get his assistance in + choosing the house,—well aware that the notary would repeat all + particulars to the Mignons. Ernest and Canalis had, as may well be + supposed, talked over all the aspects of the affair, and the rather prolix + Ernest had given a good many useful hints to his rival. The valet, + understanding his master’s wishes, fulfilled them to the letter; he + trumpeted the arrival of the great poet, for whom the doctors advised + sea-air to restore his health, injured as it was by the double toils of + literature and politics. This important personage wanted a house, which + must have at least such and such a number of rooms, as he would bring with + him a secretary, cook, two servants, and a coachman, not counting himself, + Germain Bonnet, the valet. The carriage, selected and hired for a month by + Canalis, was a pretty one; and Germain set about finding a pair of fine + horses which would also answer as saddle-horses,—for, as he said, + monsieur le baron and his secretary took horseback exercise. Under the + eyes of little Latournelle, who went with him to various houses, Germain + made a good deal of talk about the secretary, rejecting two or three + because there was no suitable room for Monsieur de La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron,” he said to the notary, “makes his secretary quite his + best friend. Ah! I should be well scolded if Monsieur de La Briere was not + as well treated as monsieur le baron himself; and after all, you know, + Monsieur de La Briere is a lawyer in my master’s court.” + </p> + <p> + Germain never appeared in public unless punctiliously dressed in black, + with spotless gloves, well-polished boots, and otherwise as well + apparelled as a lawyer. Imagine the effect he produced in Havre, and the + idea people took of the great poet from this sample of him! The valet of a + man of wit and intellect ends by getting a little wit and intellect + himself which has rubbed off from his master. Germain did not overplay his + part; he was simple and good-humored, as Canalis had instructed him to be. + Poor La Briere was in blissful ignorance of the harm Germain was doing to + his prospects, and the depreciation his consent to the arrangement had + brought upon him; it is, however, true that some inkling of the state of + things rose to Modeste’s ears from these lower regions. + </p> + <p> + Canalis had arranged to bring his secretary in his own carriage, and + Ernest’s unsuspicious nature did not perceive that he was putting himself + in a false position until too late to remedy it. The delay in the arrival + of the pair which had troubled Charles Mignon was caused by the painting + of the Canalis arms on the panels of the carriage, and by certain orders + given to a tailor; for the poet neglected none of the innumerable details + which might, even the smallest of them, influence a young girl. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right,” said Latournelle to Mignon on the sixth day. “The + baron’s valet has hired Madame Amaury’s villa at Sanvic, all furnished, + for seven hundred francs; he has written to his master that he may start, + and that all will be ready on his arrival. So the two gentlemen will be + here Sunday. I have also had a letter from Butscha; here it is; it’s not + long: ‘My dear master,—I cannot get back till Sunday. Between now + and then I have some very important inquiries to make which concern the + happiness of a person in whom you take an interest.’” + </p> + <p> + The announcement of this arrival did not rouse Modeste from her gloom; the + sense of her fall and the bewilderment of her mind were still too great, + and she was not nearly as much of a coquette as her father thought her to + be. There is, in truth, a charming and permissible coquetry, that of the + soul, which may claim to be love’s politeness. Charles Mignon, when + scolding his daughter, failed to distinguish between the mere desire of + pleasing and the love of the mind,—the thirst for love, and the + thirst for admiration. Like every true colonel of the Empire he saw in + this correspondence, rapidly read, only the young girl who had thrown + herself at the head of a poet; but in the letters which we were forced to + lack of space to suppress, a better judge would have admired the dignified + and gracious reserve which Modeste had substituted for the rather + aggressive and light-minded tone of her first letters. The father, + however, was only too cruelly right on one point. Modeste’s last letter, + which we have read, had indeed spoken as though the marriage were a + settled fact, and the remembrance of that letter filled her with shame; + she thought her father very harsh and cruel to force her to receive a man + unworthy of her, yet to whom her soul had flown, as it were, bare. She + questioned Dumay about his interview with the poet, she inveigled him into + relating its every detail, and she did not think Canalis as barbarous as + the lieutenant had declared him. The thought of the beautiful casket which + held the letters of the thousand and one women of this literary Don Juan + made her smile, and she was strongly tempted to say to her father: “I am + not the only one to write to him; the elite of my sex send their leaves + for the laurel wreath of the poet.” + </p> + <p> + During this week Modeste’s character underwent a transformation. The + catastrophe—and it was a great one to her poetic nature—roused + a faculty of discernment and also the malice latent in her girlish heart, + in which her suitors were about to encounter a formidable adversary. It is + a fact that when a young woman’s heart is chilled her head becomes clear; + she observes with great rapidity of judgment, and with a tinge of + pleasantry which Shakespeare’s Beatrice so admirably represents in “Much + Ado about Nothing.” Modeste was seized with a deep disgust for men, now + that the most distinguished among them had betrayed her hopes. When a + woman loves, what she takes for disgust is simply the ability to see + clearly; but in matters of sentiment she is never, especially if she is a + young girl, in a condition to see clearly. If she cannot admire, she + despises. And so, after passing through terrible struggles of the soul, + Modeste necessarily put on the armor on which, as she had once declared, + the word “Disdain” was engraved. After reaching that point she was able, + in the character of uninterested spectator, to take part in what she was + pleased to call the “farce of the suitors,” a performance in which she + herself was about to play the role of heroine. She particularly set before + her mind the satisfaction of humiliating Monsieur de La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste is saved,” said Madame Mignon to her husband; “she wants to + revenge herself on the false Canalis by trying to love the real one.” + </p> + <p> + Such in truth was Modeste’s plan. It was so utterly commonplace that her + mother, to whom she confided her griefs, advised her on the contrary to + treat Monsieur de La Briere with extreme politeness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. A THIRD SUITOR + </h2> + <p> + “Those two young men,” said Madame Latournelle, on the Saturday evening, + “have no idea how many spies they have on their tracks. We are eight in + all, on the watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say two young men, wife; say three!” cried little Latournelle, + looking round him. “Gobenheim is not here, so I can speak out.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste raised her head, and everybody, imitating Modeste, raised theirs + and looked at the notary. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a third lover—and he is something like a lover—offers + himself as a candidate.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” exclaimed the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “I speak of no less a person,” said Latournelle, pompously, “than Monsieur + le Duc d’Herouville, Marquis de Saint-Sever, Duc de Nivron, Comte de + Bayeux, Vicomte d’Essigny, grand equerry and peer of France, knight of the + Spur and the Golden Fleece, grandee of Spain, and son of the last governor + of Normandy. He saw Mademoiselle Modeste at the time when he was staying + with the Vilquins, and he regretted then—as his notary, who came + from Bayeux yesterday, tells me—that she was not rich enough for + him; for his father recovered nothing but the estate of Herouville on his + return to France, and that is saddled with a sister. The young duke is + thirty-three years old. I am definitively charged to lay these proposals + before you, Monsieur le comte,” added the notary, turning respectfully to + the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Modeste if she wants another bird in her cage,” replied the count; + “as far as I am concerned, I am willing that my lord the grand equerry + shall pay her attention.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the care with which Charles Mignon avoided seeing people, + and though he stayed in the Chalet and never went out without Modeste, + Gobenheim had reported Dumay’s wealth; for Dumay had said to him when + giving up his position as cashier: “I am to be bailiff for my colonel, and + all my fortune, except what my wife needs, is to go to the children of our + little Modeste.” Every one in Havre had therefore propounded the same + question that the notary had already put to himself: “If Dumay’s share in + the profits is six hundred thousand francs, and he is going to be Monsieur + Mignon’s bailiff, then Monsieur Mignon must certainly have a colossal + fortune. He arrived at Marseilles on a ship of his own, loaded with + indigo; and they say at the Bourse that the cargo, not counting the ship, + is worth more than he gives out as his whole fortune.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel was unwilling to dismiss the servants he had brought back with + him, whom he had chosen with care during his travels; and he therefore + hired a house for them in the lower part of Ingouville, where he installed + his valet, cook, and coachman, all Negroes, and three mulattos on whose + fidelity he could rely. The coachman was told to search for saddle-horses + for Mademoiselle and for his master, and for carriage-horses for the + caleche in which the colonel and the lieutenant had returned to Havre. + That carriage, bought in Paris, was of the latest fashion, and bore the + arms of La Bastie, surmounted by a count’s coronet. These things, + insignificant in the eyes of a man who for four years had been accustomed + to the unbridled luxury of the Indies and of the English merchants at + Canton, were the subject of much comment among the business men of Havre + and the inhabitants of Ingouville and Graville. Before five days had + elapsed the rumor of them ran from one end of Normandy to the other like a + train of gunpowder touched by fire. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Mignon has come back from China with millions,” some one said in + Rouen; “and it seems he was made a count in mid-ocean.” + </p> + <p> + “But he was the Comte de La Bastie before the Revolution,” answered + another. + </p> + <p> + “So they call him a liberal just because he was plain Charles Mignon for + twenty-five years! What are we coming to?” said a third. + </p> + <p> + Modeste was considered, therefore, notwithstanding the silence of her + parents and friends, as the richest heiress in Normandy, and all eyes + began once more to see her merits. The aunt and sister of the Duc + d’Herouville confirmed in the aristocratic salons of Bayeux Monsieur + Charles Mignon’s right to the title and arms of count, derived from + Cardinal Mignon, for whom the Cardinal’s hat and tassels were added as a + crest. They had seen Mademoiselle de La Bastie when they were staying at + the Vilquins, and their solicitude for the impoverished head of their + house now became active. + </p> + <p> + “If Mademoiselle de La Bastie is really as rich as she is beautiful,” said + the aunt of the young duke, “she is the best match in the province. <i>She</i> + at least is noble.” + </p> + <p> + The last words were aimed at the Vilquins, with whom they had not been + able to come to terms, after incurring the humiliation of staying in that + bourgeois household. + </p> + <p> + Such were the little events which, contrary to the rules of Aristotle and + of Horace, precede the introduction of another person into our story; but + the portrait and the biography of this personage, this late arrival, shall + not be long, taking into consideration his own diminutiveness. The grand + equerry shall not take more space here than he will take in history. + Monsieur le Duc d’Herouville, offspring of the matrimonial autumn of the + last governor of Normandy, was born during the emigration in 1799, at + Vienna. The old marechal, father of the present duke, returned with the + king in 1814, and died in 1819, before he was able to marry his son. He + could only leave him the vast chateau of Herouville, the park, a few + dependencies, and a farm which he had bought back with some difficulty; + all of which returned a rental of about fifteen thousand francs a year. + Louis XVIII. gave the post of grand equerry to the son, who, under Charles + X., received the usual pension of twelve thousand francs which was granted + to the pauper peers of France. But what were these twenty-seven thousand + francs a year and the salary of grand equerry to such a family? In Paris, + of course, the young duke used the king’s coaches, and had a mansion + provided for him in the rue Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre, near the royal + stables; his salary paid for his winters in the city, and his twenty-seven + thousand francs for the summers in Normandy. If this noble personage was + still a bachelor he was less to blame than his aunt, who was not versed in + La Fontaine’s fables. Mademoiselle d’Herouville made enormous pretensions + wholly out of keeping with the spirit of the times; for great names, + without the money to keep them up, can seldom win rich heiresses among the + higher French nobility, who are themselves embarrassed to provide for + their sons under the new law of the equal division of property. To marry + the young Duc d’Herouville, it was necessary to conciliate the great + banking-houses; but the haughty pride of the daughter of the house + alienated these people by cutting speeches. During the first years of the + Restoration, from 1817 to 1825, Mademoiselle d’Herouville, though in quest + of millions, refused, among others, the daughter of Mongenod the banker, + with whom Monsieur de Fontaine afterwards contented himself. + </p> + <p> + At last, having lost several good opportunities to establish her nephew, + entirely through her own fault, she was just considering whether the + property of the Nucingens was not too basely acquired, or whether she + should lend herself to the ambition of Madame de Nucingen, who wished to + make her daughter a duchess. The king, anxious to restore the + d’Herouvilles to their former splendor, had almost brought about this + marriage, and when it failed he openly accused Mademoiselle d’Herouville + of folly. In this way the aunt made the nephew ridiculous, and the nephew, + in his own way, was not less absurd. When great things disappear they + leave crumbs, “frusteaux,” Rabelais would say, behind them; and the French + nobility of this century has left us too many such fragments. Neither the + clergy nor the nobility have anything to complain of in this long history + of manners and customs. Those great and magnificent social necessities + have been well represented; but we ought surely to renounce the noble + title of historian if we are not impartial, if we do not here depict the + present degeneracy of the race of nobles, although we have already done so + elsewhere,—in the character of the Comte de Mortsauf (in “The Lily + of the Valley”), in the “Duchesse de Langeais,” and the very nobleness of + the nobility in the “Marquis d’Espard.” How then could it be that the race + of heroes and valiant men belonging to the proud house of Herouville, who + gave the famous marshal to the nation, cardinals to the church, great + leaders to the Valois, knights to Louis XIV., was reduced to a little + fragile being smaller than Butscha? That is a question which we ask + ourselves in more than one salon in Paris when we hear the greatest names + of France announced, and see the entrance of a thin, pinched, undersized + young man, scarcely possessing the breath of life, or a premature old one, + or some whimsical creature in whom an observer can with great difficulty + trace the signs of a past grandeur. The dissipations of the reign of Louis + XV., the orgies of that fatal and egotistic period, have produced an + effete generation, in which manners alone survive the nobler vanished + qualities,—forms, which are the sole heritage our nobles have + preserved. The abandonment in which Louis XVI. was allowed to perish may + thus be explained, with some slight reservations, as a wretched result of + the reign of Madame de Pompadour. + </p> + <p> + The grand equerry, a fair young man with blue eyes and a pallid face, was + not without a certain dignity of thought; but his thin, undersized figure, + and the follies of his aunt who had taken him to the Vilquins and + elsewhere to pay his court, rendered him extremely diffident. The house of + Herouville had already been threatened with extinction by the deed of a + deformed being (see the “Enfant Maudit” in “Philosophical Studies”). The + grand marshal, that being the family term for the member who was made duke + by Louis XIII., married at the age of eighty. The young duke admired + women, but he placed them too high and respected them too much; in fact, + he adored them, and was only at his ease with those whom he could not + respect. This characteristic caused him to lead a double life. He found + compensation with women of easy virtue for the worship to which he + surrendered himself in the salons, or, if you like, the boudoirs, of the + faubourg Saint-Germain. Such habits and his puny figure, his suffering + face with its blue eyes turning upward in ecstasy, increased the ridicule + already bestowed upon him,—very unjustly bestowed, as it happened, + for he was full of wit and delicacy; but his wit, which never sparkled, + only showed itself when he felt at ease. Fanny Beaupre, an actress who was + supposed to be his nearest friend (at a price), called him “a sound wine + so carefully corked that you break all your corkscrews.” The beautiful + Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, whom the grand equerry could only worship, + annihilated him with a speech which, unfortunately, was repeated from + mouth to mouth, like all such pretty and malicious sayings. + </p> + <p> + “He always seems to me,” she said, “like one of those jewels of fine + workmanship which we exhibit but never wear, and keep in cotton-wool.” + </p> + <p> + Everything about him, even to his absurdly contrasting title of grand + equerry, amused the good-natured king, Charles X., and made him laugh,—although + the Duc d’Herouville justified his appointment in the matter of being a + fine horseman. Men are like books, often understood and appreciated too + late. Modeste had seen the duke during his fruitless visit to the + Vilquins, and many of these reflections passed through her mind as she + watched him come and go. But under the circumstances in which she now + found herself, she saw plainly that the courtship of the Duc d’Herouville + would save her from being at the mercy of either Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “I see no reason,” she said to Latournelle, “why the Duc d’Herouville + should not be received. I have passed, in spite of our indigence,” she + continued, with a mischievous look at her father, “to the condition of + heiress. Haven’t you observed Gobenheim’s glances? They have quite changed + their character within a week. He is in despair at not being able to make + his games of whist count for mute adoration of my charms.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, my darling!” cried Madame Latournelle, “here he comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Althor is in despair,” said Gobenheim to Monsieur Mignon as he + entered. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the count. + </p> + <p> + “Vilquin is going to fail; and the Bourse thinks you are worth several + millions. What ill-luck for his son!” + </p> + <p> + “No one knows,” said Charles Mignon, coldly, “what my liabilities in India + are; and I do not intend to take the public into my confidence as to my + private affairs. Dumay,” he whispered to his friend, “if Vilquin is + embarrassed we could get back the villa by paying him what he gave for + it.” + </p> + <p> + Such was the general state of things, due chiefly to accident, when on + Sunday morning Canalis and La Briere arrived, with a courier in advance, + at the villa of Madame Amaury. It was known that the Duc d’Herouville, his + sister, and his aunt were coming the following Tuesday to occupy, also + under pretext of ill-health, a hired house at Graville. This assemblage of + suitors made the wits of the Bourse remark that, thanks to Mademoiselle + Mignon, rents would rise at Ingouville. “If this goes on, she will have a + hospital here,” said the younger Mademoiselle Vilquin, vexed at not + becoming a duchess. + </p> + <p> + The everlasting comedy of “The Heiress,” about to be played at the Chalet, + might very well be called, in view of Modeste’s frame of mind, “The + Designs of a Young Girl”; for since the overthrow of her illusions she had + fully made up her mind to give her hand to no man whose qualifications did + not fully satisfy her. + </p> + <p> + The two rivals, still intimate friends, intended to pay their first visit + at the Chalet on the evening of the day succeeding their arrival. They had + spent Sunday and part of Monday in unpacking and arranging Madame Amaury’s + house for a month’s stay. The poet, always calculating effects, wished to + make the most of the probable excitement which his arrival would case in + Havre, and which would of course echo up to the Mignons. Therefore, in his + role of a man needing rest, he did not leave the house. La Briere went + twice to walk past the Chalet, though always with a sense of despair, for + he feared to displease Modeste, and the future seemed to him dark with + clouds. The two friends came down to dinner on Monday dressed for the + momentous visit. La Briere wore the same clothes he had so carefully + selected for the famous Sunday; but he now felt like the satellite of a + planet, and resigned himself to the uncertainties of his situation. + Canalis, on the other hand, had carefully attended to his black coat, his + orders, and all those little drawing-room elegancies, which his intimacy + with the Duchesse de Chaulieu and the fashionable world of the faubourg + had brought to perfection. He had gone into the minutiae of dandyism, + while poor La Briere was about to present himself with the negligence of a + man without hope. Germain, as he waited at dinner could not help smiling + to himself at the contrast. After the second course, however, the valet + came in with a diplomatic, that is to say, uneasy air. + </p> + <p> + “Does Monsieur le baron know,” he said to Canalis in a low voice, “that + Monsieur the grand equerry is coming to Graville to get cured of the same + illness which has brought Monsieur de La Briere and Monsieur le baron to + the sea-shore?” + </p> + <p> + “What, the little Duc d’Herouville?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he coming for Mademoiselle de La Bastie?” asked La Briere, coloring. + </p> + <p> + “So it appears, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “We are cheated!” cried Canalis looking at La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” retorted Ernest quickly, “that is the first time you have said, ‘we’ + since we left Paris: it has been ‘I’ all along.” + </p> + <p> + “You understood me,” cried Canalis, with a burst of laughter. “But we are + not in a position to struggle against a ducal coronet, nor the duke’s + title, nor against the waste lands which the Council of State have just + granted, on my report, to the house of Herouville.” + </p> + <p> + “His grace,” said La Briere, with a spice of malice that was nevertheless + serious, “will furnish you with compensation in the person of his sister.” + </p> + <p> + At this instant, the Comte de La Bastie was announced; the two young men + rose at once, and La Briere hastened forward to present Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “I wished to return the visit that you paid me in Paris,” said the count + to the young lawyer, “and I knew that by coming here I should have the + double pleasure of greeting one of our great living poets.” + </p> + <p> + “Great!—Monsieur,” replied the poet, smiling, “no one can be great + in a century prefaced by the reign of a Napoleon. We are a tribe of + would-be great poets; besides, second-rate talent imitates genius + nowadays, and renders real distinction impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the reason why you have thrown yourself into politics?” asked the + count. + </p> + <p> + “It is the same thing in that sphere,” said the poet; “there are no + statesmen in these days, only men who handle events more or less. Look at + it, monsieur; under the system of government that we derive from the + Charter, which makes a tax-list of more importance than a coat-of-arms, + there is absolutely nothing solid except that which you went to seek in + China,—wealth.” + </p> + <p> + Satisfied with himself and with the impression he was making on the + prospective father-in-law, Canalis turned to Germain. + </p> + <p> + “Serve the coffee in the salon,” he said, inviting Monsieur de La Bastie + to leave the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for this visit, monsieur le comte,” said La Briere; “it saves + me from the embarrassment of presenting my friend to you in your own + house. You have a heart, and you have also a quick mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! the ready wit of Provence, that is all,” said Charles Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do you come from Provence?” cried Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “You must pardon my friend,” said La Briere; “he has not studied, as I + have, the history of La Bastie.” + </p> + <p> + At the word <i>friend</i> Canalis threw a searching glance at Ernest. + </p> + <p> + “If your health will allow,” said the count to the poet, “I shall hope to + receive you this evening under my roof; it will be a day to mark, as the + old writer said ‘albo notanda lapillo.’ Though we cannot duly receive so + great a fame in our little house, yet your visit will gratify my daughter, + whose admiration for your poems has even led her to set them to music.” + </p> + <p> + “You have something better than fame in your house,” said Canalis; “you + have beauty, if I am to believe Ernest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a good daughter; but you will find her rather countrified,” said + Charles Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “A country girl sought by the Duc d’Herouville,” remarked Canalis, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” replied Monsieur Mignon, with the perfidious good-humor of a + Southerner, “I leave my daughter free. Dukes, princes, commoners,—they + are all the same to me, even men of genius. I shall make no pledges, and + whoever my Modeste chooses will be my son-in-law, or rather my son,” he + added, looking at La Briere. “It could not be otherwise. Madame de La + Bastie is German. She has never adopted our etiquette, and I let my two + women lead me their own way. I have always preferred to sit in the + carriage rather than on the box. I can make a joke of all this at present, + for we have not yet seen the Duc d’Herouville, and I do not believe in + marriages arranged by proxy, any more than I believe in choosing my + daughter’s husband.” + </p> + <p> + “That declaration is equally encouraging and discouraging to two young men + who are searching for the philosopher’s stone of happiness in marriage,” + said Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you consider it useful, necessary, and even politic to stipulate + for perfect freedom of action for parents, daughters, and suitors?” asked + Charles Mignon. + </p> + <p> + Canalis, at a sign from La Briere, kept silence. The conversation + presently became unimportant, and after a few turns round the garden the + count retired, urging the visit of the two friends. + </p> + <p> + “That’s our dismissal,” cried Canalis; “you saw it as plainly as I did. + Well, in his place, I should not hesitate between the grand equerry and + either of us, charming as we are.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” said La Briere. “I believe that frank soldier came + here to satisfy his desire to see you, and to warn us of his neutrality + while receiving us in his house. Modeste, in love with your fame, and + misled by my person, stands, as it were, between the real and the ideal, + between poetry and prose. I am, unfortunately, the prose.” + </p> + <p> + “Germain,” said Canalis to the valet, who came to take away the coffee, + “order the carriage in half an hour. We will take a drive before we go to + the Chalet.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. A SPLENDID FIRST APPEARANCE + </h2> + <p> + The two young men were equally impatient to see Modeste, but La Briere + dreaded the interview, while Canalis approached it with the confidence of + self-conceit. The eagerness with which La Briere had met the father, and + the flattery of his attention to the family pride of the ex-merchant, + showed Canalis his own maladroitness, and determined him to select a + special role. The great poet resolved to pretend indifference, though all + the while displaying his seductive powers; to appear to disdain the young + lady, and thus pique her self-love. Trained by the handsome Duchesse de + Chaulieu, he was bound to be worthy of his reputation as a man who knew + women, when, in fact, he did not know them at all,—which is often + the case with those who are the happy victims of an exclusive passion. + While poor Ernest, gloomily ensconced in his corner of the caleche, gave + way to the terrors of genuine love, and foresaw instinctively the anger, + contempt, and disdain of an injured and offended young girl, Canalis was + preparing himself, not less silently, like an actor making ready for an + important part in a new play; certainly neither of them presented the + appearance of a happy man. Important interests were involved for Canalis. + The mere suggestion of his desire to marry would bring about a rupture of + the tie which had bound him for the last ten years to the Duchesse de + Chaulieu. Though he had covered the purpose of his journey with the vulgar + pretext of needing rest,—in which, by the bye, women never believe, + even when it is true,—his conscience troubled him somewhat; but the + word “conscience” seemed so Jesuitical to La Briere that he shrugged his + shoulders when the poet mentioned his scruples. + </p> + <p> + “Your conscience, my friend, strikes me as nothing more nor less than a + dread of losing the pleasures of vanity, and some very real advantages and + habits by sacrificing the affections of Madame de Chaulieu; for, if you + were sure of succeeding with Modeste, you would renounce without the + slightest compunction the wilted aftermath of a passion that has been mown + and well-raked for the last eight years. If you simply mean that you are + afraid of displeasing your protectress, should she find out the object of + your stay here, I believe you. To renounce the duchess and yet not succeed + at the Chalet is too heavy a risk. You take the anxiety of this + alternative for remorse.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no comprehension of feelings,” said the poet, irritably, like a + man who hears truth when he expects a compliment. + </p> + <p> + “That is what a bigamist should tell the jury,” retorted La Briere, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + This epigram made another disagreeable impression on Canalis. He began to + think La Briere too witty and too free for a secretary. + </p> + <p> + The arrival of an elegant caleche, driven by a coachman in the Canalis + livery, made the more excitement at the Chalet because the two suitors + were expected, and all the personages of this history were assembled to + receive them, except the duke and Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “Which is the poet?” asked Madame Latournelle of Dumay in the embrasure of + a window, where she stationed herself as soon as she heard the wheels. + </p> + <p> + “The one who walks like a drum-major,” answered the lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the notary’s wife, examining Canalis, who was swinging his body + like a man who knows he is being looked at. The fault lay with the great + lady who flattered him incessantly and spoiled him,—as all women + older than their adorers invariably spoil and flatter them; Canalis in his + moral being was a sort of Narcissus. When a woman of a certain age wishes + to attach a man forever, she begins by deifying his defects, so as to cut + off all possibility of rivalry; for a rival is never, at the first + approach, aware of the super-fine flattery to which the man is accustomed. + Coxcombs are the product of this feminine manoeuvre, when they are not + fops by nature. Canalis, taken young by the handsome duchess, vindicated + his affectations to his own mind by telling himself that they pleased that + “grande dame,” whose taste was law. Such shades of character may be + excessively faint, but it is improper for the historian not to point them + out. For instance, Melchior possessed a talent for reading which was + greatly admired, and much injudicious praise had given him a habit of + exaggeration, which neither poets nor actors are willing to check, and + which made people say of him (always through De Marsay) that he no longer + declaimed, he bellowed his verses; lengthening the sounds that he might + listen to himself. In the slang of the green-room, Canalis “dragged the + time.” He was fond of exchanging glances with his hearers, throwing + himself into postures of self-complacency and practising those tricks of + demeanor which actors call “balancoires,”—the picturesque phrase of + an artistic people. Canalis had his imitators, and was in fact the head of + a school of his kind. This habit of declamatory chanting slightly affected + his conversation, as we have seen in his interview with Dumay. The moment + the mind becomes finical the manners follow suit, and the great poet ended + by studying his demeanor, inventing attitudes, looking furtively at + himself in mirrors, and suiting his discourse to the particular pose which + he happened to have taken up. He was so preoccupied with the effect he + wished to produce, that a practical joke, Blondet, had bet once or twice, + and won the wager, that he could nonplus him at any moment by merely + looking fixedly at his hair, or his boots, or the tails of his coats. + </p> + <p> + These airs and graces, which started in life with a passport of flowery + youth, now seemed all the more stale and old because Melchior himself was + waning. Life in the world of fashion is quite as exhausting to men as it + is to women, and perhaps the twenty years by which the duchess exceeded + her lover’s age, weighed more heavily upon him than upon her; for to the + eyes of the world she was always handsome,—without rouge, without + wrinkles, and without heart. Alas! neither men nor women have friends who + are friendly enough to warn them of the moment when the fragrance of their + modesty grows stale, when the caressing glance is but an echo of the + stage, when the expression of the face changes from sentiment to + sentimentality, and the artifices of the mind show their rusty edges. + Genius alone renews its skin like a snake; and in the matter of charm, as + in everything else, it is only the heart that never grows old. People who + have hearts are simple in all their ways. Now Canalis, as we know, had a + shrivelled heart. He misused the beauty of his glance by giving it, + without adequate reason, the fixity that comes to the eyes in meditation. + In short, applause was to him a business, in which he was perpetually on + the lookout for gain. His style of paying compliments, charming to + superficial people, seemed insulting to others of more delicacy, by its + triteness and the cool assurance of its cut-and-dried flattery. As a + matter of fact, Melchior lied like a courtier. He remarked without + blushing to the Duc de Chaulieu, who made no impression whatever when he + was obliged to address the Chamber as minister of foreign affairs, “Your + excellency was truly sublime!” Many men like Canalis are purged of their + affectations by the administration of non-success in little doses. + </p> + <p> + These defects, slight in the gilded salons of the faubourg Saint-Germain, + where every one contributes his or her quota of absurdity, and where these + particular forms of exaggerated speech and affected diction—magniloquence, + if you please to call it so—are surrounded by excessive luxury and + sumptuous toilettes, which are to some extent their excuse, were certain + to be far more noticed in the provinces, whose own absurdities are of a + totally different type. Canalis, by nature over-strained and artificial, + could not change his form; in fact, he had had time to grow stiff in the + mould into which the duchess had poured him; moreover, he was thoroughly + Parisian, or, if you prefer it, truly French. The Parisian is amazed that + everything everywhere is not as it in Paris; the Frenchman, as it is in + France. Good taste, on the contrary, demands that we adapt ourselves to + the customs of foreigners without losing too much of our own character,—as + did Alcibiades, that model of a gentleman. True grace is elastic; it lends + itself to circumstances; it is in harmony with all social centres; it + wears a robe of simple material in the streets, noticeable only by its + cut, in preference to the feathers and flounces of middle-class vulgarity. + Now Canalis, instigated by a woman who loved herself much more than she + loved him, wished to lay down the law and be, everywhere, such as he + himself might see fit to be. He believed he carried his own public with + him wherever he went,—an error shared by several of the great men of + Paris. + </p> + <p> + While the poet made a studied and effective entrance into the salon of the + Chalet, La Briere slipped in behind him like a person of no account. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! do I see my soldier?” said Canalis, perceiving Dumay, after + addressing a compliment to Madame Mignon, and bowing to the other women. + “Your anxieties are relieved, are they not?” he said, offering his hand + effusively; “I comprehend them to their fullest extent after seeing + mademoiselle. I spoke to you of terrestrial creatures, not of angels.” + </p> + <p> + All present seemed by their attitudes to ask the meaning of this speech. + </p> + <p> + “I shall always consider it a triumph,” resumed the poet, observing that + everybody wished for an explanation, “to have stirred to mention one of + those men of iron whom Napoleon had the eye to find and make the + supporting piles on which he tried to build an empire, too colossal to be + lasting: for such structures time alone is the cement. But this triumph—why + should I be proud of it?—I count for nothing. It was the triumph of + ideas over facts. Your battles, my dear Monsieur Dumay, your heroic + charges, Monsieur le comte, nay, war itself was the form in which + Napoleon’s idea clothed itself. Of all of these things, what remains? The + sod that covers them knows nothing; harvests come and go without revealing + their resting-place; were it not for the historian, the writer, futurity + would have no knowledge of those heroic days. Therefore your fifteen years + of war are now ideas and nothing more; that which preserves the Empire + forever is the poem that the poets make of them. A nation that can win + such battles must know how to sing them.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis paused, to gather by a glance that ran round the circle the + tribute of amazement which he expected of provincials. + </p> + <p> + “You must be aware, monsieur, of the regret I feel at not seeing you,” + said Madame Mignon, “since you compensate me with the pleasure of hearing + you.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste, determined to think Canalis sublime, sat motionless with + amazement; the embroidery slipped from her fingers, which held it only by + the needleful of thread. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste, this is Monsieur Ernest de La Briere. Monsieur Ernest, my + daughter,” said the count, thinking the secretary too much in the + background. + </p> + <p> + The young girl bowed coldly, giving Ernest a glance that was meant to + prove to every one present that she saw him for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, monsieur,” she said without blushing; “the great admiration I + feel for the greatest of our poets is, in the eyes of my friends, a + sufficient excuse for seeing only him.” + </p> + <p> + The pure, fresh voice, with accents like that of Mademoiselle Mars, + charmed the poor secretary, already dazzled by Modeste’s beauty, and in + his sudden surprise he answered by a phrase that would have been sublime, + had it been true. + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then you do pardon me,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “He is more than a friend,” cried Canalis taking Ernest by the shoulder + and leaning upon it like Alexander on Hephaestion, “we love each other as + though we were brothers—” + </p> + <p> + Madame Latournelle cut short the poet’s speech by pointing to Ernest and + saying aloud to her husband, “Surely that is the gentleman we saw at + church.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said Charles Mignon, quickly, observing that Ernest reddened. + </p> + <p> + Modeste coldly took up her embroidery. + </p> + <p> + “Madame may be right; I have been twice in Havre lately,” replied La + Briere, sitting down by Dumay. + </p> + <p> + Canalis, charmed with Modeste’s beauty, mistook the admiration she + expressed, and flattered himself he had succeeded in producing his desired + effects. + </p> + <p> + “I should think a man without heart, if he had no devoted friend near + him,” said Modeste, to pick up the conversation interrupted by Madame + Latournelle’s awkwardness. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, Ernest’s devotion makes me almost think myself worth + something,” said Canalis; “for my dear Pylades is full of talent; he was + the right hand of the greatest minister we have had since the peace. + Though he holds a fine position, he is good enough to be my tutor in the + science of politics; he teaches me to conduct affairs and feeds me with + his experience, when all the while he might aspire to a much better + situation. Oh! he is worth far more than I.” At a gesture from Modeste he + continued gracefully: “Yes, the poetry that I express he carries in his + heart; and if I speak thus openly before him it is because he has the + modesty of a nun.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, oh, enough!” cried La Briere, who hardly knew which way to look. + “My dear Canalis, you remind me of a mother who is seeking to marry off + her daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it, monsieur,” said Charles Mignon, addressing Canalis, “that you + can even think of becoming a political character?” + </p> + <p> + “It is abdication,” said Modeste, “for a poet; politics are the resource + of matter-of-fact men.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle, the rostrum is to-day the greatest theatre of the + world; it has succeeded the tournaments of chivalry, it is now the + meeting-place for all intellects, just as the army has been the + rallying-point of courage.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis stuck spurs into his charger and talked for ten minutes on + political life: “Poetry was but a preface to the statesman.” “To-day the + orator has become a sublime reasoner, the shepherd of ideas.” “A poet may + point the way to nations or individuals, but can he ever cease to be + himself?” He quoted Chateaubriand and declared that he would one day be + greater on the political side than on the literary. “The forum of France + was to be the pharos of humanity.” “Oral battles supplanted fields of + battle: there were sessions of the Chamber finer than any Austerlitz, and + orators were seen to be as lofty as generals; they spent their lives, + their courage, their strength, as freely as those who went to war.” + “Speech was surely one of the most prodigal outlets of the vital fluid + that man had ever known,” etc. + </p> + <p> + This improvisation of modern commonplaces, clothed in sonorous phrases and + newly invented words, and intended to prove that the Comte de Canalis was + becoming one of the glories of the French government, made a deep + impression upon the notary and Gobenheim, and upon Madame Latournelle and + Madame Mignon. Modeste looked as though she were at the theatre, in an + attitude of enthusiasm for an actor,—very much like that of Ernest + toward herself; for though the secretary knew all these high-sounding + phrases by heart, he listened through the eyes, as it were, of the young + girl, and grew more and more madly in love with her. To this true lover, + Modeste was eclipsing all the Modestes he had created as he read her + letters and answered them. + </p> + <p> + This visit, the length of which was predetermined by Canalis, careful not + to allow his admirers a chance to get surfeited, ended by an invitation to + dinner on the following Monday. + </p> + <p> + “We shall not be at the Chalet,” said the Comte de La Bastie. “Dumay will + have sole possession of it. I return to the villa, having bought it back + under a deed of redemption within six months, which I have to-day signed + with Monsieur Vilquin.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said Dumay, “that Vilquin will not be able to return to you the + sum you have just lent him, and that the villa will remain yours.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an abode in keeping with your fortune,” said Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “You mean the fortune that I am supposed to have,” replied Charles Mignon, + hastily. + </p> + <p> + “It would be too sad,” said Canalis, turning to Modeste with a charming + little bow, “if this Madonna were not framed in a manner worthy of her + divine perfections.” + </p> + <p> + That was the only thing Canalis said to Modeste. He affected not to look + at her, and behaved like a man to whom all idea of marriage was + interdicted. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear Madame Mignon,” cried the notary’s wife, as soon as the + gravel was heard to grit under the feet of the Parisians, “what an + intellect!” + </p> + <p> + “Is he rich?—that is the question,” said Gobenheim. + </p> + <p> + Modeste was at the window, not losing a single movement of the great poet, + and paying no attention to his companion. When Monsieur Mignon returned to + the salon, and Modeste, having received a last bow from the two friends as + the carriage turned, went back to her seat, a weighty discussion took + place, such as provincials invariably hold over Parisians after a first + interview. Gobenheim repeated his phrase, “Is he rich?” as a chorus to the + songs of praise sung by Madame Latournelle, Modeste, and her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Rich!” exclaimed Modeste; “what can that signify! Do you not see that + Monsieur de Canalis is one of those men who are destined for the highest + places in the State. He has more than fortune; he possesses that which + gives fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “He will be minister or ambassador,” said Monsieur Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “That won’t hinder tax-payers from having to pay the costs of his + funeral,” remarked the notary. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” asked Charles Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “He strikes me as a man who will waste all the fortunes with whose gifts + Mademoiselle Modeste so liberally endows him,” answered Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Modeste can’t avoid being liberal to a poet who called her a Madonna,” + said Dumay, sneering, and faithful to the repulsion with which Canalis had + originally inspired him. + </p> + <p> + Gobenheim arranged the whist-table with all the more persistency because, + since the return of Monsieur Mignon, Latournelle and Dumay had allowed + themselves to play for ten sous points. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my little darling,” said the father to the daughter in the + embrasure of a window. “Admit that papa thinks of everything. If you send + your orders this evening to your former dressmaker in Paris, and all your + other furnishing people, you shall show yourself eight days hence in all + the splendor of an heiress. Meantime we will install ourselves in the + villa. You already have a pretty horse, now order a habit; you owe that + amount of civility to the grand equerry.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more because there will be a number of us to ride,” said Modeste, + who was recovering the colors of health. + </p> + <p> + “The secretary did not say much,” remarked Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “A little fool,” said Madame Latournelle; “the poet has an attentive word + for everybody. He thanked Monsieur Latournelle for his help in choosing + the house; and said he must have taken counsel with a woman of good taste. + But the other looked as gloomy as a Spaniard, and kept his eyes fixed on + Modeste as though he would like to swallow her whole. If he had even + looked at me I should have been afraid of him.” + </p> + <p> + “He had a pleasant voice,” said Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he came to Havre to inquire about the Mignons in the interests + of his friend the poet,” said Modeste, looking furtively at her father. + “It was certainly he whom we saw in church.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dumay and Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, accepted this as the + natural explanation of Ernest’s journey. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. OF WHICH THE AUTHOR THINKS A GOOD DEAL + </h2> + <p> + “Do you know, Ernest,” cried Canalis, when they had driven a short + distance from the house, “I don’t see any marriageable woman in society in + Paris who compares with that adorable girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that ends it!” replied Ernest. “She loves you, or she will love you + if you desire it. Your fame won half the battle. Well, you may now have it + all your own way. You shall go there alone in future. Modeste despises me; + she is right to do so; and I don’t see any reason why I should condemn + myself to see, to love, desire, and adore that which I can never possess.” + </p> + <p> + After a few consoling remarks, dashed with his own satisfaction at having + made a new version of Caesar’s phrase, Canalis divulged a desire to break + with the Duchesse de Chaulieu. La Briere, totally unable to keep up the + conversation, made the beauty of the night an excuse to be set down, and + then rushed like one possessed to the seashore, where he stayed till past + ten, in a half-demented state, walking hurriedly up and down, talking + aloud in broken sentences, sometimes standing still or sitting down, + without noticing the uneasiness of two custom-house officers who were on + the watch. After loving Modeste’s wit and intellect and her aggressive + frankness, he now joined adoration of her beauty—that is to say, + love without reason, love inexplicable—to all the other reasons + which had drawn him ten days earlier, to the church in Havre. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the Chalet, where the Pyrenees hounds barked at him till he + was forced to relinquish the pleasure of gazing at Modeste’s windows. In + love, such things are of no more account to the lover than the work which + is covered by the last layer of color is to an artist; yet they make up + the whole of love, just as the hidden toil is the whole of art. Out of + them arise the great painter and the true lover whom the woman and the + public end, sometimes too late, by adoring. + </p> + <p> + “Well then!” he cried aloud, “I will stay, I will suffer, I will love her + for myself only, in solitude. Modeste shall be my sun, my life; I will + breathe with her breath, rejoice in her joys and bear her griefs, be she + even the wife of that egoist, Canalis.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I call loving, monsieur,” said a voice which came from a + shrub by the side of the road. “Ha, ha, so all the world is in love with + Mademoiselle de La Bastie?” + </p> + <p> + And Butscha suddenly appeared and looked at La Briere. La Briere checked + his anger when, by the light of the moon, he saw the dwarf, and he made a + few steps without replying. + </p> + <p> + “Soldiers who serve in the same company ought to be good comrades,” + remarked Butscha. “You don’t love Canalis; neither do I.” + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend,” replied Ernest. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, you are the little secretary?” + </p> + <p> + “You are to know, monsieur, that I am no man’s secretary. I have the honor + to be of counsel to a supreme court of this kingdom.” + </p> + <p> + “I have the honor to salute Monsieur de La Briere,” said Butscha. “I + myself have the honor to be head clerk to Latournelle, chief councillor of + Havre, and my position is a better one than yours. Yes, I have had the + happiness of seeing Mademoiselle Modeste de La Bastie nearly every evening + for the last four years, and I expect to live near her, as a king’s + servant lives in the Tuileries. If they offered me the throne of Russia I + should answer, ‘I love the sun too well.’ Isn’t that telling you, + monsieur, that I care more for her than for myself? I am looking after her + interests with the most honorable intentions. Do you believe that the + proud Duchesse de Chaulieu would cast a favorable eye on the happiness of + Madame de Canalis if her waiting-woman, who is in love with Monsieur + Germain, not liking that charming valet’s absence in Havre, were to say to + her mistress while brushing her hair—” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you know about all this?” said La Briere, interrupting Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, I am clerk to a notary,” answered Butscha. “But + haven’t you seen my hump? It is full of resources, monsieur. I have made + myself cousin to Mademoiselle Philoxene Jacmin, born at Honfleur, where my + mother was born, a Jacmin,—there are eight branches of the Jacmins + at Honfleur. So my cousin Philoxene, enticed by the bait of a highly + improbable fortune, has told me a good many things.” + </p> + <p> + “The duchess is vindictive?” said La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Vindictive as a queen, Philoxene says; she has never yet forgiven the + duke for being nothing more than her husband,” replied Butscha. “She hates + as she loves. I know all about her character, her tastes, her toilette, + her religion, and her manners; for Philoxene stripped her for me, soul and + corset. I went to the opera expressly to see her, and I didn’t grudge the + ten francs it cost me—I don’t mean the play. If my imaginary cousin + had not told me the duchess had seen her fifty summers, I should have + thought I was over-generous in giving her thirty; she has never known a + winter, that duchess!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said La Briere, “she is a cameo—preserved because it is + stone. Canalis would be in a bad way if the duchess were to find out what + he is doing here; and I hope, monsieur, that you will go no further in + this business of spying, which is unworthy of an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Butscha, proudly; “for me Modeste is my country. I do not + spy; I foresee, I take precautions. The duchess will come here if it is + desirable, or she will stay tranquilly where she is, according to what I + judge best.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <h3> + “I.” + </h3> + <p> + “And how, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, that’s it!” said the little hunchback, plucking a blade of grass. + “See here! this herb believes that men build palaces for it to grow in; it + wedges its way between the closest blocks of marble, and brings them down, + just as the masses forced into the edifice of feudality have brought it to + the ground. The power of the feeble life that can creep everywhere is + greater than that of the mighty behind their cannons. I am one of three + who have sworn that Modeste shall be happy, and we would sell our honor + for her. Adieu, monsieur. If you truly love Mademoiselle de La Bastie, + forget this conversation and shake hands with me, for I think you’ve got a + heart. I longed to see the Chalet, and I got here just as SHE was putting + out her light. I saw the dogs rush at you, and I overheard your words, and + that is why I take the liberty of saying we serve in the same regiment—that + of loyal devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said La Briere, wringing the hunchback’s hand, “would you have + the friendliness to tell me if Mademoiselle Modeste ever loved any one + WITH LOVE before she wrote to Canalis?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Butscha in an altered voice; “that thought is an insult. + And even now, who knows if she really loves? does she know herself? She is + enamored of genius, of the soul and intellect of that seller of verses, + that literary quack; but she will study him, we shall all study him; and I + know how to make the man’s real character peep out from under that + turtle-shell of fine manners,—we’ll soon see the petty little head + of his ambition and his vanity!” cried Butscha, rubbing his hands. “So, + unless mademoiselle is desperately taken with him—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! she was seized with admiration when she saw him, as if he were + something marvellous,” exclaimed La Briere, letting the secret of his + jealousy escape him. + </p> + <p> + “If he is a loyal, honest fellow, and loves her; if he is worthy of her; + if he renounces his duchess,” said Butscha,—“then I’ll manage the + duchess! Here, my dear sir, take this road, and you will get home in ten + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + But as they parted, Butscha turned back and hailed poor Ernest, who, as a + true lover, would gladly have stayed there all night talking of Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Butscha, “I have not yet had the honor of seeing our + great poet. I am very curious to observe that magnificent phenomenon in + the exercise of his functions. Do me the favor to bring him to the Chalet + to-morrow evening, and stay as long as possible; for it takes more than an + hour for a man to show himself for what he is. I shall be the first to see + if he loves, if he can love, or if he ever will love Mademoiselle + Modeste.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very young to—” + </p> + <p> + “—to be a professor,” said Butscha, cutting short La Briere. “Ha, + monsieur, deformed folks are born a hundred years old. And besides, a sick + man who has long been sick, knows more than his doctor; he knows the + disease, and that is more than can be said for the best of doctors. Well, + so it is with a man who cherishes a woman in his heart when the woman is + forced to disdain him for his ugliness or his deformity; he ends by + knowing so much of love that he becomes seductive, just as the sick man + recovers his health; stupidity alone is incurable. I have had neither + father nor mother since I was six years old; I am now twenty-five. Public + charity has been my mother, the procureur du roi my father. Oh! don’t be + troubled,” he added, seeing Ernest’s gesture; “I am much more lively than + my situation. Well, for the last six years, ever since a woman’s eye first + told me I had no right to love, I do love, and I study women. I began with + the ugly ones, for it is best to take the bull by the horns. So I took my + master’s wife, who has certainly been an angel to me, for my first study. + Perhaps I did wrong; but I couldn’t help it. I passed her through my + alembic and what did I find? this thought, crouching at the bottom of her + heart, ‘I am not so ugly as they think me’; and if a man were to work upon + that thought he could bring her to the edge of the abyss, pious as she + is.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you studied Modeste?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I told you,” replied Butscha, “that my life belongs to her, + just as France belongs to the king. Do you now understand what you called + my spying in Paris? No one but me really knows what nobility, what pride, + what devotion, what mysterious grace, what unwearying kindness, what true + religion, gaiety, wit, delicacy, knowledge, and courtesy there are in the + soul and in the heart of that adorable creature!” + </p> + <p> + Butscha drew out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, and La Briere + pressed his hand for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “I live in the sunbeam of her existence; it comes from her, it is absorbed + in me; that is how we are united,—as nature is to God, by the Light + and by the Word. Adieu, monsieur; never in my life have I talked in this + way; but seeing you beneath her windows, I felt in my heart that you loved + her as I love her.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for an answer Butscha quitted the poor lover, into whose + heart his words had put an inexpressible balm. Ernest resolved to make a + friend of him, not suspecting that the chief object of the clerk’s + loquacity was to gain communication with some one connected with Canalis. + Ernest was rocked to sleep that night by the ebb and flow of thoughts and + resolutions and plans for his future conduct, whereas Canalis slept the + sleep of the conqueror, which is the sweetest of slumbers after that of + the just. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast next morning, the friends agreed to spend the evening of the + following day at the Chalet and initiate themselves into the delights of + provincial whist. To get rid of the day they ordered their horses, + purchased by Germain at a large price, and started on a voyage of + discovery round the country, which was quite as unknown to them as China; + for the most foreign thing to Frenchmen in France is France itself. + </p> + <p> + By dint of reflecting on his position as an unfortunate and despised + lover, Ernest went through something of the same process as Modeste’s + first letter had forced upon him. Though sorrow is said to develop virtue, + it only develops it in virtuous persons; that cleaning-out of the + conscience takes place only in persons who are by nature clean. La Briere + vowed to endure his sufferings in Spartan silence, to act worthily, and + give way to no baseness; while Canalis, fascinated by the enormous “dot,” + was telling himself to take every means of captivating the heiress. + Selfishness and devotion, the key-notes of the two characters, therefore + took, by the action of a moral law which is often very odd in its effects, + certain measures that were contrary to their respective natures. The + selfish man put on self-abnegation; the man who thought chiefly of others + took refuge on the Aventinus of pride. That phenomenon is often seen in + political life. Men frequently turn their characters wrong side out, and + it sometimes happens that the public is unable to tell which is the right + side. + </p> + <p> + After dinner the two friends heard of the arrival of the grand equerry, + who was presented at the Chalet the same evening by Latournelle. + Mademoiselle d’Herouville had contrived to wound that worthy man by + sending a footmen to tell him to come to her, instead of sending her + nephew in person; thus depriving the notary of a distinguished visit he + would certainly have talked about for the rest of his natural life. So + Latournelle curtly informed the grand equerry, when he proposed to drive + him to the Chalet, that he was engaged to take Madame Latournelle. + Guessing from the little man’s sulky manner that there was some blunder to + repair, the duke said graciously:— + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall have the pleasure, if you will allow me, of taking Madame + Latournelle also.” + </p> + <p> + Disregarding Mademoiselle d’Herouville’s haughty shrug, the duke left the + room with the notary. Madame Latournelle, half-crazed with joy at seeing + the gorgeous carriage at her door, with footmen in royal livery letting + down the steps, was too agitated on hearing that the grand equerry had + called for her, to find her gloves, her parasol, her absurdity, or her + usual air of pompous dignity. Once in the carriage, however, and while + expressing confused thanks and civilities to the little duke, she suddenly + exclaimed, from a thought in her kind heart,— + </p> + <p> + “But Butscha, where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us take Butscha,” said the duke, smiling. + </p> + <p> + When the people on the quays, attracted in groups by the splendor of the + royal equipage, saw the funny spectacle, the three little men with the + spare gigantic woman, they looked at one another and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “If you melt all three together, they might make one man fit to mate with + that big cod-fish,” said a sailor from Bordeaux. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any other thing you would like to take with you, madame?” asked + the duke, jestingly, while the footman awaited his orders. + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur,” she replied, turning scarlet and looking at her husband + as much as to say, “What did I do wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le duc honors me by considering that I am a thing,” said + Butscha; “a poor clerk is usually thought to be a nonentity.” + </p> + <p> + Though this was said with a laugh, the duke colored and did not answer. + Great people are to blame for joking with their social inferiors. Jesting + is a game, and games presuppose equality; it is to obviate any + inconvenient results of this temporary equality that players have the + right, after the game is over, not to recognize each other. + </p> + <p> + The visit of the grand equerry had the ostensible excuse of an important + piece of business; namely, the retrieval of an immense tract of waste land + left by the sea between the mouths of the two rivers, which tract had just + been adjudged by the Council of State to the house of Herouville. The + matter was nothing less than putting flood-gates with double bridges, + draining three or four hundred acres, cutting canals, and laying out + roadways. When the duke had explained the condition of the land, Charles + Mignon remarked that time must be allowed for the soil, which was still + moving, to settle and grow solid in a natural way. + </p> + <p> + “Time, which has providentially enriched your house, Monsieur le duc, can + alone complete the work,” he said, in conclusion. “It would be prudent to + let fifty years elapse before you reclaim the land.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not let that be your final word, Monsieur le comte,” said the duke. + “Come to Herouville and see things for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Charles Mignon replied that every capitalist should take time to examine + into such matters with a cool head, thus giving the duke a pretext for his + visits to the Chalet. The sight of Modeste made a lively impression on the + young man, and he asked the favor of receiving her at Herouville with her + father, saying that his sister and his aunt had heard much of her, and + wished to make her acquaintance. On this the count proposed to present his + daughter to those ladies himself, and invited the whole party to dinner on + the day of his return to the villa. The duke accepted the invitation. The + blue ribbon, the title, and above all, the ecstatic glances of the noble + gentleman had an effect upon Modeste; but she appeared to great advantage + in carriage, dignity, and conversation. The duke withdrew reluctantly, + carrying with him an invitation to visit the Chalet every evening,—an + invitation based on the impossibility of a courtier of Charles X. existing + for a single evening without his rubber. + </p> + <p> + The following evening, therefore, Modeste was to see all three of her + lovers. No matter what young girls may say, and though the logic of the + heart may lead them to sacrifice everything to preference, it is extremely + flattering to their self-love to see a number of rival adorers around + them,—distinguished or celebrated men, or men of ancient lineage,—all + endeavoring to shine and to please. Suffer as Modeste may in general + estimation, it must be told she subsequently admitted that the sentiments + expressed in her letters paled before the pleasure of seeing three such + different minds at war with one another,—three men who, taken + separately, would each have done honor to the most exacting family. Yet + this luxury of self-love was checked by a misanthropical spitefulness, + resulting from the terrible wound she had received,—although by this + time she was beginning to think of that wound as a disappointment only. So + when her father said to her, laughing, “Well, Modeste, do you want to be a + duchess?” she answered, with a mocking curtsey,— + </p> + <p> + “Sorrows have made me philosophical.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to be only a baroness?” asked Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “Or a viscountess?” said her father. + </p> + <p> + “How could that be?” she asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “If you accept Monsieur de La Briere, he has enough merit and influence to + obtain permission from the king to bear my titles and arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if it comes to disguising himself, <i>he</i> will not make any + difficulty,” said Modeste, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + Butscha did not understand this epigram, whose meaning could only be + guessed by Monsieur and Madame Mignon and Dumay. + </p> + <p> + “When it is a question of marriage, all men disguise themselves,” remarked + Latournelle, “and women set them the example. I’ve heard it said ever + since I came into the world that ‘Monsieur this or Mademoiselle that has + made a good marriage,’—meaning that the other side had made a bad + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Marriage,” said Butscha, “is like a lawsuit; there’s always one side + discontented. If one dupes the other, certainly half the husbands in the + world are playing a comedy at the expense of the other half.” + </p> + <p> + “From which you conclude, Sieur Butscha?” inquired Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “To pay the utmost attention to the manoeuvres of the enemy,” answered the + clerk. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, my darling?” said Charles Mignon, alluding to their + conversation on the seashore. + </p> + <p> + “Men play as many parts to get married as mothers make their daughters + play to get rid of them,” said Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “Then you approve of stratagems?” said Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “On both sides,” cried Gobenheim, “and that brings it even.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation was carried on by fits and starts, as they say, in the + intervals of cutting and dealing the cards; and it soon turned chiefly on + the merits of the Duc d’Herouville, who was thought very good-looking by + little Latournelle, little Dumay, and little Butscha. Without the + foregoing discussion on the lawfulness of matrimonial tricks, the reader + might possibly find the forthcoming account of the evening so impatiently + awaited by Butscha, somewhat too long. + </p> + <p> + Desplein, the famous surgeon, arrived the next morning, and stayed only + long enough to send to Havre for fresh horses and have them put-to, which + took about an hour. After examining Madame Mignon’s eyes, he decided that + she could recover her sight, and fixed a suitable time, a month later, to + perform the operation. This important consultation took place before the + assembled members of the Chalet, who stood trembling and expectant to hear + the verdict of the prince of science. That illustrious member of the + Academy of Sciences put about a dozen brief questions to the blind woman + as he examined her eyes in the strong light from a window. Modeste was + amazed at the value which a man so celebrated attached to time, when she + saw the travelling-carriage piled with books which the great surgeon + proposed to read during the journey; for he had left Paris the evening + before, and had spent the night in sleeping and travelling. The rapidity + and clearness of Desplein’s judgment on each answer made by Madame Mignon, + his succinct tone, his decisive manner, gave Modeste her first real idea + of a man of genius. She perceived the enormous difference between a + second-rate man, like Canalis, and Desplein, who was even more than a + superior man. A man of genius finds in the consciousness of his talent and + in the solidity of his fame an arena of his own, where his legitimate + pride can expand and exercise itself without interfering with others. + Moreover, his perpetual struggle with men and things leave them no time + for the coxcombry of fashionable genius, which makes haste to gather in + the harvests of a fugitive season, and whose vanity and self-love are as + petty and exacting as a custom-house which levies tithes on all that comes + in its way. + </p> + <p> + Modeste was the more enchanted by this great practical genius, because he + was evidently charmed with the exquisite beauty of Modeste,—he, + through whose hands so many women had passed, and who had long since + examined the sex, as it were, with magnifier and scalpel. + </p> + <p> + “It would be a sad pity,” he said, with an air of gallantry which he + occasionally put on, and which contrasted with his assumed brusqueness, + “if a mother were deprived of the sight of so charming a daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste insisted on serving the simple breakfast which was all the great + surgeon would accept. She accompanied her father and Dumay to the carriage + stationed at the garden-gate, and said to Desplein at parting, her eyes + shining with hope,— + </p> + <p> + “And will my dear mamma really see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my little sprite, I’ll promise you that,” he answered, smiling; “and + I am incapable of deceiving you, for I, too, have a daughter.” + </p> + <p> + The horses started and carried him off as he uttered the last words with + unexpected grace and feeling. Nothing is more charming than the peculiar + unexpectedness of persons of talent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE POET DOES HIS EXERCISES + </h2> + <p> + This visit of the great surgeon was the event of the day, and it left a + luminous trace in Modeste’s soul. The young enthusiast ardently admired + the man whose life belonged to others, and in whom the habit of studying + physical suffering had destroyed the manifestations of egoism. That + evening, when Gobenheim, the Latournelles, and Butscha, Canalis, Ernest, + and the Duc d’Herouville were gathered in the salon, they all + congratulated the Mignon family on the hopes which Desplein encouraged. + The conversation, in which the Modeste of her letters was once more in the + ascendant, turned naturally on the man whose genius, unfortunately for his + fame, was appreciable only by the faculty and men of science. Gobenheim + contributed a phrase which is the sacred chrism of genius as interpreted + in these days by public economists and bankers,— + </p> + <p> + “He makes a mint of money.” + </p> + <p> + “They say he is very grasping,” added Canalis. + </p> + <p> + The praises which Modeste showered on Desplein had annoyed the poet. + Vanity acts like a woman,—they both think they are defrauded when + love or praise is bestowed on others. Voltaire was jealous of the wit of a + roue whom Paris admired for two days; and even a duchess takes offence at + a look bestowed upon her maid. The avarice excited by these two sentiments + is such that a fraction of them given to the poor is thought robbery. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think, monsieur,” said Modeste, smiling, “that we should judge + genius by ordinary standards?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we ought first of all to define the man of genius,” replied + Canalis. “One of the conditions of genius is invention,—invention of + a form, a system, a force. Napoleon was an inventor, apart from his other + conditions of genius. He invented his method of making war. Walter Scott + is an inventor, Linnaeus is an inventor, Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire and Cuvier + are inventors. Such men are men of genius of the first rank. They renew, + increase, or modify both science and art. But Desplein is merely a man + whose vast talent consists in properly applying laws already known; in + observing, by means of a natural gift, the limits laid down for each + temperament, and the time appointed by Nature for an operation. He has not + founded, like Hippocrates, the science itself. He has invented no system, + as did Galen, Broussais, and Rasori. He is merely an executive genius, + like Moscheles on the piano, Paganini on the violin, or Farinelli on his + own larynx,—men who have developed enormous faculties, but who have + not created music. You must permit me to discriminate between Beethoven + and la Catalani: to one belongs the immortal crown of genius and of + martyrdom, to the other innumerable five-franc pieces; one we can pay in + coin, but the world remains throughout all time a debtor to the other. + Each day increases our debt to Moliere, but Baron’s comedies have been + overpaid.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you make the prerogative of ideas too exclusive,” said Ernest de + La Briere, in a quiet and melodious voice, which formed a sudden contrast + to the peremptory tones of the poet, whose flexible organ had abandoned + its caressing notes for the strident and magisterial voice of the rostrum. + “Genius must be estimated according to its utility; and Parmentier, who + brought potatoes into general use, Jacquart, the inventor of silk looms; + Papin, who first discovered the elastic quality of steam, are men of + genius, to whom statues will some day be erected. They have changed, or + they will change in a certain sense, the face of the State. It is in that + sense that Desplein will always be considered a man of genius by thinkers; + they see him attended by a generation of sufferers whose pains are stifled + by his hand.” + </p> + <p> + That Ernest should give utterance to this opinion was enough to make + Modeste oppose it. + </p> + <p> + “If that be so, monsieur,” she said, “then the man who could discover a + way to mow wheat without injuring the straw, by a machine that could do + the work of ten men, would be a man of genius.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my daughter,” said Madame Mignon; “and the poor would bless him for + cheaper bread,—he that is blessed by the poor is blessed of God.” + </p> + <p> + “That is putting utility above art,” said Modeste, shaking her head. + </p> + <p> + “Without utility what would become of art?” said Charles Mignon. “What + would it rest on? what would it live on? Where would you lodge, and how + would you pay the poet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear papa, such opinions are fearfully flat and antediluvian! I am + not surprised that Gobenheim and Monsieur de La Briere, who are interested + in the solution of social problems should think so; but you, whose life + has been the most useless poetry of the century,—useless because the + blood you shed all over Europe, and the horrible sufferings exacted by + your colossus, did not prevent France from losing ten departments acquired + under the Revolution,—how can <i>you</i> give in to such excessively + pig-tail notions, as the idealists say? It is plain you’ve just come from + China.” + </p> + <p> + The impertinence of Modeste’s speech was heightened by a little air of + contemptuous disdain which she purposely put on, and which fairly + astounded Madame Mignon, Madame Latournelle, and Dumay. As for Madame + Latournelle, she opened her eyes so wide she no longer saw anything. + Butscha, whose alert attention was comparable to that of a spy, looked at + Monsieur Mignon, expecting to see him flush with sudden and violent + indignation. + </p> + <p> + “A little more, young lady, and you will be wanting in respect for your + father,” said the colonel, smiling, and noticing Butscha’s look. “See what + it is to spoil one’s children!” + </p> + <p> + “I am your only child,” she said saucily. + </p> + <p> + “Child, indeed,” remarked the notary, significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Modeste, turning upon him, “my father is delighted to + have me for his governess; he gave me life and I give him knowledge; he + will soon owe me something.” + </p> + <p> + “There seems occasion for it,” said Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + “But mademoiselle is right,” said Canalis, rising and standing before the + fireplace in one of the finest attitudes of his collection. “God, in his + providence, has given food and clothing to man, but he has not directly + given him art. He says to man: ‘To live, thou must bow thyself to earth; + to think, thou shalt lift thyself to Me.’ We have as much need of the life + of the soul as of the life of the body,—hence, there are two + utilities. It is true we cannot be shod by books or clothed by poems. An + epic song is not, if you take the utilitarian view, as useful as the broth + of a charity kitchen. The noblest ideas will not sail a vessel in place of + canvas. It is quite true that the cotton-gin gives us calicoes for thirty + sous a yard less than we ever paid before; but that machine and all other + industrial perfections will not breathe the breath of life into a people, + will not tell futurity of a civilization that once existed. Art, on the + contrary, Egyptian, Mexican, Grecian, Roman art, with their masterpieces—now + called useless!—reveal the existence of races back in the vague + immense of time, beyond where the great intermediary nations, denuded of + men of genius, have disappeared, leaving not a line nor a trace behind + them! The works of genius are the ‘summum’ of civilization, and presuppose + utility. Surely a pair of boots are not as agreeable to your eyes as a + fine play at the theatre; and you don’t prefer a windmill to the church of + Saint-Ouen, do you? Well then, nations are imbued with the same feelings + as the individual man, and the man’s cherished desire is to survive + himself morally just as he propagates himself physically. The survival of + a people is the work of its men of genius. At this very moment France is + proving, energetically, the truth of that theory. She is, undoubtedly, + excelled by England in commerce, industry, and navigation, and yet she is, + I believe, at the head of the world,—by reason of her artists, her + men of talent, and the good taste of her products. There is no artist and + no superior intellect that does not come to Paris for a diploma. There is + no school of painting at this moment but that of France; and we shall + reign far longer and perhaps more securely by our books than by our + swords. In La Briere’s system, on the other hand, all that is glorious and + lovely must be suppressed,—woman’s beauty, music, painting, poetry. + Society will not be overthrown, that is true, but, I ask you, who would + willingly accept such a life? All useful things are ugly and forbidding. A + kitchen is indispensable, but you take care not to sit there; you live in + the salon, which you adorn, like this, with superfluous things. Of what <i>use</i>, + let me ask you, are these charming wall-paintings, this carved wood-work? + There is nothing beautiful but that which seems to us useless. We called + the sixteenth century the Renascence with admirable truth of language. + That century was the dawn of a new era. Men will continue to speak of it + when all remembrance of anterior centuries had passed away,—their + only merit being that they once existed, like the million beings who count + as the rubbish of a generation.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! yes, that may be, but my rubbish is dear to me,” said the Duc + d’Herouville, laughing, during the silent pause which followed the poet’s + pompous oration. + </p> + <p> + “Let me ask,” said Butscha, attacking Canalis, “does art, the sphere in + which, according to you, genius is required to evolve itself, exist at + all? Is it not a splendid lie, a delusion, of the social man? Do I want a + landscape scene of Normandy in my bedroom when I can look out and see a + better one done by God himself? Our dreams make poems more glorious than + Iliads. For an insignificant sum of money I can find at Valogne, at + Carentan, in Provence, at Arles, many a Venus as beautiful as those of + Titian. The police gazette publishes tales, differing somewhat from those + of Walter Scott, but ending tragically with blood, not ink. Happiness and + virtue exist above and beyond both art and genius.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, Butscha!” cried Madame Latournelle. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” asked Canalis of La Briere, failing to gather from the + eyes and attitude of Mademoiselle Mignon the usual signs of artless + admiration. + </p> + <p> + The contemptuous indifference which Modeste had exhibited toward La + Briere, and above all, her disrespectful speeches to her father, so + depressed the young man that he made no answer to Canalis; his eyes, fixed + sorrowfully on Modeste, were full of deep meditation. The Duc d’Herouville + took up Butscha’s argument and reproduced it with much intelligence, + saying finally that the ecstasies of Saint-Theresa were far superior to + the creations of Lord Byron. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsieur le duc,” exclaimed Modeste, “hers was a purely personal + poetry, whereas the genius of Lord Byron and Moliere benefit the world.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you square that opinion with those of Monsieur le baron?” cried + Charles Mignon, quickly. “Now you are insisting that genius must be + useful, and benefit the world as though it were cotton,—but perhaps + you think logic as antediluvian as your poor old father.” + </p> + <p> + Butscha, La Briere, and Madame Latournelle exchanged glances that were + more than half derisive, and drove Modeste to a pitch of irritation that + kept her silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, do not mind them,” said Canalis, smiling upon her, “we are + neither beaten, nor caught in a contradiction. Every work of art, let it + be in literature, music, painting, sculpture, or architecture, implies a + positive social utility, equal to that of all other commercial products. + Art is pre-eminently commerce; presupposes it, in short. An author pockets + ten thousand francs for his book; the making of books means the + manufactory of paper, a foundry, a printing-office, a bookseller,—in + other words, the employment of thousands of men. The execution of a + symphony of Beethoven or an opera by Rossini requires human arms and + machinery and manufactures. The cost of a monument is an almost brutal + case in point. In short, I may say that the works of genius have an + extremely costly basis and are, necessarily, useful to the workingman.” + </p> + <p> + Astride of that theme, Canalis spoke for some minutes with a fine luxury + of metaphor, and much inward complacency as to his phrases; but it + happened with him, as with many another great speaker, that he found + himself at last at the point from which the conversation started, and in + full agreement with La Briere without perceiving it. + </p> + <p> + “I see with much pleasure, my dear baron,” said the little duke, slyly, + “that you will make an admirable constitutional minister.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Canalis, with the gesture of a great man, “what is the use of + all these discussions? What do they prove?—the eternal verity of one + axiom: All things are true, all things are false. Moral truths as well as + human beings change their aspect according to their surroundings, to the + point of being actually unrecognizable.” + </p> + <p> + “Society exists through settled opinions,” said the Duc d’Herouville. + </p> + <p> + “What laxity!” whispered Madame Latournelle to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “He is a poet,” said Gobenheim, who overheard her. + </p> + <p> + Canalis, who was ten leagues above the heads of his audience, and who may + have been right in his last philosophical remark, took the sort of + coldness which now overspread the surrounding faces of a symptom of + provincial ignorance; but seeing that Modeste understood him, he was + content, being wholly unaware that monologue is particularly disagreeable + to country-folk, whose principal desire it is to exhibit the manner of + life and the wit and wisdom of the provinces to Parisians. + </p> + <p> + “It is long since you have seen the Duchesse de Chaulieu?” asked the duke, + addressing Canalis, as if to change the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I left her about six days ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she well?” persisted the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly well.” + </p> + <p> + “Have the kindness to remember me to her when you write.” + </p> + <p> + “They say she is charming,” remarked Modeste, addressing the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron can speak more confidently than I,” replied the grand + equerry. + </p> + <p> + “More than charming,” said Canalis, making the best of the duke’s perfidy; + “but I am partial, mademoiselle; she has been a friend to me for the last + ten years; I owe all that is good in me to her; she has saved me from the + dangers of the world. Moreover, Monsieur le Duc de Chaulieu launched me in + my present career. Without the influence of that family the king and the + princesses would have forgotten a poor poet like me; therefore my + affection for the duchess must always be full of gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + His voice quivered. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to love the woman who has led you to write those sublime poems, + and who inspires you with such noble feelings,” said Modeste, quite + affected. “Who can think of a poet without a muse!” + </p> + <p> + “He would be without a heart,” replied Canalis. “He would write barren + verses like Voltaire, who never loved any one but Voltaire.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you did me the honor to say, in Paris,” interrupted Dumay, + “that you never felt the sentiments you expressed.” + </p> + <p> + “The shoe fits, my soldier,” replied the poet, smiling; “but let me tell + you that it is quite possible to have a great deal of feeling both in the + intellectual life and in real life. My good friend here, La Briere, is + madly in love,” continued Canalis, with a fine show of generosity, looking + at Modeste. “I, who certainly love as much as he,—that is, I think + so unless I delude myself,—well, I can give to my love a literary + form in harmony with its character. But I dare not say, mademoiselle,” he + added, turning to Modeste with too studied a grace, “that to-morrow I may + not be without inspiration.” + </p> + <p> + Thus the poet triumphed over all obstacles. In honor of his love he rode + a-tilt at the hindrances that were thrown in his way, and Modeste remained + wonder-struck at the Parisian wit that scintillated in his declamatory + discourse, of which she had hitherto known little or nothing. + </p> + <p> + “What an acrobat!” whispered Butscha to Latournelle, after listening to a + magnificent tirade on the Catholic religion and the happiness of having a + pious wife,—served up in response to a remark by Madame Mignon. + </p> + <p> + Modeste’s eyes were blindfolded as it were; Canalis’s elocution and the + close attention which she was predetermined to pay to him prevented her + from seeing that Butscha was carefully noting the declamation, the want of + simplicity, the emphasis that took the place of feeling, and the curious + incoherencies in the poet’s speech which led the dwarf to make his rather + cruel comment. At certain points of Canalis’s discourse, when Monsieur + Mignon, Dumay, Butscha, and Latournelle wondered at the man’s utter want + of logic, Modeste admired his suppleness, and said to herself, as she + dragged him after her through the labyrinth of fancy, “He loves me!” + Butscha, in common with the other spectators of what we must call a stage + scene, was struck with the radiant defect of all egoists, which Canalis, + like many men accustomed to perorate, allowed to be too plainly seen. + Whether he understood beforehand what the person he was speaking to meant + to say, whether he was not listening, or whether he had the faculty of + listening when he was thinking of something else, it is certain that + Melchior’s face wore an absent-minded look in conversation, which + disconcerted the ideas of others and wounded their vanity. Not to listen + is not merely a want of politeness, it is a mark of disrespect. Canalis + pushed this habit too far; for he often forgot to answer a speech which + required an answer, and passed, without the ordinary transitions of + courtesy, to the subject, whatever it was, that preoccupied him. Though + such impertinence is accepted without protest from a man of marked + distinction, it stirs a leaven of hatred and vengeance in many hearts; in + those of equals it even goes so far as to destroy a friendship. If by + chance Melchior was forced to listen, he fell into another fault; he + merely lent his attention, and never gave it. Though this may not be so + mortifying, it shows a kind of semi-concession which is almost as + unsatisfactory to the hearer and leaves him dissatisfied. Nothing brings + more profit in the commerce of society than the small change of attention. + He that heareth let him hear, is not only a gospel precept, it is an + excellent speculation; follow it, and all will be forgiven you, even vice. + Canalis took a great deal of trouble in his anxiety to please Modeste; but + though he was compliant enough with her, he fell back into his natural + self with the others. + </p> + <p> + Modeste, pitiless for the ten martyrs she was making, begged Canalis to + read some of his poems; she wanted, she said, a specimen of his gift for + reading, of which she had heard so much. Canalis took the volume which she + gave him, and cooed (for that is the proper word) a poem which is + generally considered his finest,—an imitation of Moore’s “Loves of + the Angels,” entitled “Vitalis,” which Monsieur and Madame Dumay, Madame + Latournelle, and Gobenheim welcomed with a few yawns. + </p> + <p> + “If you are a good whist-player, monsieur,” said Gobenheim, flourishing + five cards held like a fan, “I must say I have never met a man as + accomplished as you.” + </p> + <p> + The remark raised a laugh, for it was the translation of everybody’s + thought. + </p> + <p> + “I play it sufficiently well to live in the provinces for the rest of my + days,” replied Canalis. “That, I think, is enough, and more than enough + literature and conversation for whist-players,” he added, throwing the + volume impatiently on a table. + </p> + <p> + This little incident serves to show what dangers environ a drawing-room + hero when he steps, like Canalis, out of his sphere; he is like the + favorite actor of a second-rate audience, whose talent is lost when he + leaves his own boards and steps upon those of an upper-class theatre. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. MODESTE PLAYS HER PART + </h2> + <p> + The game opened with the baron and the duke, Gobenheim and Latournelle as + partners. Modeste took a seat near the poet, to Ernest’s deep + disappointment; he watched the face of the wayward girl, and marked the + progress of the fascination which Canalis exerted over her. La Briere had + not the gift of seduction which Melchior possessed. Nature frequently + denies it to true hearts, who are, as a rule, timid. This gift demands + fearlessness, an alacrity of ways and means that might be called the + trapeze of the mind; a little mimicry goes with it; in fact there is + always, morally speaking, something of the comedian in a poet. There is a + vast difference between expressing sentiments we do not feel, though we + may imagine all their variations, and feigning to feel them when bidding + for success on the theatre of private life. And yet, though the necessary + hypocrisy of a man of the world may have gangrened a poet, he ends by + carrying the faculties of his talent into the expression of any required + sentiment, just as a great man doomed to solitude ends by infusing his + heart into his mind. + </p> + <p> + “He is after the millions,” thought La Briere, sadly; “and he can play + passion so well that Modeste will believe him.” + </p> + <p> + Instead of endeavoring to appear more amiable and wittier than his rival, + Ernest imitated the Duc d’Herouville, and was gloomy, anxious, and + watchful; but whereas the courier studied the freaks of the young heiress, + Ernest simply fell a prey to the pains of dark and concentrated jealousy. + He had not yet been able to obtain a glance from his idol. After a while + he left the room with Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “It is all over!” he said; “she is caught by him; I am more disagreeable + to her, and moreover, she is right. Canalis is charming; there’s intellect + in his silence, passion in his eyes, poetry in his rhodomontades.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he an honest man?” asked Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” replied La Briere. “He is loyal and chivalrous, and capable of + getting rid, under Modeste’s influence, of those affectations which Madame + de Chaulieu has taught him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fine fellow,” said the hunchback; “but is he capable of loving,—will + he love her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” answered La Briere. “Has she said anything about me?” he + asked after a moment’s silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Butscha, and he repeated Modeste’s speech about disguises. + </p> + <p> + Poor Ernest flung himself upon a bench and held his head in his hands. He + could not keep back his tears, and he did not wish Butscha to see them; + but the dwarf was the very man to guess his emotion. + </p> + <p> + “What troubles you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She is right!” cried Ernest, springing up; “I am a wretch.” + </p> + <p> + And he related the deception into which Canalis had led him when Modeste’s + first letter was received, carefully pointing out to Butscha that he had + wished to undeceive the young girl before she herself took off the mask, + and apostrophizing, in rather juvenile fashion, his luckless destiny. + Butscha sympathetically understood the love in the flavor and vigor of his + simple language, and in his deep and genuine anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “But why don’t you show yourself to Mademoiselle Modeste for what you + are?” he said; “why do you let your rival do his exercises?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never felt your throat tighten when you wished to speak to her?” + cried La Briere; “is there never a strange feeling in the roots of your + hair and on the surface of your skin when she looks at you,—even if + she is thinking of something else?” + </p> + <p> + “But you had sufficient judgment to show displeasure when she as good as + told her excellent father that he was a dolt.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I love her too well not to have felt a knife in my heart when I + heard her contradicting her own perfections.” + </p> + <p> + “Canalis supported her.” + </p> + <p> + “If she had more self-love than heart there would be nothing for a man to + regret in losing her,” answered La Briere. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, Modeste, followed by Canalis, who had lost the rubber, + came out with her father and Madame Dumay to breathe the fresh air of the + starry night. While his daughter walked about with the poet, Charles + Mignon left her and came up to La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend, monsieur, ought to have been a lawyer,” he said, smiling and + looking attentively at the young man. + </p> + <p> + “You must not judge a poet as you would an ordinary man,—as you + would me, for example, Monsieur le comte,” said La Briere. “A poet has a + mission. He is obliged by his nature to see the poetry of questions, just + as he expresses that of things. When you think him inconsistent with + himself he is really faithful to his vocation. He is a painter copying + with equal truth a Madonna and a courtesan. Moliere is as true to nature + in his old men as in his young ones, and Moliere’s judgment was assuredly + a sound and healthy one. These witty paradoxes might be dangerous for + second-rate minds, but they have no real influence on the character of + great men.” + </p> + <p> + Charles Mignon pressed La Briere’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “That adaptability, however, leads a man to excuse himself in his own eyes + for actions that are diametrically opposed to each other; above all, in + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle,” Canalis was at this moment saying, in a caressing + voice, replying to a roguish remark of Modeste, “do not think that a + multiplicity of emotions can in any way lessen the strength of feelings. + Poets, even more than other men, must needs love with constancy and faith. + You must not be jealous of what is called the Muse. Happy is the wife of a + man whose days are occupied. If you heard the complaints of women who have + to endure the burden of an idle husband, either a man without duties, or + one so rich as to have nothing to do, you would know that the highest + happiness of a Parisian wife is freedom,—the right to rule in her + own home. Now we writers and men of functions and occupations, we leave + the sceptre to our wives; we cannot descend to the tyranny of little + minds; we have something better to do. If I ever marry,—which I + assure you is a catastrophe very remote at the present moment,—I + should wish my wife to enjoy the same moral freedom that a mistress + enjoys, and which is perhaps the real source of her attraction.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis talked on, displaying the warmth of his fancy and all his graces, + for Modeste’s benefit, as he spoke of love, marriage, and the adoration of + women, until Monsieur Mignon, who had rejoined them, seized the + opportunity of a slight pause to take his daughter’s arm and lead her up + to Ernest de La Briere, whom he had been advising to seek an open + explanation with her. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Ernest, in a voice that was scarcely his own, “it is + impossible for me to remain any longer under the weight of your + displeasure. I do not defend myself; I do not seek to justify my conduct; + I desire only to make you see that <i>before</i> reading your most + flattering letter, addressed to the individual and no longer to the poet,—the + last which you sent to me,—I wished, and I told you in my note + written at Havre that I wished, to correct the error under which you were + acting. All the feelings that I have had the happiness to express to you + are sincere. A hope dawned on me in Paris when your father told me he was + comparatively poor,—but now that all is lost, now that nothing is + left for me but endless regrets, why should I stay here where all is + torture? Let me carry away with me one smile to live forever in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” answered Modeste, who seemed cold and absent-minded, “I am not + the mistress of this house; but I certainly should deeply regret to retain + any one where he finds neither pleasure nor happiness.” + </p> + <p> + She left La Briere and took Madame Dumay’s arm to re-enter the house. A + few moments later all the actors in this domestic scene reassembled in the + salon, and were a good deal surprised to see Modeste sitting beside the + Duc d’Herouville and coquetting with him like an accomplished Parisian + woman. She watched his play, gave him the advice he wanted, and found + occasion to say flattering things by ranking the merits of noble birth + with those of genius and beauty. Canalis thought he knew the reason of + this change; he had tried to pique Modeste by calling marriage a + catastrophe, and showing that he was aloof from it; but like others who + play with fire, he had burned his fingers. Modeste’s pride and her present + disdain frightened him, and he endeavored to recover his ground, + exhibiting a jealousy which was all the more visible because it was + artificial. Modeste, implacable as an angel, tasted the sweets of power, + and, naturally enough, abused it. The Duc d’Herouville had never known + such a happy evening; a woman smiled on him! At eleven o’clock, an + unheard-of hour at the Chalet, the three suitors took their leave,—the + duke thinking Modeste charming, Canalis believing her excessively + coquettish, and La Briere heart-broken by her cruelty. + </p> + <p> + For eight days the heiress continued to be to her three lovers very much + what she had been during that evening; so that the poet appeared to carry + the day against his rivals, in spite of certain freaks and caprices which + from time to time gave the Duc d’Herouville a little hope. The disrespect + she showed to her father, and the great liberties she took with him; her + impatience with her blind mother, to whom she seemed to grudge the little + services which had once been the delight of her filial piety,—seemed + the result of a capricious nature and a heedless gaiety indulged from + childhood. When Modeste went too far, she turned round and openly took + herself to task, ascribing her impertinence and levity to a spirit of + independence. She acknowledged to the duke and Canalis her distaste for + obedience, and professed to regard it as an obstacle to her marriage; thus + investigating the nature of her suitors, after the manner of those who dig + into the earth in search of metals, coal, tufa, or water. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never,” she said, the evening before the day on which the family + were to move into the villa, “find a husband who will put up with my + caprices as my father does; his kindness never flags. I am sure no one + will ever be as indulgent to me as my precious mother.” + </p> + <p> + “They know that you love them, mademoiselle,” said La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “You may be very sure, mademoiselle, that your husband will know the full + value of his treasure,” added the duke. + </p> + <p> + “You have spirit and resolution enough to discipline a husband,” cried + Canalis, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Modeste smiled as Henri IV. must have smiled after drawing out the + characters of his three principal ministers, for the benefit of a foreign + ambassador, by means of three answers to an insidious question. + </p> + <p> + On the day of the dinner, Modeste, led away by the preference she bestowed + on Canalis, walked alone with him up and down the gravelled space which + lay between the house and the lawn with its flower-beds. From the gestures + of the poet, and the air and manner of the young heiress, it was easy to + see that she was listening favorably to him. The two demoiselles + d’Herouville hastened to interrupt the scandalous tete-a-tete; and with + the natural cleverness of women under such circumstances, they turned the + conversation on the court, and the distinction of an appointment under the + crown,—pointing out the difference that existed between appointments + in the household of the king and those of the crown. They tried to + intoxicate Modeste’s mind by appealing to her pride, and describing one of + the highest stations to which a woman could aspire. + </p> + <p> + “To have a duke for a son,” said the elder lady, “is an actual advantage. + The title is a fortune that we secure to our children without the + possibility of loss.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it, then,” said Canalis, displeased at his tete-a-tete being thus + broken in upon, “that Monsieur le duc has had so little success in a + matter where his title would seem to be of special service to him?” + </p> + <p> + The two ladies cast a look at Canalis as full of venom as the tooth of a + snake, and they were so disconcerted by Modeste’s amused smile that they + were actually unable to reply. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le duc has never blamed you,” she said to Canalis, “for the + humility with which you bear your fame; why should you attack him for his + modesty?” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, we have never yet met a woman worthy of my nephew’s rank,” said + Mademoiselle d’Herouville. “Some had only the wealth of the position; + others, without fortune, had the wit and birth. I must admit that we have + done well to wait till God granted us an opportunity to meet one in whom + we find the noble blood, the mind, and fortune of a Duchesse + d’Herouville.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Modeste,” said Helene d’Herouville, leading her new friend apart, + “there are a thousand barons in the kingdom, just as there are a hundred + poets in Paris, who are worth as much as he; he is so little of a great + man that even I, a poor girl forced to take the veil for want of a ‘dot,’ + I would not take him. You don’t know what a young man is who has been for + ten years in the hands of a Duchesse de Chaulieu. None but an old woman of + sixty could put up with the little ailments of which, they say, the great + poet is always complaining,—a habit in Louis XIV. that became a + perfectly insupportable annoyance. It is true the duchess does not suffer + from it as much as a wife, who would have him always about her.” + </p> + <p> + Then, practising a well-known manoeuvre peculiar to her sex, Helene + d’Herouville repeated in a low voice all the calumnies which women jealous + of the Duchesse de Chaulieu were in the habit of spreading about the poet. + This little incident, common as it is in the intercourse of women, will + serve to show with what fury the hounds were after Modeste’s wealth. + </p> + <p> + Ten days saw a great change in the opinions at the Chalet as to the three + suitors for Mademoiselle de La Bastie’s hand. This change, which was much + to the disadvantage of Canalis, came about through considerations of a + nature which ought to make the holders of any kind of fame pause, and + reflect. No one can deny, if we remember the passion with which people + seek for autographs, that public curiosity is greatly excited by + celebrity. Evidently most provincials never form an exact idea in their + own minds of how illustrious Parisians put on their cravats, walk on the + boulevards, stand gaping at nothing, or eat a cutlet; because, no sooner + do they perceive a man clothed in the sunbeams of fashion or resplendent + with some dignity that is more or less fugitive (though always envied), + than they cry out, “Look at that!” “How queer!” and other depreciatory + exclamations. In a word, the mysterious charm that attaches to every kind + of fame, even that which is most justly due, never lasts. It is, and + especially with superficial people who are envious or sarcastic, a + sensation which passes off with the rapidity of lightning, and never + returns. It would seem as though fame, like the sun, hot and luminous at a + distance, is cold as the summit of an alp when you approach it. Perhaps + man is only really great to his peers; perhaps the defects inherent in his + constitution disappear sooner to the eyes of his equals than to those of + vulgar admirers. A poet, if he would please in ordinary life, must put on + the fictitious graces of those who are able to make their insignificances + forgotten by charming manners and complying speeches. The poet of the + faubourg Saint-Germain, who did not choose to bow before this social + dictum, was made before long to feel that an insulting provincial + indifference had succeeded to the dazed fascination of the earlier + evenings. The prodigality of his wit and wisdom had produced upon these + worthy souls somewhat the effect which a shopful of glass-ware produces on + the eye; in other words, the fire and brilliancy of Canalis’s eloquence + soon wearied people who, to use their own words, “cared more for the + solid.” + </p> + <p> + Forced after a while to behave like an ordinary man, the poet found an + unexpected stumbling-block on ground where La Briere had already won the + suffrage of the worthy people who at first had thought him sulky. They + felt the need of compensating themselves for Canalis’s reputation by + preferring his friend. The best of men are influenced by such feelings as + these. The simple and straightforward young fellow jarred no one’s + self-love; coming to know him better they discovered his heart, his + modesty, his silent and sure discretion, and his excellent bearing. The + Duc d’Herouville considered him, as a political element, far above + Canalis. The poet, ill-balanced, ambitious, and restless as Tasso, loved + luxury, grandeur, and ran into debt; while the young lawyer, whose + character was equable and well-balanced, lived soberly, was useful without + proclaiming it, awaited rewards without begging for them, and laid by his + money. + </p> + <p> + Canalis had moreover laid himself open in a special way to the bourgeois + eyes that were watching him. For two or three days he had shown signs of + impatience; he had given way to depression, to states of melancholy + without apparent reason, to those capricious changes of temper which are + the natural results of the nervous temperament of poets. These + originalities (we use the provincial word) came from the uneasiness that + his conduct toward the Duchesse de Chaulieu which grew daily less + explainable, caused him. He knew he ought to write to her, but could not + resolve on doing so. All these fluctuations were carefully remarked and + commented on by the gentle American, and the excellent Madame Latournelle, + and they formed the topic of many a discussion between these two ladies + and Madame Mignon. Canalis felt the effects of these discussions without + being able to explain them. The attention paid to him was not the same, + the faces surrounding him no longer wore the entranced look of the earlier + days; while at the same time Ernest was evidently gaining ground. + </p> + <p> + For the last two days the poet had endeavored to fascinate Modeste only, + and he took advantage of every moment when he found himself alone with + her, to weave the web of passionate language around his love. Modeste’s + blush, as she listened to him on the occasion we have just mentioned, + showed the demoiselles d’Herouville the pleasure with which she was + listening to sweet conceits that were sweetly said; and they, horribly + uneasy at the sight, had immediate recourse to the “ultima ratio” of women + in such cases, namely, those calumnies which seldom miss their object. + Accordingly, when the party met at the dinner-table the poet saw a cloud + on the brow of his idol; he knew that Mademoiselle d’Herouville’s + malignity allowed him to lose no time, and he resolved to offer himself as + a husband at the first moment when he could find himself alone with + Modeste. + </p> + <p> + Overhearing a few acid though polite remarks exchanged between the poet + and the two noble ladies, Gobenheim nudged Butscha with his elbow, and + said in an undertone, motioning towards the poet and the grand equerry,— + </p> + <p> + “They’ll demolish one another!” + </p> + <p> + “Canalis has genius enough to demolish himself all alone,” answered the + dwarf. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. A RIDDLE GUESSED + </h2> + <p> + During the dinner, which was magnificent and admirably well served, the + duke obtained a signal advantage over Canalis. Modeste, who had received + her habit and other equestrian equipments the night before, spoke of + taking rides about the country. A turn of the conversation led her to + express the wish to see a hunt with hounds, a pleasure she had never yet + enjoyed. The duke at once proposed to arrange a hunt in one of the crown + forests, which lay a few leagues from Havre. Thanks to his intimacy with + the Prince de Cadignan, Master of the Hunt, he saw his chance of + displaying an almost regal pomp before Modeste’s eyes, and alluring her + with a glimpse of court fascinations, to which she could be introduced by + marriage. Glances were exchanged between the duke and the two demoiselles + d’Herouville, which plainly said, “The heiress is ours!” and the poet, who + detected them, and who had nothing but his personal splendors to depend + on, determined all the more firmly to obtain some pledge of affection at + once. Modeste, on the other hand, half-frightened at being thus pushed + beyond her intentions by the d’Herouvilles, walked rather markedly apart + with Melchior, when the company adjourned to the park after dinner. With + the pardonable curiosity of a young girl, she let him suspect the + calumnies which Helene had poured into her ears; but on Canalis’s + exclamation of anger, she begged him to keep silence about them, which he + promised. + </p> + <p> + “These stabs of the tongue,” he said, “are considered fair in the great + world. They shock your upright nature; but as for me, I laugh at them; I + am even pleased. These ladies must feel that the duke’s interests are in + great peril, when they have recourse to such warfare.” + </p> + <p> + Making the most of the advantage Modeste had thus given him, Canalis + entered upon his defence with such warmth, such eagerness, and with a + passion so exquisitely expressed, as he thanked her for a confidence in + which he could venture to see the dawn of love, that she found herself + suddenly as much compromised with the poet as she feared to be with the + grand equerry. Canalis, feeling the necessity of prompt action, declared + himself plainly. He uttered vows and protestations in which his poetry + shone like a moon, invoked for the occasion, and illuminating his + allusions to the beauty of his mistress and the charms of her evening + dress. This counterfeit enthusiasm, in which the night, the foliage, the + heavens and the earth, and Nature herself played a part, carried the eager + lover beyond all bounds; for he dwelt on his disinterestedness, and + revamped in his own charming style, Diderot’s famous apostrophe to “Sophie + and fifteen hundred francs!” and the well-worn “love in a cottage” of + every lover who knows perfectly well the length of the father-in-law’s + purse. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Modeste, after listening with delight to the melody of + this concerto; “the freedom granted to me by my parents has allowed me to + listen to you; but it is to them that you must address yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” exclaimed Canalis, “tell me that if I obtain their consent, you + will ask nothing better than to obey them.” + </p> + <p> + “I know beforehand,” she replied, “that my father has certain fancies + which may wound the proper pride of an old family like yours. He wishes to + have his own title and name borne by his grandsons.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dear Modeste, what sacrifices would I not make to commit my life to + the guardian care of an angel like you.” + </p> + <p> + “You will permit me not to decide in a moment the fate of my whole life,” + she said, turning to rejoin the demoiselles d’Herouville. + </p> + <p> + Those noble ladies were just then engaged in flattering the vanity of + little Latournelle, intending to win him over to their interests. + Mademoiselle d’Herouville, to whom we shall in future confine the family + name, to distinguish her from her niece Helene, was giving the notary to + understand that the post of judge of the Supreme Court in Havre, which + Charles X. would bestow as she desired, was an office worthy of his legal + talent and his well-known probity. Butscha, meanwhile, who had been + walking about with La Briere, was greatly alarmed at the progress Canalis + was evidently making, and he waylaid Modeste at the lower step of the + portico when the whole party returned to the house to endure the torments + of their inevitable whist. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, in a low whisper, “I do hope you don’t call him + Melchior.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m very near it, my Black Dwarf,” she said, with a smile that might have + made an angel swear. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” exclaimed Butscha, letting fall his hands, which struck the + marble steps. + </p> + <p> + “Well! and isn’t he worth more than that spiteful and gloomy secretary in + whom you take such an interest?” she retorted, assuming, at the mere + thought of Ernest, the haughty manner whose secret belongs exclusively to + young girls,—as if their virginity lent them wings to fly to heaven. + “Pray, would your little La Briere accept me without a fortune?” she said, + after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Ask your father,” replied Butscha, who walked a few steps from the house, + to get Modeste at a safe distance from the windows. “Listen to me, + mademoiselle. You know that he who speaks to you is ready to give not only + his life but his honor for you, at any moment, and at all times. Therefore + you may believe in him; you can confide to him that which you may not, + perhaps, be willing to say to your father. Tell me, has that sublime + Canalis been making you the disinterested offer that you now fling as a + reproach at poor Ernest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “That question, my manikin,” she replied, giving him one of the ten or a + dozen nicknames she had invented for him, “strikes me as undervaluing the + strength of my self-love.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are laughing, my dear Mademoiselle Modeste; then there’s no + danger: I hope you are only making a fool of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray what would you think of me, Monsieur Butscha, if I allowed myself to + make fun of those who do me the honor to wish to marry me? You ought to + know, master Jean, that even if a girl affects to despise the most + despicable attentions, she is flattered by them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I flatter you?” said the young man, looking up at her with a face + that was illuminated like a city for a festival. + </p> + <p> + “You?” she said; “you give me the most precious of all friendships,—a + feeling as disinterested as that of a mother for her child. Compare + yourself to no one; for even my father is obliged to be devoted to me.” + She paused. “I cannot say that I love you, in the sense which men give to + that word, but what I do give you is eternal and can know no change.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Butscha, stooping to pick up a pebble that he might kiss the + hem of her garment, “suffer me to watch over you as a dragon guards a + treasure. The poet was covering you just now with the lace-work of his + precious phrases, the tinsel of his promises; he chanted his love on the + best strings of his lyre, I know he did. If, as soon as this noble lover + finds out how small your fortune is, he makes a sudden change in his + behavior, and is cold and embarrassed, will you still marry him? shall you + still esteem him?” + </p> + <p> + “He would be another Francisque Althor,” she said, with a gesture of + bitter disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have the pleasure of producing that change of scene,” said + Butscha. “Not only shall it be sudden, but I believe I can change it back + and make your poet as loving as before,—nay, it is possible to make + him blow alternately hot and cold upon your heart, just as gracefully as + he has talked on both sides of an argument in one evening without ever + finding it out.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are right,” she said, “who can be trusted?” + </p> + <p> + “One who truly loves you.” + </p> + <p> + “The little duke?” + </p> + <p> + Butscha looked at Modeste. The pair walked some distance in silence; the + girl was impenetrable and not an eyelash quivered. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, permit me to be the exponent of the thoughts that are lying + at the bottom of your heart like sea-mosses under the waves, and which you + do not choose to gather up.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” said Modeste, “so my intimate friend and counsellor thinks himself a + mirror, does he?” + </p> + <p> + “No, an echo,” he answered, with a gesture of sublime humility. “The duke + loves you, but he loves you too much. If I, a dwarf, have understood the + infinite delicacy of your heart, it would be repugnant to you to be + worshipped like a saint in her shrine. You are eminently a woman; you + neither want a man perpetually at your feet of whom you are eternally + sure, nor a selfish egoist like Canalis, who will always prefer himself to + you. Why? ah, that I don’t know. But I will make myself a woman, an old + woman, and find out the meaning of the plan which I have read in your + eyes, and which perhaps is in the heart of every girl. Nevertheless, in + your great soul you feel the need of worshipping. When a man is at your + knees, you cannot put yourself at his. You can’t advance in that way, as + Voltaire might say. The little duke has too many genuflections in his + moral being and the poet has too few,—indeed, I might say, none at + all. Ha, I have guessed the mischief in your smiles when you talk to the + grand equerry, and when he talks to you and you answer him. You would + never be unhappy with the duke, and everybody will approve your choice, if + you do choose him; but you will never love him. The ice of egotism, and + the burning heat of ecstasy both produce indifference in the heart of + every woman. It is evident to my mind that no such perpetual worship will + give you the infinite delights which you are dreaming of in marriage,—in + some marriage where obedience will be your pride, where noble little + sacrifices can be made and hidden, where the heart is full of anxieties + without a cause, and successes are awaited with eager hope, where each new + chance for magnanimity is hailed with joy, where souls are comprehended to + their inmost recesses, and where the woman protects with her love the man + who protects her.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a sorcerer!” exclaimed Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Neither will you find that sweet equality of feeling, that continual + sharing of each other’s life, that certainty of pleasing which makes + marriage tolerable, if you take Canalis,—a man who thinks of himself + only, whose ‘I’ is the one string to his lute, whose mind is so fixed on + himself that he has hitherto taken no notice of your father or the duke,—a + man of second-rate ambitions, to whom your dignity and your devotion will + matter nothing, who will make you a mere appendage to his household, and + who already insults you by his indifference to your behavior; yes, if you + permitted yourself to go so far as to box your mother’s ears Canalis would + shut his eyes to it, and deny your crime even to himself, because he + thirsts for your money. And so, mademoiselle, when I spoke of the man who + truly loves you I was not thinking of the great poet who is nothing but a + little comedian, nor of the duke, who might be a good marriage for you, + but never a husband—” + </p> + <p> + “Butscha, my heart is a blank page on which you are yourself writing all + that you read there,” cried Modeste, interrupting him. “You are carried + away by your provincial hatred for everything that obliges you to look + higher than your own head. You can’t forgive a poet for being a statesman, + for possessing the gift of speech, for having a noble future before him,—and + you calumniate his intentions.” + </p> + <p> + “His!—mademoiselle, he will turn his back upon you with the baseness + of an Althor.” + </p> + <p> + “Make him play that pretty little comedy, and—” + </p> + <p> + “That I will! he shall play it through and through within three days,—on + Wednesday,—recollect, Wednesday! Until then, mademoiselle, amuse + yourself by listening to the little tunes of the lyre, so that the + discords and the false notes may come out all the more distinctly.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste ran gaily back to the salon, where La Briere, who was sitting by + the window, where he had doubtless been watching his idol, rose to his + feet as if a groom of the chambers had suddenly announced, “The Queen.” It + was a movement of spontaneous respect, full of that living eloquence that + lies in gesture even more than in speech. Spoken love cannot compare with + acts of love; and every young girl of twenty has the wisdom of fifty in + applying the axiom. In it lies the great secret of attraction. Instead of + looking Modeste in the face, as Canalis who paid her public homage would + have done, the neglected lover followed her with a furtive look between + his eyelids, humble after the manner of Butscha, and almost timid. The + young heiress observed it, as she took her place by Canalis, to whose game + she proceeded to pay attention. During a conversation which ensued, La + Briere heard Modeste say to her father that she should ride out for the + first time on the following Wednesday; and she also reminded him that she + had no whip in keeping with her new equipments. The young man flung a + lightning glance at the dwarf, and a few minutes later the two were pacing + the terrace. + </p> + <p> + “It is nine o’clock,” cried Ernest. “I shall start for Paris at full + gallop; I can get there to-morrow morning by ten. My dear Butscha, from + you she will accept anything, for she is attached to you; let me give her + a riding-whip in your name. If you will do me this immense kindness, you + shall have not only my friendship but my devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are very happy,” said Butscha, ruefully; “you have money, you!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Canalis not to expect me, and that he must find some pretext to + account for my absence.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Ernest had ridden out of Havre. He reached Paris in twelve + hours, where his first act was to secure a place in the mail-coach for + Havre on the following evening. Then he went to three of the chief + jewellers in Paris and compared all the whip-handles that they could + offer; he was in search of some artistic treasure that was regally superb. + He found one at last, made by Stidmann for a Russian, who was unable to + pay for it when finished,—a fox-head in gold, with a ruby of + exorbitant value; all his savings went into the purchase, the cost of + which was seven thousand francs. Ernest gave a drawing of the arms of La + Bastie, and allowed the shop-people twenty hours to engrave them. The + handle, a masterpiece of delicate workmanship, was fitted to an + india-rubber whip and put into a morocco case lined with velvet, on which + two M.‘s interlaced were stamped in gold. + </p> + <p> + La Briere got back to Havre by the mail-coach Wednesday morning in time to + breakfast with Canalis. The poet had concealed his secretary’s absence by + declaring that he was busy with some work sent from Paris. Butscha, who + met La Briere at the coach-door, took the box containing the precious work + of art to Francoise Cochet, with instructions to place it on Modeste’s + dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will accompany Mademoiselle Modeste on her ride to-day?” + said Butscha, who went to Canalis’s house to let La Briere know by a wink + that the whip had gone to its destination. + </p> + <p> + “I?” answered Ernest; “no, I am going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” exclaimed Canalis, looking at him. “I don’t know what to make of + you.” + </p> + <p> + Breakfast was then served, and the poet naturally invited their visitor to + stay and take it. Butscha complied, having seen in the expression of the + valet’s face the success of a trick in which we shall see the first fruits + of his promise to Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is very right to detain the clerk of Monsieur Latournelle,” + whispered Germain in his master’s ear. + </p> + <p> + Canalis and Germain went into the salon on a sign that passed between + them. + </p> + <p> + “I went out this morning to see the men fish, monsieur,” said the valet,—“an + excursion proposed to me by the captain of a smack, whose acquaintance I + have made.” + </p> + <p> + Germain did not acknowledge that he had the bad taste to play billiards in + a cafe,—a fact of which Butscha had taken advantage to surround him + with friends of his own and manage him as he pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Canalis, “to the point,—quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron, I heard a conversation about Monsieur Mignon, which I + encouraged as far as I could; for no one, of course, knew that I belong to + you. Ah! monsieur, judging by the talk of the quays, you are running your + head into a noose. The fortune of Mademoiselle de La Bastie is, like her + name, modest. The vessel on which the father returned does not belong to + him, but to rich China merchants to whom he renders an account. They even + say things that are not at all flattering to Monsieur Mignon’s honor. + Having heard that you and Monsieur le duc were rivals for Mademoiselle de + La Bastie’s hand, I have taken the liberty to warn you; of the two, + wouldn’t it be better that his lordship should gobble her? As I came home + I walked round the quays, and into that theatre-hall where the merchants + meet; I slipped boldly in and out among them. Seeing a well-dressed + stranger, those worthy fellows began to talk to me of Havre, and I got + them, little by little, to speak of Colonel Mignon. What they said only + confirms the stories the fishermen told me; and I feel that I should fail + in my duty if I keep silence. That is why I did not get home in time to + dress monsieur this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do?” cried Canalis, who remembered his proposals to Modeste + the night before, and did not see how he could get out of them. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur knows my attachment to him,” said Germain, perceiving that the + poet was quite thrown off his balance; “he will not be surprised if I give + him a word of advice. There is that clerk; try to get the truth out of + him. Perhaps he’ll unbutton after a bottle or two of champagne, or at any + rate a third. It would be strange indeed if monsieur, who will one day be + ambassador, as Philoxene has heard Madame la duchesse say time and time + again, couldn’t turn a little notary’s clerk inside out.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. BUTSCHA DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF + </h2> + <p> + At this instant Butscha, the hidden prompter of the fishing part, was + requesting the secretary to say nothing about his trip to Paris, and not + to interfere in any way with what he, Butscha, might do. The dwarf had + already made use of an unfavorable feeling lately roused against Monsieur + Mignon in Havre in consequence of his reserve and his determination to + keep silence as to the amount of his fortune. The persons who were most + bitter against him even declared calumniously that he had made over a + large amount of property to Dumay to save it from the just demands of his + associates in China. Butscha took advantage of this state of feeling. He + asked the fishermen, who owed him many a good turn, to keep the secret and + lend him their tongues. They served him well. The captain of the + fishing-smack told Germain that one of his cousins, a sailor, had just + returned from Marseilles, where he had been paid off from the brig in + which Monsieur Mignon returned to France. The brig had been sold to the + account of some other person than Monsieur Mignon, and the cargo was only + worth three or four hundred thousand francs at the utmost. + </p> + <p> + “Germain,” said Canalis, as the valet was leaving the room, “serve + champagne and claret. A member of the legal fraternity of Havre must carry + away with him proper ideas of a poet’s hospitality. Besides, he has got a + wit that is equal to Figaro’s,” added Canalis, laying his hand on the + dwarf’s shoulder, “and we must make it foam and sparkle with champagne; + you and I, Ernest, will not spare the bottle either. Faith, it is over two + years since I’ve been drunk,” he added, looking at La Briere. + </p> + <p> + “Not drunk with wine, you mean,” said Butscha, looking keenly at him, + “yes, I can believe that. You get drunk every day on yourself, you drink + in so much praise. Ha, you are handsome, you are a poet, you are famous in + your lifetime, you have the gift of an eloquence that is equal to your + genius, and you please all women,—even my master’s wife. Admired by + the finest sultana-valide that I ever saw in my life (and I never saw but + her) you can, if you choose, marry Mademoiselle de La Bastie. Goodness! + the mere inventory of your present advantages, not to speak of the future + (a noble title, peerage, embassy!), is enough to make me drunk already,—like + the men who bottle other men’s wine.” + </p> + <p> + “All such social distinctions,” said Canalis, “are of little use without + the one thing that gives them value,—wealth. Here we can talk as men + with men; fine sentiments only do in verse.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on circumstances,” said the dwarf, with a knowing gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you writer of conveyances,” said the poet, smiling at the + interruption, “you know as well as I do that ‘cottage’ rhymes with + ‘pottage,’—and who would like to live on that for the rest of his + days?” + </p> + <p> + At table Butscha played the part of Trigaudin, in the “Maison en loterie,” + in a way that alarmed Ernest, who did not know the waggery of a lawyer’s + office, which is quite equal to that of an atelier. Butscha poured forth + the scandalous gossip of Havre, the private history of fortune and + boudoirs, and the crimes committed code in hand, which are called in + Normandy, “getting out of a thing as best you can.” He spared no one; and + his liveliness increased with the torrents of wine which poured down his + throat like rain through a gutter. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, La Briere,” said Canalis, filling Butscha’s glass, “that + this fellow would make a capital secretary to the embassy?” + </p> + <p> + “And oust his chief!” cried the dwarf flinging a look at Canalis whose + insolence was lost in the gurgling of carbonic acid gas. “I’ve little + enough gratitude and quite enough scheming to get astride of your + shoulders. Ha, ha, a poet carrying a hunchback! that’s been seen, often + seen—on book-shelves. Come, don’t look at me as if I were swallowing + swords. My dear great genius, you’re a superior man; you know that + gratitude is the word of fools; they stick it in the dictionary, but it + isn’t in the human heart; pledges are worth nothing, except on a certain + mount that is neither Pindus nor Parnassus. You think I owe a great deal + to my master’s wife, who brought me up. Bless you, the whole town has paid + her for that in praises, respect, and admiration,—the very best of + coin. I don’t recognize any service that is only the capital of self-love. + Men make a commerce of their services, and gratitude goes down on the + debit side,—that’s all. As to schemes, they are my divinity. What?” + he exclaimed, at a gesture of Canalis, “don’t you admire the faculty which + enables a wily man to get the better of a man of genius? it takes the + closest observation of his vices, and his weaknesses, and the wit to seize + the happy moment. Ask diplomacy if its greatest triumphs are not those of + craft over force? If I were your secretary, Monsieur le baron, you’d soon + be prime-minister, because it would be my interest to have you so. Do you + want a specimen of my talents in that line? Well then, listen; you love + Mademoiselle Modeste distractedly, and you’ve good reason to do so. The + girl has my fullest esteem; she is a true Parisian. Sometimes we get a few + real Parisians born down here in the provinces. Well, Modeste is just the + woman to help a man’s career. She’s got <i>that</i> in her,” he cried, + with a turn of his wrist in the air. “But you’ve a dangerous competitor in + the duke; what will you give me to get him out of Havre within three + days?” + </p> + <p> + “Finish this bottle,” said the poet, refilling Butscha’s glass. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll make me drunk,” said the dwarf, tossing off his ninth glass of + champagne. “Have you a bed where I could sleep it off? My master is as + sober as the camel that he is, and Madame Latournelle too. They are brutal + enough, both of them, to scold me; and they’d have the rights of it too—there + are those deeds I ought to be drawing!—” Then, suddenly returning to + his previous ideas, after the fashion of a drunken man, he exclaimed, “and + I’ve such a memory; it is on a par with my gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “Butscha!” cried the poet, “you said just now you had no gratitude; you + contradict yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he replied. “To forget a thing means almost always + recollecting it. Come, come, do you want me to get rid of the duke? I’m + cut out for a secretary.” + </p> + <p> + “How could you manage it?” said Canalis, delighted to find the + conversation taking this turn of its own accord. + </p> + <p> + “That’s none of your business,” said the dwarf, with a portentous + hiccough. + </p> + <p> + Butscha’s head rolled between his shoulders, and his eyes turned from + Germain to La Briere, and from La Briere to Canalis, after the manner of + men who, knowing they are tipsy, wish to see what other men are thinking + of them; for in the shipwreck of drunkenness it is noticeable that + self-love is the last thing that goes to the bottom. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! my great poet, you’re a pretty good trickster yourself; but you are + not deep enough. What do you mean by taking me for one of your own + readers,—you who sent your friend to Paris, full gallop, to inquire + into the property of the Mignon family? Ha, ha! I hoax, thou hoaxest, we + hoax—Good! But do me the honor to believe that I’m deep enough to + keep the secrets of my own business. As the head-clerk of a notary, my + heart is a locked box, padlocked! My mouth never opens to let out anything + about a client. I know all, and I know nothing. Besides, my passion is + well known. I love Modeste; she is my pupil, and she must make a good + marriage. I’ll fool the duke, if need be; and you shall marry—” + </p> + <p> + “Germain, coffee and liqueurs,” said Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “Liqueurs!” repeated Butscha with a wave of his hand, and the air of a + sham virgin repelling seduction; “Ah, those poor deeds! one of ‘em was a + marriage contract; and that second clerk of mine is as stupid as—as—an + epithalamium, and he’s capable of digging his penknife right through the + bride’s paraphernalia; he thinks he’s a handsome man because he’s five + feet six,—idiot!” + </p> + <p> + “Here is some creme de the, a liqueur of the West Indies,” said Canalis. + “You, whom Mademoiselle Modeste consults—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she consults me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you think she loves me?” asked the poet. + </p> + <p> + “Loves you? yes, more than she loves the duke,” answered the dwarf, + rousing himself from a stupor which was admirably played. “She loves you + for your disinterestedness. She told me she was ready to make the greatest + sacrifices for your sake; to give up dress and spend as little as possible + on herself, and devote her life to showing you that in marrying her you + hadn’t done so” (hiccough) “bad a thing for yourself. She’s as right as a + trivet,—yes, and well informed. She knows everything, that girl.” + </p> + <p> + “And she has three hundred thousand francs?” + </p> + <p> + “There may be quite as much as that,” cried the dwarf, enthusiastically. + “Papa Mignon,—mignon by name, mignon by nature, and that’s why I + respect him,—well, he would rob himself of everything to marry his + daughter. Your Restoration” (hiccough) “has taught him how to live on + half-pay; he’d be quite content to live with Dumay on next to nothing, if + he could rake and scrape enough together to give the little one three + hundred thousand francs. But don’t let’s forget that Dumay is going to + leave all his money to Modeste. Dumay, you know, is a Breton, and that + fact clinches the matter; he won’t go back from his word, and his fortune + is equal to the colonel’s. But I don’t approve of Monsieur Mignon’s taking + back that villa, and, as they often ask my advice, I told them so. ‘You + sink too much in it,’ I said; ‘if Vilquin does not buy it back there’s two + hundred thousand francs which won’t bring you a penny; it only leaves you + a hundred thousand to get along with, and it isn’t enough.’ The colonel + and Dumay are consulting about it now. But nevertheless, between you and + me, Modeste is sure to be rich. I hear talk on the quays against it; but + that’s all nonsense; people are jealous. Why, there’s no such ‘dot’ in + Havre,” cried Butscha, beginning to count on his fingers. “Two to three + hundred thousand in ready money,” bending back the thumb of his left hand + with the forefinger of his right, “that’s one item; the reversion of the + villa Mignon, that’s another; ‘tertio,’ Dumay’s property!” doubling down + his middle finger. “Ha! little Modeste may count upon her six hundred + thousand francs as soon as the two old soldiers have got their marching + orders for eternity.” + </p> + <p> + This coarse and candid statement, intermingled with a variety of liqueurs, + sobered Canalis as much as it appeared to befuddle Butscha. To the latter, + a young provincial, such a fortune must of course seem colossal. He let + his head fall into the palm of his right hand, and putting his elbows + majestically on the table, blinked his eyes and continued talking to + himself:— + </p> + <p> + “In twenty years, thanks to that Code, which pillages fortunes under what + they call ‘Successions,’ an heiress worth a million will be as rare as + generosity in a money-lender. Suppose Modeste does want to spend all the + interest of her own money,—well, she is so pretty, so sweet and + pretty; why she’s—you poets are always after metaphors—she’s a + weasel as tricky as a monkey.” + </p> + <p> + “How came you to tell me she had six millions?” said Canalis to La Briere, + in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Ernest, “I do assure you that I was bound to silence by + an oath; perhaps, even now, I ought not to say as much as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Bound! to whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To Monsieur Mignon.” + </p> + <p> + “Ernest! you who know how essential fortune is to me—” + </p> + <p> + Butscha snored. + </p> + <p> + “—who know my situation, and all that I shall lose in the Duchesse + de Chaulieu, by this attempt at marrying, YOU could coldly let me plunge + into such a thing as this?” exclaimed Canalis, turning pale. “It was a + question of friendship; and ours was a compact entered into long before + you ever saw that crafty Mignon.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Ernest, “I love Modeste too well to—” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! then take her,” cried the poet, “and break your oath.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise me on your word of honor to forget what I now tell you, + and to behave to me as though this confidence had never been made, + whatever happens?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll swear that, by my mother’s memory.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then,” said La Briere, “Monsieur Mignon told me in Paris that he was + very far from having the colossal fortune which the Mongenods told me + about and which I mentioned to you. The colonel intends to give two + hundred thousand francs to his daughter. And now, Melchior, I ask you, was + the father really distrustful of us, as you thought; or was he sincere? It + is not for me to answer those questions. If Modeste without a fortune + deigns to choose me, she will be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “A blue-stocking! educated till she is a terror! a girl who has read + everything, who knows everything,—in theory,” cried Canalis, + hastily, noticing La Briere’s gesture, “a spoiled child, brought up in + luxury in her childhood, and weaned of it for five years. Ah! my poor + friend, take care what you are about.” + </p> + <p> + “Ode and Code,” said Butscha, waking up, “you do the ode and I the code; + there’s only a C’s difference between us. Well, now, code comes from + ‘coda,’ a tail,—mark that word! See here! a bit of good advice is + worth your wine and your cream of tea. Father Mignon—he’s cream, + too; the cream of honest men—he is going with his daughter on this + riding party; do you go up frankly and talk ‘dot’ to him. He’ll answer + plainly, and you’ll get at the truth, just as surely as I’m drunk, and + you’re a great poet,—but no matter for that; we are to leave Havre + together, that’s settled, isn’t it? I’m to be your secretary in place of + that little fellow who sits there grinning at me and thinking I’m drunk. + Come, let’s go, and leave him to marry the girl.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis rose to leave the room to dress for the excursion. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, not a word,—he is going to commit suicide,” whispered + Butscha, sober as a judge, to La Briere as he made the gesture of a street + boy at Canalis’s back. “Adieu, my chief!” he shouted, in stentorian tones, + “will you allow me to take a snooze in that kiosk down in the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself at home,” answered the poet. + </p> + <p> + Butscha, pursued by the laughter of the three servants of the + establishment, gained the kiosk by walking over the flower-beds and round + the vases with the perverse grace of an insect describing its interminable + zig-zags as it tries to get out of a closed window. When he had clambered + into the kiosk, and the servants had retired, he sat down on a wooden + bench and wallowed in the delights of his triumph. He had completely + fooled a great man; he had not only torn off his mask, but he had made him + untie the strings himself; and he laughed like an author over his own + play,—that is to say, with a true sense of the immense value of his + “vis comica.” + </p> + <p> + “Men are tops!” he cried, “you’ve only to find the twine to wind ‘em up + with. But I’m like my fellows,” he added, presently. “I should faint away + if any one came and said to me ‘Mademoiselle Modeste has been thrown from + her horse, and has broken her leg.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE POET FEELS THAT HE IS LOVED TOO WELL + </h2> + <p> + An hour later, Modeste, charmingly equipped in a bottle-green cassimere + habit, a small hat with a green veil, buckskin gloves, and velvet boots + which met the lace frills of her drawers, and mounted on an elegantly + caparisoned little horse, was exhibiting to her father and the Duc + d’Herouville the beautiful present she had just received; she was + evidently delighted with an attention of a kind that particularly flatters + women. + </p> + <p> + “Did it come from you, Monsieur le duc?” she said, holding the sparkling + handle toward him. “There was a card with it, saying, ‘Guess if you can,’ + and some asterisks. Francoise and Dumay credit Butscha with this charming + surprise; but my dear Butscha is not rich enough to buy such rubies. And + as for papa (to whom I said, as I remember, on Sunday evening, that I had + no whip), he sent to Rouen for this one,”—pointing to a whip in her + father’s hand, with a top like a cone of turquoise, a fashion then in + vogue which has since become vulgar. + </p> + <p> + “I would give ten years of my old age, mademoiselle, to have the right to + offer you that beautiful jewel,” said the duke, courteously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, here comes the audacious giver!” cried Modeste, as Canalis rode up. + “It is only a poet who knows where to find such choice things. Monsieur,” + she said to Melchior, “my father will scold you, and say that you justify + those who accuse you of extravagance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Canalis, with apparent simplicity, “so that is why La + Briere rode at full gallop from Havre to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Does your secretary take such liberties?” said Modeste, turning pale, and + throwing the whip to Francoise with an impetuosity that expressed scorn. + “Give me your whip, papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Ernest, who lies there on his bed half-dead with fatigue!” said + Canalis, overtaking the girl, who had already started at a gallop. “You + are pitiless, mademoiselle. ‘I have’ (the poor fellow said to me) ‘only + this one chance to remain in her memory.’” + </p> + <p> + “And should you think well of a woman who could take presents from half + the parish?” said Modeste. + </p> + <p> + She was surprised to receive no answer to this inquiry, and attributed the + poet’s inattention to the noise of the horse’s feet. + </p> + <p> + “How you delight in tormenting those who love you,” said the duke. “Your + nobility of soul and your pride are so inconsistent with your faults that + I begin to suspect you calumniate yourself, and do those naughty things on + purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! have you only just found that out, Monsieur le duc?” she exclaimed, + laughing. “You have the sagacity of a husband.” + </p> + <p> + They rode half a mile in silence. Modeste was a good deal astonished not + to receive the fire of the poet’s eyes. The evening before, as she was + pointing out to him an admirable effect of setting sunlight across the + water, she had said, remarking his inattention, “Well, don’t you see it?”—to + which he replied, “I can see only your hand”; but now his admiration for + the beauties of nature seemed a little too intense to be natural. + </p> + <p> + “Does Monsieur de La Briere know how to ride?” she asked, for the purpose + of teasing him. + </p> + <p> + “Not very well, but he gets along,” answered the poet, cold as Gobenheim + before the colonel’s return. + </p> + <p> + At a cross-road, which Monsieur Mignon made them take through a lovely + valley to reach a height overlooking the Seine, Canalis let Modeste and + the duke pass him, and then reined up to join the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le comte,” he said, “you are an open-hearted soldier, and I know + you will regard my frankness as a title to your esteem. When proposals of + marriage, with all their brutal,—or, if you please, too civilized—discussions, + are carried on by third parties, it is an injury to all. We are both + gentlemen, and both discreet; and you, like myself, have passed beyond the + age of surprises. Let us therefore speak as intimates. I will set you the + example. I am twenty-nine years old, without landed estates, and full of + ambition. Mademoiselle Modeste, as you must have perceived, pleases me + extremely. Now, in spite of the little defects which your dear girl likes + to assume—” + </p> + <p> + “—not counting those she really possesses,” said the colonel, + smiling,— + </p> + <p> + “—I should gladly make her my wife, and I believe I could render her + happy. The question of money is of the utmost importance to my future, + which hangs to-day in the balance. All young girls expect to be loved <i>whether + or no</i>—fortune or no fortune. But you are not the man to marry + your dear Modeste without a ‘dot,’ and my situation does not allow me to + make a marriage of what is called love unless with a woman who has a + fortune at least equal to mine. I have, from my emoluments and sinecures, + from the Academy and from my works, about thirty thousand francs a year, a + large income for a bachelor. If my wife brought me as much more, I should + still be in about the same condition that I am now. Shall you give + Mademoiselle a million?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur, we have not reached that point as yet,” said the colonel, + Jesuitically. + </p> + <p> + “Then suppose,” said Canalis, quickly, “that we go no further; we will let + the matter drop. You shall have no cause to complain of me, Monsieur le + comte; the world shall consider me among the unfortunate suitors of your + charming daughter. Give me your word of honor to say nothing on the + subject to any one, not even to Mademoiselle Modeste, because,” he added, + throwing a word of promise to the ear, “my circumstances may so change + that I can ask you for her without ‘dot.’” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you that,” said the colonel. “You know, monsieur, with what + assurance the public, both in Paris and the provinces, talk of fortunes + that they make and unmake. People exaggerate both happiness and + unhappiness; we are never so fortunate nor so unfortunate as people say we + are. There is nothing sure and certain in business except investments in + land. I am awaiting the accounts of my agents with very great impatience. + The sale of my merchandise and my ship, and the settlement of my affairs + in China, are not yet concluded; and I cannot know the full amount of my + fortune for at least six months. I did, however, say to Monsieur de La + Briere in Paris that I would guarantee a ‘dot’ of two hundred thousand + francs in ready money. I wish to entail my estates, and enable my + grandchildren to inherit my arms and title.” + </p> + <p> + Canalis did not listen to this statement after the opening sentence. The + four riders, having now reached a wider road, went abreast and soon + reached a stretch of table-land, from which the eye took in on one side + the rich valley of the Seine toward Rouen, and on the other an horizon + bounded only by the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Butscha was right, God is the greatest of all landscape painters,” said + Canalis, contemplating the view, which is unique among the many fine + scenes that have made the shores of the Seine so justly celebrated. + </p> + <p> + “Above all do we feel that, my dear baron,” said the duke, “on + hunting-days, when nature has a voice, and a lively tumult breaks the + silence; at such times the landscape, changing rapidly as we ride through + it, seems really sublime.” + </p> + <p> + “The sun is the inexhaustible palette,” said Modeste, looking at the poet + in a species of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + A remark that she presently made on his absence of mind gave him an + opportunity of saying that he was just then absorbed in his own thoughts,—an + excuse that authors have more reason for giving than other men. + </p> + <p> + “Are we really made happy by carrying our lives into the midst of the + world, and swelling them with all sorts of fictitious wants and + over-excited vanities?” said Modeste, moved by the aspect of the fertile + and billowy country to long for a philosophically tranquil life. + </p> + <p> + “That is a bucolic, mademoiselle, which is only written on tablets of + gold,” said the poet. + </p> + <p> + “And sometimes under garret-roofs,” remarked the colonel. + </p> + <p> + Modeste threw a piercing glance at Canalis, which he was unable to + sustain; she was conscious of a ringing in her ears, darkness seemed to + spread before her, and then she suddenly exclaimed in icy tones:— + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is Wednesday!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say this to flatter your passing caprice, mademoiselle,” said + the duke, to whom the little scene, so tragical for Modeste, had left time + for thought; “but I declare I am so profoundly disgusted with the world + and the Court and Paris that had I a Duchesse d’Herouville, gifted with + the wit and graces of mademoiselle, I would gladly bind myself to live + like a philosopher at my chateau, doing good around me, draining my + marshes, educating my children—” + </p> + <p> + “That, Monsieur le duc, will be set to the account of your great + goodness,” said Modeste, letting her eyes rest steadily on the noble + gentleman. “You flatter me in not thinking me frivolous, and in believing + that I have enough resources within myself to be able to live in solitude. + It is perhaps my lot,” she added, glancing at Canalis, with an expression + of pity. + </p> + <p> + “It is the lot of all insignificant fortunes,” said the poet. “Paris + demands Babylonian splendor. Sometimes I ask myself how I have ever + managed to keep it up.” + </p> + <p> + “The king does that for both of us,” said the duke, candidly; “we live on + his Majesty’s bounty. If my family had not been allowed, after the death + of Monsieur le Grand, as they call Cinq-Mars, to keep his office among us, + we should have been obliged to sell Herouville to the Black Brethren. Ah, + believe me, mademoiselle, it is a bitter humiliation to me to have to + think of money in marrying.” + </p> + <p> + The simple honesty of this confession came from his heart, and the regret + was so sincere that it touched Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “In these days,” said the poet, “no man in France, Monsieur le duc, is + rich enough to marry a woman for herself, her personal worth, her grace, + or her beauty—” + </p> + <p> + The colonel looked at Canalis with a curious eye, after first watching + Modeste, whose face no longer expressed the slightest astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “For persons of high honor,” he said slowly, “it is a noble employment of + wealth to repair the ravages of time and destiny, and restore the old + historic families.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, papa,” said Modeste, gravely. + </p> + <p> + The colonel invited the duke and Canalis to dine with him sociably in + their riding-dress, promising them to make no change himself. When Modeste + went to her room to make her toilette, she looked at the jewelled whip she + had disdained in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “What workmanship they put into such things nowadays!” she said to + Francoise Cochet, who had become her waiting-maid. + </p> + <p> + “That poor young man, mademoiselle, who has got a fever—” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Butscha. He came here this afternoon and asked me to say to you + that he hoped you would notice he had kept his word on the appointed day.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste came down into the salon dressed with royal simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “My dear father,” she said aloud, taking the colonel by the arm, “please + go and ask after Monsieur de La Briere’s health, and take him back his + present. You can say that my small means, as well as my natural tastes, + forbid my wearing ornaments which are only fit for queens or courtesans. + Besides, I can only accept gifts from a bridegroom. Beg him to keep the + whip until you know whether you are rich enough to buy it back.” + </p> + <p> + “My little girl has plenty of good sense,” said the colonel, kissing his + daughter on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + Canalis took advantage of a conversation which began between the duke and + Madame Mignon to escape to the terrace, where Modeste joined him, + influenced by curiosity, though the poet believed her desire to become + Madame de Canalis had brought her there. Rather alarmed at the indecency + with which he had just executed what soldiers call a “volte-face,” and + which, according to the laws of ambition, every man in his position would + have executed quite as brutally, he now endeavored, as the unfortunate + Modeste approached him, to find plausible excuses for his conduct. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Modeste,” he began, in a coaxing tone, “considering the terms on + which we stand to each other, shall I displease you if I say that your + replies to the Duc d’Herouville were very painful to a man in love,—above + all, to a poet whose soul is feminine, nervous, full of the jealousies of + true passion. I should make a poor diplomatist indeed if I had not + perceived that your first coquetries, your little premeditated + inconsistencies, were only assumed for the purpose of studying our + characters—” + </p> + <p> + Modeste raised her head with the rapid, intelligent, half-coquettish + motion of a wild animal, in whom instinct produces such miracles of grace. + </p> + <p> + “—and therefore when I returned home and thought them over, they + never misled me. I only marvelled at a cleverness so in harmony with your + character and your countenance. Do not be uneasy, I never doubted that + your assumed duplicity covered an angelic candor. No, your mind, your + education, have in no way lessened the precious innocence which we demand + in a wife. You are indeed a wife for a poet, a diplomatist, a thinker, a + man destined to endure the chances and changes of life; and my admiration + is equalled only by the attachment I feel to you. I now entreat you—if + yesterday you were not playing a little comedy when you accepted the love + of a man whose vanity will change to pride if you accept him, one whose + defects will become virtues under your divine influence—I entreat + you do not excite a passion which, in him, amounts to vice. Jealousy is a + noxious element in my soul, and you have revealed to me its strength; it + is awful, it destroys everything—Oh! I do not mean the jealousy of + an Othello,” he continued, noticing Modeste’s gesture. “No, no; my + thoughts were of myself: I have been so indulged on that point. You know + the affection to which I owe all the happiness I have ever enjoyed,—very + little at the best” (he sadly shook his head). “Love is symbolized among + all nations as a child, because it fancies the world belongs to it, and it + cannot conceive otherwise. Well, Nature herself set the limit to that + sentiment. It was still-born. A tender, maternal soul guessed and calmed + the painful constriction of my heart,—for a woman who feels, who + knows, that she is past the joys of love becomes angelic in her treatment + of others. The duchess has never made me suffer in my sensibilities. For + ten years not a word, not a look, that could wound me! I attach more value + to words, to thoughts, to looks, than ordinary men. If a look is to me a + treasure beyond all price, the slightest doubt is deadly poison; it acts + instantaneously, my love dies. I believe—contrary to the mass of + men, who delight in trembling, hoping, expecting—that love can only + exist in perfect, infantile, and infinite security. The exquisite + purgatory, where women delight to send us by their coquetry, is a base + happiness to which I will not submit: to me, love is either heaven or + hell. If it is hell, I will have none of it. I feel an affinity with the + azure skies of Paradise within my soul. I can give myself without reserve, + without secrets, doubts or deceptions, in the life to come; and I demand + reciprocity. Perhaps I offend you by these doubts. Remember, however, that + I am only talking of myself—” + </p> + <p> + “—a good deal, but never too much,” said Modeste, offended in every + hole and corner of her pride by this discourse, in which the Duchesse de + Chaulieu served as a dagger. “I am so accustomed to admire you, my dear + poet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, can you promise me the same canine fidelity which I offer to + you? Is it not beautiful? Is it not just what you have longed for?” + </p> + <p> + “But why, dear poet, do you not marry a deaf-mute, and one who is also + something of an idiot? I ask nothing better than to please my husband. But + you threaten to take away from a girl the very happiness you so kindly + arrange for her; you are tearing away every gesture, every word, every + look; you cut the wings of your bird, and then expect it to hover about + you. I know poets are accused of inconsistency—oh! very unjustly,” + she added, as Canalis made a gesture of denial; “that alleged defect which + comes from the brilliant activity of their minds which commonplace people + cannot take into account. I do not believe, however, that a man of genius + can invent such irreconcilable conditions and call his invention life. You + are requiring the impossible solely for the pleasure of putting me in the + wrong,—like the enchanters in fairy-tales, who set tasks to + persecuted young girls whom the good fairies come and deliver.” + </p> + <p> + “In this case the good fairy would be true love,” said Canalis in a curt + tone, aware that his elaborate excuse for a rupture was seen through by + the keen and delicate mind which Butscha had piloted so well. + </p> + <p> + “My dear poet, you remind me of those fathers who inquire into a girl’s + ‘dot’ before they are willing to name that of their son. You are + quarrelling with me without knowing whether you have the slightest right + to do so. Love is not gained by such dry arguments as yours. The poor duke + on the contrary abandons himself to it like my Uncle Toby; with this + difference, that I am not the Widow Wadman,—though widow indeed of + many illusions as to poetry at the present moment. Ah, yes, we young girls + will not believe in anything that disturbs our world of fancy! I was + warned of all this beforehand. My dear poet, you are attempting to get up + a quarrel which is unworthy of you. I no longer recognize the Melchior of + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Because Melchior has discovered a spirit of ambition in you which—” + </p> + <p> + Modeste looked at him from head to foot with an imperial eye. + </p> + <p> + “But I shall be peer of France and ambassador as well as he,” added + Canalis. + </p> + <p> + “Do you take me for a bourgeois,” she said, beginning to mount the steps + of the portico; but she instantly turned back and added, “That is less + impertinent than to take me for a fool. The change in your conduct comes + from certain silly rumors which you have heard in Havre, and which my maid + Francoise has repeated to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Modeste, how can you think it?” said Canalis, striking a dramatic + attitude. “Do you think me capable of marrying you only for your money?” + </p> + <p> + “If I do you that wrong after your edifying remarks on the banks of the + Seine can you easily undeceive me,” she said, annihilating him with her + scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought the poet, as he followed her into the house, “if you think, + my little girl, that I’m to be caught in that net, you take me to be + younger than I am. Dear, dear, what a fuss about an artful little thing + whose esteem I value about as much as that of the king of Borneo. But she + has given me a good reason for the rupture by accusing me of such unworthy + sentiments. Isn’t she sly? La Briere will get a burden on his back—idiot + that he is! And five years hence it will be a good joke to see them + together.” + </p> + <p> + The coldness which this altercation produced between Modeste and Canalis + was visible to all eyes that evening. The poet went off early, on the + ground of La Briere’s illness, leaving the field to the grand equerry. + About eleven o’clock Butscha, who had come to walk home with Madame + Latournelle, whispered in Modeste’s ear, “Was I right?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But I hope you have left the door half open, so that he can come back; we + agreed upon that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Anger got the better of me,” said Modeste. “Such meanness sent the blood + to my head and I told him what I thought of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so much the better. When you are both so angry that you can’t speak + civilly to each other I engage to make him desperately in love and so + pressing that you will be deceived yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Butscha; he is a great poet; he is a gentleman; he is a man + of intellect.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father’s eight millions are more to him than all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Eight millions!” exclaimed Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “My master, who has sold his practice, is going to Provence to attend to + the purchase of lands which your father’s agent has suggested to him. The + sum that is to be paid for the estate of La Bastie is four millions; your + father has agreed to it. You are to have a ‘dot’ of two millions and + another million for an establishment in Paris, a hotel and furniture. Now, + count up.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then I can be Duchesse d’Herouville!” cried Modeste, glancing at + Butscha. + </p> + <p> + “If it hadn’t been for that comedian of a Canalis you would have kept HIS + whip, thinking it came from me,” said the dwarf, indirectly pleading La + Briere’s cause. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Butscha, may I ask if I am to marry to please you?” said + Modeste, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “That fine fellow loves you as well as I do,—and you loved him for + eight days,” retorted Butscha; “and HE has got a heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Can he compete, pray, with an office under the Crown? There are but six, + grand almoner, chancellor, grand chamberlain, grand master, high + constable, grand admiral,—but they don’t appoint high constables any + longer.” + </p> + <p> + “In six months, mademoiselle, the masses—who are made up of wicked + Butschas—could send all those grand dignities to the winds. Besides, + what signifies nobility in these days? There are not a thousand real + noblemen in France. The d’Herouvilles are descended from a tipstaff in the + time of Robert of Normandy. You will have to put up with many a vexation + from the old aunt with the furrowed face. Look here,—as you are so + anxious for the title of duchess,—you belong to the Comtat, and the + Pope will certainly think as much of you as he does of all those merchants + down there; he’ll sell you a duchy with some name ending in ‘ia’ or + ‘agno.’ Don’t play away your happiness for an office under the Crown.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. A DIPLOMATIC LETTER + </h2> + <p> + The poet’s reflections during the night were thoroughly matter of fact. He + sincerely saw nothing worse in life than the situation of a married man + without money. Still trembling at the danger he had been led into by his + vanity, his desire to get the better of the duke, and his belief in the + Mignon millions, he began to ask himself what the duchess must be thinking + of his stay in Havre, aggravated by the fact that he had not written to + her for fourteen days, whereas in Paris they exchanged four or five + letters a week. + </p> + <p> + “And that poor woman is working hard to get me appointed commander of the + Legion and ambassador to the Court of Baden!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon, with that promptitude of decision which results—in poets + as well as in speculators—from a lively intuition of the future, he + sat down and composed the following letter:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Madame la Duchesse de Chaulieu: + + My dear Eleonore,—You have doubtless been surprised at not + hearing from me; but the stay I am making in this place is not + altogether on account of my health. I have been trying to do a + good turn to our little friend La Briere. The poor fellow has + fallen in love with a certain Mademoiselle Modeste de La Bastie, a + rather pale, insignificant, and thread-papery little thing, who, + by the way, has the vice of liking literature, and calls herself a + poet to excuse the caprices and humors of a rather sullen nature. + You know Ernest,—he is so easy to catch that I have been afraid + to leave him to himself. Mademoiselle de La Bastie was inclined to + coquet with your Melchior, and was only too ready to become your + rival, though her arms are thin, and she has no more bust than + most girls; moreover, her hair is as dead and colorless as that of + Madame de Rochefide, and her eyes small, gray, and very + suspicious. I put a stop—perhaps rather brutally—to the + attentions of Mademoiselle Immodeste; but love, such as mine for + you, demanded it. What care I for all the women on earth, + —compared to you, what are they? + + The people with whom I pass my time, and who form the circle round + the heiress, are so thoroughly bourgeois that they almost turn my + stomach. Pity me; imagine! I pass my evenings with notaries, + notaresses, cashiers, provincial money-lenders—ah! what a change + from my evenings in the rue de Grenelle. The alleged fortune of + the father, lately returned from China, has brought to Havre that + indefatigable suitor, the grand equerry, hungry after the + millions, which he wants, they say, to drain his marshes. The king + does not know what a fatal present he made the duke in those waste + lands. His Grace, who has not yet found out that the lady had only + a small fortune, is jealous of <i>me</i>; for La Briere is quietly making + progress with his idol under cover of his friend, who serves as a + blind. + + Notwithstanding Ernest’s romantic ecstasies, I myself, a poet, + think chiefly of the essential thing, and I have been making some + inquiries which darken the prospects of our friend. If my angel + would like absolution for some of our little sins, she will try to + find out the facts of the case by sending for Mongenod, the + banker, and questioning him, with the dexterity that characterizes + her, as to the father’s fortune? Monsieur Mignon, formerly colonel + of cavalry in the Imperial guard, has been for the last seven + years a correspondent of the Mongenods. It is said that he gives + his daughter a “dot” of two hundred thousand francs, and before I + make the offer on Ernest’s behalf I am anxious to get the rights + of the story. As soon as the affair is arranged I shall return to + Paris. I know a way to settle everything to the advantage of our + young lover,—simply by the transmission of the father-in-law’s + title, and no one, I think, can more readily obtain that favor + than Ernest, both on account of his own services and the influence + which you and I and the duke can exert for him. With his tastes, + Ernest, who of course will step into my office when I go to Baden, + will be perfectly happy in Paris with twenty-five thousand francs + a year, a permanent place, and a wife—luckless fellow! + + Ah, dearest, how I long for the rue de Grenelle! Fifteen days of + absence! when they do not kill love, they revive all the ardor of + its earlier days, and you know, better than I, perhaps, the + reasons that make my love eternal,—my bones will love thee in the + grave! Ah! I cannot bear this separation. If I am forced to stay + here another ten days, I shall make a flying visit of a few hours + to Paris. + + Has the duke obtained for me the thing we wanted; and shall you, + my dearest life, be ordered to drink the Baden waters next year? + The billing and cooing of the “handsome disconsolate,” compared + with the accents of our happy love—so true and changeless for now + ten years!—have given me a great contempt for marriage. I had + never seen the thing so near. Ah, dearest! what the world calls a + “false step” brings two beings nearer together than the law—does + it not? +</pre> + <p> + The concluding idea served as a text for two pages of reminiscences and + aspirations a little too confidential for publication. + </p> + <p> + The evening before the day on which Canalis put the above epistle into the + post, Butscha, under the name of Jean Jacmin, had received a letter from + his fictitious cousin, Philoxene, and had mailed his answer, which thus + preceded the letter of the poet by about twelve hours. Terribly anxious + for the last two weeks, and wounded by Melchior’s silence, the duchess + herself dictated Philoxene’s letter to her cousin, and the moment she had + read the answer, rather too explicit for her quinquagenary vanity, she + sent for the banker and made close inquiries as to the exact fortune of + Monsieur Mignon. Finding herself betrayed and abandoned for the millions, + Eleonore gave way to a paroxysm of anger, hatred, and cold vindictiveness. + Philoxene knocked at the door of the sumptuous room, and entering found + her mistress with her eyes full of tears,—so unprecedented a + phenomenon in the fifteen years she had waited upon her that the woman + stopped short stupefied. + </p> + <p> + “We expiate the happiness of ten years in ten minutes,” she heard the + duchess say. + </p> + <p> + “A letter from Havre, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Eleonore read the poet’s prose without noticing the presence of Philoxene, + whose amazement became still greater when she saw the dawn of fresh + serenity on the duchess’s face as she read further and further into the + letter. Hold out a pole no thicker than a walking-stick to a drowning man, + and he will think it a high-road of safety. The happy Eleonore believed in + Canalis’s good faith when she had read through the four pages in which + love and business, falsehood and truth, jostled each other. She who, a few + moments earlier, had sent for her husband to prevent Melchior’s + appointment while there was still time, was now seized with a spirit of + generosity that amounted almost to the sublime. + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow!” she thought; “he has not had one faithless thought; he + loves me as he did on the first day; he tells me all—Philoxene!” she + cried, noticing her maid, who was standing near and pretending to arrange + the toilet-table. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la duchesse?” + </p> + <p> + “A mirror, child!” + </p> + <p> + Eleonore looked at herself, saw the fine razor-like lines traced on her + brow, which disappeared at a little distance; she sighed, and in that sigh + she felt she bade adieu to love. A brave thought came into her mind, a + manly thought, outside of all the pettiness of women,—a thought + which intoxicates for a moment, and which explains, perhaps, the clemency + of the Semiramis of Russia when she married her young and beautiful rival + to Momonoff. + </p> + <p> + “Since he has not been faithless, he shall have the girl and her + millions,” she thought,—“provided Mademoiselle Mignon is as ugly as + he says she is.” + </p> + <p> + Three raps, circumspectly given, announced the duke, and his wife went + herself to the door to let him in. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see you are better, my dear,” he cried, with the counterfeit joy + that courtiers assume so readily, and by which fools are so readily taken + in. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Henri,” she answered, “why is it you have not yet obtained that + appointment for Melchior,—you who sacrificed so much to the king in + taking a ministry which you knew could only last one year.” + </p> + <p> + The duke glanced at Philoxene, who showed him by an almost imperceptible + sign the letter from Havre on the dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + “You would be terribly bored at Baden and come back at daggers drawn with + Melchior,” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Pray why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you would always be together,” said the former diplomat, with comic + good-humor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she said; “I am going to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “If we can believe d’Herouville, our dear Canalis stands in no need of + your help in that direction,” said the duke, smiling. “Yesterday Grandlieu + read me some passages from a letter the grand equerry had written him. No + doubt they were dictated by the aunt for the express purpose of their + reaching you, for Mademoiselle d’Herouville, always on the scent of a + ‘dot,’ knows that Grandlieu and I play whist nearly every evening. That + good little d’Herouville wants the Prince de Cadignan to go down and give + a royal hunt in Normandy, and endeavor to persuade the king to be present, + so as to turn the head of the damozel when she sees herself the object of + such a grand affair. In short, two words from Charles X. would settle the + matter. D’Herouville says the girl has incomparable beauty—” + </p> + <p> + “Henri, let us go to Havre!” cried the duchess, interrupting him. + </p> + <p> + “Under what pretext?” said her husband, gravely; he was one of the + confidants of Louis XVIII. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw a hunt.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be all very well if the king went; but it is a terrible bore to + go so far, and he will not do it; I have just been speaking with him about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps <i>Madame</i> would go?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be better,” returned the duke, “I dare say the Duchesse de + Maufrigneuse would help you to persuade her from Rosny. If she goes the + king will not be displeased at the use of his hunting equipage. Don’t go + to Havre, my dear,” added the duke, paternally, “that would be giving + yourself away. Come, here’s a better plan, I think. Gaspard’s chateau of + Rosembray is on the other side of the forest of Brotonne; why not give him + a hint to invite the whole party?” + </p> + <p> + “He invite them?” said Eleonore. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, of course, the duchess; she is always engaged in pious works with + Mademoiselle d’Herouville; give that old maid a hint, and get her to speak + to Gaspard.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a love of a man,” cried Eleonore; “I’ll write to the old maid and + to Diane at once, for we must get hunting things made,—a riding hat + is so becoming. Did you win last night at the English embassy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the duke; “I cleared myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Henri, above all things, stop proceedings about Melchior’s two + appointments.” + </p> + <p> + After writing half a dozen lines to the beautiful Diane de Maufrigneuse, + and a short hint to Mademoiselle d’Herouville, Eleonore sent the following + answer like the lash of a whip through the poet’s lies. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Monsieur le Baron de Canalis:— + + My dear poet,—Mademoiselle de La Bastie is very beautiful; + Mongenod has proved to me that her father has millions. I did + think of marrying you to her; I am therefore much displeased at + your want of confidence. If you had any intention of marrying La + Briere when you went to Havre it is surprising that you said + nothing to me about it before you started. And why have you + omitted writing to a friend who is so easily made anxious as I? + Your letter arrived a trifle late; I had already seen the banker. + You are a child, Melchior, and you are playing tricks with us. It + is not right. The duke himself is quite indignant at your + proceedings; he thinks you less than a gentleman, which casts some + reflections on your mother’s honor. + + Now, I intend to see things for myself. I shall, I believe, have + the honor of accompanying <i>Madame</i> to the hunt which the Duc + d’Herouville proposes to give for Mademoiselle de La Bastie. I + will manage to have you invited to Rosembray, for the meet will + probably take place in Duc de Verneuil’s park. + + Pray believe, my dear poet, that I am none the less, for life, + + Your friend, Eleonore de M. +</pre> + <p> + “There, Ernest, just look at that!” cried Canalis, tossing the letter at + Ernest’s nose across the breakfast-table; “that’s the two thousandth + love-letter I have had from that woman, and there isn’t even a ‘thou’ in + it. The illustrious Eleonore has never compromised herself more than she + does there. Marry, and try your luck! The worst marriage in the world is + better than this sort of halter. Ah, I am the greatest Nicodemus that ever + tumbled out of the moon! Modeste has millions, and I’ve lost her; for we + can’t get back from the poles, where we are to-day, to the tropics, where + we were three days ago! Well, I am all the more anxious for your triumph + over the grand equerry, because I told the duchess I came here only for + your sake; and so I shall do my best for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Melchior, Modeste must needs have so noble, so grand, so + well-balanced a nature to resist the glories of the Court, and all these + splendors cleverly displayed for her honor and glory by the duke, that I + cannot believe in the existence of such perfection,—and yet, if she + is still the Modeste of her letters, there might be hope!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, you are a happy fellow, you young Boniface, to see the world + and your mistress through green spectacles!” cried Canalis, marching off + to pace up and down the garden. + </p> + <p> + Caught between two lies, the poet was at a loss what to do. + </p> + <p> + “Play by rule, and you lose!” he cried presently, sitting down in the + kiosk. “Every man of sense would have acted as I did four days ago, and + got himself out of the net in which I saw myself. At such times people + don’t disentangle nets, they break through them! Come, let us be calm, + cold, dignified, affronted. Honor requires it; English stiffness is the + only way to win her back. After all, if I have to retire finally, I can + always fall back on my old happiness; a fidelity of ten years can’t go + unrewarded. Eleonore will arrange me some good marriage.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. TRUE LOVE + </h2> + <p> + The hunt was destined to be not only a meet of the hounds, but a meeting + of all the passions excited by the colonel’s millions and Modeste’s + beauty; and while it was in prospect there was truce between the + adversaries. During the days required for the arrangement of this + forestrial solemnity, the salon of the villa Mignon presented the tranquil + picture of a united family. Canalis, cut short in his role of injured love + by Modeste’s quick perceptions, wished to appear courteous; he laid aside + his pretensions, gave no further specimens of his oratory, and became, + what all men of intellect can be when they renounce affectation, perfectly + charming. He talked finances with Gobenheim, and war with the colonel, + Germany with Madame Mignon, and housekeeping with Madame Latournelle,—endeavoring + to bias them all in favor of La Briere. The Duc d’Herouville left the + field to his rivals, for he was obliged to go to Rosembray to consult with + the Duc de Verneuil, and see that the orders of the Royal Huntsman, the + Prince de Cadignan, were carried out. And yet the comic element was not + altogether wanting. Modeste found herself between the depreciatory hints + of Canalis as to the gallantry of the grand equerry, and the exaggerations + of the two Mesdemoiselles d’Herouville, who passed every evening at the + villa. Canalis made Modeste take notice that, instead of being the heroine + of the hunt, she would be scarcely noticed. <i>Madame</i> would be + attended by the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, daughter-in-law of the Prince de + Cadignan, by the Duchesse de Chaulieu, and other great ladies of the + Court, among whom she could produce no sensation; no doubt the officers in + garrison at Rouen would be invited, etc. Helene, on the other hand, was + incessantly telling her new friend, whom she already looked upon as a + sister-in-law, that she was to be presented to <i>Madame</i>; undoubtedly + the Duc de Verneuil would invite her father and herself to stay at + Rosembray; if the colonel wished to obtain a favor of the king,—a + peerage, for instance,—the opportunity was unique, for there was + hope of the king himself being present on the third day; she would be + delighted with the charming welcome with which the beauties of the Court, + the Duchesses de Chaulieu, de Maufrigneuse, de Lenoncourt-Chaulieu, and + other ladies, were prepared to meet her. It was in fact an excessively + amusing little warfare, with its marches and countermarches and + stratagems,—all of which were keenly enjoyed by the Dumays, the + Latournelles, Gobenheim, and Butscha, who, in conclave assembled, said + horrible things of these noble personages, cruelly noting and + intelligently studying all their little meannesses. + </p> + <p> + The promises on the d’Herouville side were, however, confirmed by the + arrival of an invitation, couched in flattering terms, from the Duc de + Verneuil and the Master of the Hunt to Monsieur le Comte de La Bastie and + his daughter, to stay at Rosembray and be present at a grand hunt on the + seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth, of November following. + </p> + <p> + La Briere, full of dark presentiments, craved the presence of Modeste with + an eagerness whose bitter joys are known only to lovers who feel that they + are parted, and parted fatally from those they love. Flashes of joy came + to him intermingled with melancholy meditations on the one theme, “I have + lost her,” and made him all the more interesting to those who watched him, + because his face and his whole person were in keeping with his profound + feeling. There is nothing more poetic than a living elegy, animated by a + pair of eyes, walking about, and sighing without rhymes. + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Herouville arrived at last to arrange for Modeste’s departure; + after crossing the Seine she was to be conveyed in the duke’s caleche, + accompanied by the Demoiselles d’Herouville. The duke was charmingly + courteous, he begged Canalis and La Briere to be of the party, assuring + them, as he did the colonel, that he had taken particular care that + hunters should be provided for them. The colonel invited the three lovers + to breakfast on the morning of the start. Canalis then began to put into + execution a plan that he had been maturing in his own mind for the last + few days; namely, to quietly reconquer Modeste, and throw over the + duchess, La Briere, and the duke. A graduate of diplomacy could hardly + remain stuck in the position in which he found himself. On the other hand + La Briere had come to the resolution of bidding Modeste an eternal + farewell. Each suitor was therefore on the watch to slip in a last word, + like the defendant’s counsel to the court before judgment is pronounced; + for all felt that the three weeks’ struggle was approaching its + conclusion. After dinner on the evening before the start was to be made, + the colonel had taken his daughter by the arm and made her feel the + necessity of deciding. + </p> + <p> + “Our position with the d’Herouville family will be quite intolerable at + Rosembray,” he said to her. “Do you mean to be a duchess?” + </p> + <p> + “No, father,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you love Canalis?” + </p> + <p> + “No, papa, a thousand times no!” she exclaimed with the impatience of a + child. + </p> + <p> + The colonel looked at her with a sort of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I have not influenced you,” cried the true father, “and I will now + confess that I chose my son-in-law in Paris when, having made him believe + that I had but little fortune, he grasped my hand and told me I took a + weight from his mind—” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it you mean?” asked Modeste, coloring. + </p> + <p> + “<i>The man of fixed principles and sound moralities</i>,” said her + father, slyly, repeating the words which had dissolved poor Modeste’s + dream on the day after his return. + </p> + <p> + “I was not even thinking of him, papa. Please leave me at liberty to + refuse the duke myself; I understand him, and I know how to soothe him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your choice is not made?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet; there is another syllable or two in the charade of my destiny + still to be guessed; but after I have had a glimpse of court life at + Rosembray I will tell you my secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Monsieur de La Briere,” cried the colonel, as the young man + approached them along the garden path in which they were walking, “I hope + you are going to this hunt?” + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel,” answered Ernest. “I have come to take leave of you and of + mademoiselle; I return to Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “You have no curiosity,” said Modeste, interrupting, and looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “A wish—that I cannot expect—would suffice to keep me,” he + replied. + </p> + <p> + “If that is all, you must stay to please me; I wish it,” said the colonel, + going forward to meet Canalis, and leaving his daughter and La Briere + together for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said the young man, raising his eyes to hers with the + boldness of a man without hope, “I have an entreaty to make to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To me?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me carry away with me your forgiveness. My life can never be happy; + it must be full of remorse for having lost my happiness—no doubt by + my own fault; but, at least,—” + </p> + <p> + “Before we part forever,” said Modeste, interrupting a la Canalis, and + speaking in a voice of some emotion, “I wish to ask you one thing; and + though you once disguised yourself, I think you cannot be so base as to + deceive me now.” + </p> + <p> + The taunt made him turn pale, and he cried out, “Oh, you are pitiless!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be frank?” + </p> + <p> + “You have the right to ask me that degrading question,” he said, in a + voice weakened by the violent palpitation of his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, did you read my letters to Monsieur de Canalis?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mademoiselle; and I allowed your father to read them it was to + justify my love by showing him how it was born, and how sincere my efforts + were to cure you of your fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “But how came the idea of that unworthy masquerade ever to arise?” she + said, with a sort of impatience. + </p> + <p> + La Briere related truthfully the scene in the poet’s study which Modeste’s + first letter had occasioned, and the sort of challenge that resulted from + his expressing a favorable opinion of a young girl thus led toward a + poet’s fame, as a plant seeks its share of the sun. + </p> + <p> + “You have said enough,” said Modeste, restraining some emotion. “If you + have not my heart, monsieur, you have at least my esteem.” + </p> + <p> + These simple words gave the young man a violent shock; feeling himself + stagger, he leaned against a tree, like a man deprived for a moment of + reason. Modest, who had left him, turned her head and came hastily back. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked, taking his hand to prevent him from + falling. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me—I thought you despised me.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” she answered, with a distant and disdainful manner, “I did not say + that I loved you.” + </p> + <p> + And she left him again. But this time, in spite of her harshness, La + Briere thought he walked on air; the earth softened under his feet, the + trees bore flowers; the skies were rosy, the air cerulean, as they are in + the temples of Hymen in those fairy pantomimes which finish happily. In + such situations every woman is a Janus, and sees behind her without + turning round; and thus Modeste perceived on the face of her lover the + indubitable symptoms of a love like Butscha’s,—surely the “ne plus + ultra” of a woman’s hope. Moreover, the great value which La Briere + attached to her opinion filled Modeste with an emotion that was + inestimably sweet. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Canalis, leaving the colonel and waylaying Modeste, + “in spite of the little value you attach to my sentiments, my honor is + concerned in effacing a stain under which I have suffered too long. Here + is a letter which I received from the Duchesse de Chaulieu five days after + my arrival in Havre.” + </p> + <p> + He let Modeste read the first lines of the letter we have seen, which the + duchess began by saying that she had seen Mongenod, and now wished to + marry her poet to Modeste; then he tore that passage from the body of the + letter, and placed the fragment in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot let you read the rest,” he said, putting the paper in his + pocket; “but I confide these few lines to your discretion, so that you may + verify the writing. A young girl who could accuse me of ignoble sentiments + is quite capable of suspecting some collusion, some trickery. Ah, + Modeste,” he said, with tears in his voice, “your poet, the poet of Madame + de Chaulieu, has no less poetry in his heart than in his mind. You are + about to see the duchess; suspend your judgment of me till then.” + </p> + <p> + He left Modeste half bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” she said to herself; “it seems they are all angels—and + not marriageable; the duke is the only one that belongs to humanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Modeste,” said Butscha, appearing with a parcel under his + arm, “this hunt makes me very uneasy. I dreamed your horse ran away with + you, and I have been to Rouen to see if I could get a Spanish bit which, + they tell me, a horse can’t take between his teeth. I entreat you to use + it. I have shown it to the colonel, and he has thanked me more than there + is any occasion for.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor, dear Butscha!” cried Modeste, moved to tears by this maternal care. + </p> + <p> + Butscha went skipping off like a man who has just heard of the death of a + rich uncle. + </p> + <p> + “My dear father,” said Modeste, returning to the salon; “I should like to + have that beautiful whip,—suppose you were to ask Monsieur de La + Briere to exchange it for your picture by Van Ostade.” + </p> + <p> + Modeste looked furtively at Ernest, while the colonel made him this + proposition, standing before the picture which was the sole thing he + possessed in memory of his campaigns, having bought it of a burgher at + Rabiston; and she said to herself as La Briere left the room + precipitately, “He will be at the hunt.” + </p> + <p> + A curious thing happened. Modeste’s three lovers each and all went to + Rosembray with their hearts full of hope, and captivated by her many + perfections. + </p> + <p> + Rosembray,—an estate lately purchased by the Duc de Verneuil, with + the money which fell to him as his share of the thousand millions voted as + indemnity for the sale of the lands of the emigres,—is remarkable + for its chateau, whose magnificence compares only with that of Mesniere or + of Balleroy. This imposing and noble edifice is approached by a wide + avenue of four rows of venerable elms, from which the visitor enters an + immense rising court-yard, like that at Versailles, with magnificent iron + railings and two lodges, and adorned with rows of large orange-trees in + their tubs. Facing this court-yard, the chateau presents, between two + fronts of the main building which retreat on either side of this + projection, a double row of nineteen tall windows, with carved arches and + diamond panes, divided from each other by a series of fluted pilasters + surmounted by an entablature which hides an Italian roof, from which rise + several stone chimneys masked by carved trophies of arms. Rosembray was + built, under Louis XIV., by a “fermier-general” named Cottin. The facade + toward the park differs from that on the court-yard by having a narrower + projection in the centre, with columns between five windows, above which + rises a magnificent pediment. The family of Marigny, to whom the estates + of this Cottin were brought in marriage by Mademoiselle Cottin, her + father’s sole heiress, ordered a sunrise to be carved on this pediment by + Coysevox. Beneath it are two angels unwinding a scroll, on which is cut + this motto in honor of the Grand Monarch, “Sol nobis benignus.” + </p> + <p> + From the portico, reached by two grand circular and balustraded flights of + steps, the view extends over an immense fish-pond, as long and wide as the + grand canal at Versailles, beginning at the foot of a grass-plot which + compares well with the finest English lawns, and bordered with beds and + baskets now filled with the brilliant flowers of autumn. On either side of + the piece of water two gardens, laid out in the French style, display + their squares and long straight paths, like brilliant pages written in the + ciphers of Lenotre. These gardens are backed to their whole length by a + border of nearly thirty acres of woodland. From the terrace the view is + bounded by a forest belonging to Rosembray and contiguous to two other + forests, one of which belongs to the Crown, the other to the State. It + would be difficult to find a nobler landscape. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. A GIRL’S REVENGE + </h2> + <p> + Modeste’s arrival at Rosembray made a certain sensation in the avenue when + the carriage with the liveries of France came in sight, accompanied by the + grand equerry, the colonel, Canalis, and La Briere on horseback, preceded + by an outrider in full dress, and followed by six servants,—among + whom were the Negroes and the mulatto,—and the britzka of the + colonel for the two waiting-women and the luggage. The carriage was drawn + by four horses, ridden by postilions dressed with an elegance specially + commanded by the grand equerry, who was often better served than the king + himself. As Modeste, dazzled by the magnificence of the great lords, + entered and beheld this lesser Versailles, she suddenly remembered her + approaching interview with the celebrated duchesses, and began to fear + that she might seem awkward, or provincial, or parvenue; in fact, she lost + her self-possession, and heartily repented having wished for a hunt. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, however, as the carriage drew up, Modeste saw an old man, in + a blond wig frizzed into little curls, whose calm, plump, smooth face wore + a fatherly smile and an expression of monastic cheerfulness which the + half-veiled glance of the eye rendered almost noble. This was the Duc de + Verneuil, master of Rosembray. The duchess, a woman of extreme piety, the + only daughter of a rich and deceased chief-justice, spare and erect, and + the mother of four children, resembled Madame Latournelle,—if the + imagination can go so far as to adorn the notary’s wife with the graces of + a bearing that was truly abbatial. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, good morning, dear Hortense!” said Mademoiselle d’Herouville, kissing + the duchess with the sympathy that united their haughty natures; “let me + present to you and to the dear duke our little angel, Mademoiselle de La + Bastie.” + </p> + <p> + “We have heard so much of you, mademoiselle,” said the duchess, “that we + were in haste to receive you.” + </p> + <p> + “And regret the time lost,” added the Duc de Verneuil, with courteous + admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Comte de La Bastie,” said the grand equerry, taking the + colonel by the arm and presenting him to the duke and duchess, with an air + of respect in his tone and gesture. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to welcome you, Monsieur le comte!” said Monsieur de Verneuil. + “You possess more than one treasure,” he added, looking at Modeste. + </p> + <p> + The duchess took Modeste under her arm and led her into an immense salon, + where a dozen or more women were grouped about the fireplace. The men of + the party remained with the duke on the terrace, except Canalis, who + respectfully made his way to the superb Eleonore. The Duchesse de + Chaulieu, seated at an embroidery-frame, was showing Mademoiselle de + Verneuil how to shade a flower. + </p> + <p> + If Modeste had run a needle through her finger when handling a pin-cushion + she could not have felt a sharper prick than she received from the cold + and haughty and contemptuous stare with which Madame de Chaulieu favored + her. For an instant she saw nothing but that one woman, and she saw + through her. To understand the depths of cruelty to which these charming + creatures, whom our passions deify, can go, we must see women with each + other. Modeste would have disarmed almost any other than Eleonore by the + perfectly stupid and involuntary admiration which her face betrayed. Had + she not known the duchess’s age she would have thought her a woman of + thirty-six; but other and greater astonishments awaited her. + </p> + <p> + The poet had run plump against a great lady’s anger. Such anger is the + worst of sphinxes; the face is radiant, all the rest menacing. Kings + themselves cannot make the exquisite politeness of a mistress’s cold anger + capitulate when she guards it with steel armor. Canalis tried to cling to + the steel, but his fingers slipped on the polished surface, like his words + on the heart; and the gracious face, the gracious words, the gracious + bearing of the duchess hid the steel of her wrath, now fallen to + twenty-five below zero, from all observers. The appearance of Modeste in + her sublime beauty, and dressed as well as Diane de Maufrigneuse herself, + had fired the train of gunpowder which reflection had been laying in + Eleonore’s mind. + </p> + <p> + All the women had gone to the windows to see the new wonder get out of the + royal carriage, attended by her three suitors. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us seem so curious,” Madame de Chaulieu had said, cut to the + heart by Diane’s exclamation,—“She is divine! where in the world + does she come from?”—and with that the bevy flew back to their + seats, resuming their composure, though Eleonore’s heart was full of + hungry vipers all clamorous for a meal. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle d’Herouville said in a low voice and with much meaning to the + Duchesse de Verneuil, “Eleonore receives her Melchior very ungraciously.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse thinks there is a coolness between them,” + said Laure de Verneuil, with simplicity. + </p> + <p> + Charming phrase! so often used in the world of society,—how the + north wind blows through it. + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” asked Modeste of the pretty young girl who had lately left the + Sacre-Coeur. + </p> + <p> + “The great poet,” said the pious duchess—making a sign to her + daughter to be silent—“left Madame de Chaulieu without a letter for + more than two weeks after he went to Havre, having told her that he went + there for his health—” + </p> + <p> + Modeste made a hasty movement, which caught the attention of Laure, + Helene, and Mademoiselle d’Herouville. + </p> + <p> + “—and during that time,” continued the devout duchess, “she was + endeavoring to have him appointed commander of the Legion of honor, and + minister at Baden.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that was shameful in Canalis; he owes everything to her,” exclaimed + Mademoiselle d’Herouville. + </p> + <p> + “Why did not Madame de Chaulieu come to Havre?” asked Modeste of Helene, + innocently. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said the Duchesse de Verneuil, “she would let herself be cut in + little pieces without saying a word. Look at her,—she is regal; her + head would smile, like Mary Stuart’s, after it was cut off; in fact, she + has some of that blood in her veins.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she not write to him?” asked Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Diane tells me,” answered the duchess, prompted by a nudge from + Mademoiselle d’Herouville, “that in answer to Canalis’s first letter she + made a cutting reply a few days ago.” + </p> + <p> + This explanation made Modeste blush with shame for the man before her; she + longed, not to crush him under her feet, but to revenge herself by one of + those malicious acts that are sharper than a dagger’s thrust. She looked + haughtily at the Duchesse de Chaulieu— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Melchior!” she said. + </p> + <p> + All the women snuffed the air and looked alternately at the duchess, who + was talking in an undertone to Canalis over the embroidery-frame, and then + at the young girl so ill brought up as to disturb a lovers’ meeting,—a + thing not permissible in any society. Diane de Maufrigneuse nodded, + however, as much as to say, “The child is in the right of it.” All the + women ended by smiling at each other; they were enraged with a woman who + was fifty-six years old and still handsome enough to put her fingers into + the treasury and steal the dues of youth. Melchior looked at Modeste with + feverish impatience, and made the gesture of a master to a valet, while + the duchess lowered her head with the movement of a lioness disturbed at a + meal; her eyes, fastened on the canvas, emitted red flames in the + direction of the poet, which stabbed like epigrams, for each word revealed + to her a triple insult. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Melchior!” said Modeste again in a voice that asserted its right + to be heard. + </p> + <p> + “What, mademoiselle?” demanded the poet. + </p> + <p> + Forced to rise, he remained standing half-way between the embroidery + frame, which was near a window, and the fireplace where Modeste was seated + with the Duchesse de Verneuil on a sofa. What bitter reflections came into + his ambitious mind, as he caught a glance from Eleonore. If he obeyed + Modeste all was over, and forever, between himself and his protectress. + Not to obey her was to avow his slavery, to lose the chances of his + twenty-five days of base manoeuvring, and to disregard the plainest laws + of decency and civility. The greater the folly, the more imperatively the + duchess exacted it. Modeste’s beauty and money thus pitted against + Eleonore’s rights and influence made this hesitation between the man and + his honor as terrible to witness as the peril of a matador in the arena. A + man seldom feels such palpitations as those which now came near causing + Canalis an aneurism, except, perhaps, before the green table, where his + fortune or his ruin is about to be decided. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle d’Herouville hurried me from the carriage, and I left behind + me,” said Modeste to Canalis, “my handkerchief—” + </p> + <p> + Canalis shrugged his shoulders significantly. + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued Modeste, taking no notice of his gesture, “I had tied + into one corner of it the key of a desk which contains the fragment of an + important letter; have the kindness, Monsieur Melchior, to get it for me.” + </p> + <p> + Between an angel and a tiger equally enraged Canalis, who had turned + livid, no longer hesitated,—the tiger seemed to him the least + dangerous of the two; and he was about to do as he was told, and commit + himself irretrievably, when La Briere appeared at the door of the salon, + seeming to his anguished mind like the archangel Gabriel tumbling from + heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Ernest, here, Mademoiselle de La Bastie wants you,” said the poet, + hastily returning to his chair by the embroidery frame. + </p> + <p> + Ernest rushed to Modeste without bowing to any one; he saw only her, took + his commission with undisguised joy, and darted from the room, with the + secret approbation of every woman present. + </p> + <p> + “What an occupation for a poet!” said Modeste to Helene d’Herouville, + glancing toward the embroidery at which the duchess was now working + savagely. + </p> + <p> + “If you speak to her, if you ever look at her, all is over between us,” + said the duchess to the poet in a low voice, not at all satisfied with the + very doubtful termination which Ernest’s arrival had put to the scene; + “and remember, if I am not present, I leave behind me eyes that will watch + you.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, the duchess, a woman of medium height, but a little too stout, + like all women over fifty who retain their beauty, rose and walked toward + the group which surrounded Diane de Maufrigneuse, stepping daintily on + little feet that were as slender and nervous as a deer’s. Beneath her + plumpness could be seen the exquisite delicacy of such women, which comes + from the vigor of their nervous systems controlling and vitalizing the + development of flesh. There is no other way to explain the lightness of + her step, and the incomparable nobility of her bearing. None but the women + whose quarterings begin with Noah know, as Eleonore did, how to be + majestic in spite of a buxom tendency. A philosopher might have pitied + Philoxene, while admiring the graceful lines of the bust and the minute + care bestowed upon a morning dress, which was worn with the elegance of a + queen and the easy grace of a young girl. Her abundant hair, still undyed, + was simply wound about her head in plaits; she bared her snowy throat and + shoulders, exquisitely modelled, and her celebrated hand and arm, with + pardonable pride. Modeste, together with all other antagonists of the + duchess, recognized in her a woman of whom they were forced to say, “She + eclipses us.” In fact, Eleonore was one of the “grandes dames” now so + rare. To endeavor to explain what august quality there was in the carriage + of the head, what refinement and delicacy in the curve of the throat, what + harmony in her movements, and nobility in her bearing, what grandeur in + the perfect accord of details with the whole being, and in the arts, now a + second nature, which render a woman grand and even sacred,—to + explain all these things would simply be to attempt to analyze the + sublime. People enjoy such poetry as they enjoy that of Paganini; they do + not explain to themselves the medium, they know the cause is in the spirit + that remains invisible. + </p> + <p> + Madame de Chaulieu bowed her head in salutation of Helene and her aunt; + then, saying to Diane, in a pure and equable tone of voice, without a + trace of emotion, “Is it not time to dress, duchess?” she made her exit, + accompanied by her daughter-in-law and Mademoiselle d’Herouville. As she + left the room she spoke in an undertone to the old maid, who pressed her + arm, saying, “You are charming,”—which meant, “I am all gratitude + for the service you have just done us.” After that, Mademoiselle + d’Herouville returned to the salon to play her part of spy, and her first + glance apprised Canalis that the duchess had made him no empty threat. + That apprentice in diplomacy became aware that his science was not + sufficient for a struggle of this kind, and his wit served him to take a + more honest position, if not a worthier one. When Ernest returned, + bringing Modeste’s handkerchief, the poet seized his arm and took him out + on the terrace. + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend,” he said, “I am not only the most unfortunate man in the + world, but I am also the most ridiculous; and I come to you to get me out + of the hornet’s nest into which I have run myself. Modeste is a demon; she + sees my difficulty and she laughs at it; she has just spoken to me of a + fragment of a letter of Madame de Chaulieu, which I had the folly to give + her; if she shows it I can never make my peace with Eleonore. Therefore, + will you at once ask Modeste to send me back that paper, and tell her, + from me, that I make no pretensions to her hand. Say I count upon her + delicacy, upon her propriety as a young girl, to behave to me as if we had + never known each other. I beg her not to speak to me; I implore her to + treat me harshly,—though I hardly dare ask her to feign a jealous + anger, which would help my interests amazingly. Go, I will wait here for + an answer.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. MODESTE BEHAVES WITH DIGNITY + </h2> + <p> + On re-entering the salon Ernest de La Briere found a young officer of the + company of the guard d’Havre, the Vicomte de Serizy, who had just arrived + from Rosny to announce that <i>Madame</i> was obliged to be present at the + opening of the Chambers. We know the importance then attached to this + constitutional solemnity, at which Charles X. delivered his speech, + surrounded by the royal family,—Madame la Dauphine and <i>Madame</i> + being present in their gallery. The choice of the emissary charged with + the duty of expressing the princess’s regrets was an attention to Diane, + who was then an object of adoration to this charming young man, son of a + minister of state, gentleman in ordinary of the chamber, only son and heir + to an immense fortune. The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse permitted his + attentions solely for the purpose of attracting notice to the age of his + mother, Madame de Serizy, who was said, in those chronicles that are + whispered behind the fans, to have deprived her of the heart of the + handsome Lucien de Rubempre. + </p> + <p> + “You will do us the pleasure, I hope, to remain at Rosembray,” said the + severe duchess to the young officer. + </p> + <p> + While giving ear to every scandal, the devout lady shut her eyes to the + derelictions of her guests who had been carefully selected by the duke; + indeed, it is surprising how much these excellent women will tolerate + under pretence of bringing the lost sheep back to the fold by their + indulgence. + </p> + <p> + “We reckoned without our constitutional government,” said the grand + equerry; “and Rosembray, Madame la duchesse, will lose a great honor.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be more at our ease,” said a tall thin old man, about + seventy-five years of age, dressed in blue cloth, and wearing his + hunting-cap by permission of the ladies. This personage, who closely + resembled the Duc de Bourbon, was no less than the Prince de Cadignan, + Master of the Hunt, and one of the last of the great French lords. Just as + La Briere was endeavoring to slip behind the sofa and obtain a moment’s + intercourse with Modeste, a man of thirty-eight, short, fat, and very + common in appearance, entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “My son, the Prince de Loudon,” said the Duchesse de Verneuil to Modeste, + who could not restrain the expression of amazement that overspread her + young face on seeing the man who bore the historical name that the hero of + La Vendee had rendered famous by his bravery and the martyrdom of his + death. + </p> + <p> + “Gaspard,” said the duchess, calling her son to her. The young prince came + at once, and his mother continued, motioning to Modeste, “Mademoiselle de + La Bastie, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + The heir presumptive, whose marriage with Desplein’s only daughter had + lately been arranged, bowed to the young girl without seeming struck, as + his father had been, with her beauty. Modeste was thus enabled to compare + the youth of to-day with the old age of a past epoch; for the old Prince + de Cadignan had already said a few words which made her feel that he + rendered as true a homage to womanhood as to royalty. The Duc de Rhetore, + the eldest son of the Duchesse de Chaulieu, chiefly remarkable for manners + that were equally impertinent and free and easy, bowed to Modeste rather + cavalierly. The reason of this contrast between the fathers and the sons + is to be found, probably, in the fact that young men no longer feel + themselves great beings, as their forefathers did, and they dispense with + the duties of greatness, knowing well that they are now but the shadow of + it. The fathers retain the inherent politeness of their vanished grandeur, + like the mountain-tops still gilded by the sun when all is twilight in the + valley. + </p> + <p> + Ernest was at last able to slip a word into Modeste’s ear, and she rose + immediately. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said the duchesse, thinking she was going to dress, and pulling + a bell-rope, “they shall show you your apartment.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest accompanied Modeste to the foot of the grand staircase, presenting + the request of the luckless poet, and endeavoring to touch her feelings by + describing Melchior’s agony. + </p> + <p> + “You see, he loves—he is a captive who thought he could break his + chain.” + </p> + <p> + “Love in such a rapid seeker after fortune!” retorted Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, you are at the entrance of life; you do not know its + defiles. The inconsistencies of a man who falls under the dominion of a + woman much older than himself should be forgiven, for he is really not + accountable. Think how many sacrifices Canalis has made to her. He has + sown too much seed of that kind to resign the harvest; the duchess + represents to him ten years of devotion and happiness. You made him forget + all that, and unfortunately, he has more vanity than pride; he did not + reflect on what he was losing until he met Madame Chaulieu here to-day. If + you really understood him, you would help him. He is a child, always + mismanaging his life. You call him a seeker after fortune, but he seeks + very badly; like all poets, he is a victim of sensations; he is childish, + easily dazzled like a child by anything that shines, and pursuing its + glitter. He used to love horses and pictures, and he craved fame,—well, + he sold his pictures to buy armor and old furniture of the Renaissance and + Louis XV.; just now he is seeking political power. Admit that his hobbies + are noble things.” + </p> + <p> + “You have said enough,” replied Modeste; “come,” she added, seeing her + father, whom she called with a motion of her head to give her his arm; + “come with me, and I will give you that scrap of paper; you shall carry it + to the great man and assure him of my condescension to his wishes, but on + one condition,—you must thank him in my name for the pleasure I have + taken in seeing one of the finest of the German plays performed in my + honor. I have learned that Goethe’s masterpiece is neither Faust nor + Egmont—” and then, as Ernest looked at the malicious girl with a + puzzled air, she added: “It is Torquato Tasso! Tell Monsieur de Canalis to + re-read it,” she added smiling; “I particularly desire that you will + repeat to your friend word for word what I say; for it is not an epigram, + it is the justification of his conduct,—with this trifling + difference, that he will, I trust, become more and more reasonable, thanks + to the folly of his Eleonore.” + </p> + <p> + The duchess’s head-woman conducted Modeste and her father to their + apartment, where Francoise Cochet had already put everything in order, and + the choice elegance of which astounded the colonel, more especially after + he heard from Francoise that there were thirty other apartments in the + chateau decorated with the same taste. + </p> + <p> + “This is what I call a proper country-house,” said Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “The Comte de La Bastie must build you one like it,” replied her father. + </p> + <p> + “Here, monsieur,” said Modeste, giving the bit of paper to Ernest; “carry + it to our friend and put him out of his misery.” + </p> + <p> + The word <i>our</i> friend struck the young man’s heart. He looked at + Modeste to see if there was anything real in the community of interests + which she seemed to admit, and she, understanding perfectly what his look + meant, added, “Come, go at once, your friend is waiting.” + </p> + <p> + La Briere colored excessively, and left the room in a state of doubt and + anxiety less endurable than despair. The path that approaches happiness + is, to the true lover, like the narrow way which Catholic poetry has + called the entrance to Paradise,—expressing thus a dark and gloomy + passage, echoing with the last cries of earthly anguish. + </p> + <p> + An hour later this illustrious company were all assembled in the salon; + some were playing whist, others conversing; the women had their + embroideries in hand, and all were waiting the announcement of dinner. The + Prince de Cadignan was drawing Monsieur Mignon out upon China, and his + campaigns under the empire, and making him talk about the Portendueres, + the L’Estorades, and the Maucombes, Provencal families; he blamed him for + not seeking service, and assured him that nothing would be easier than to + restore him to his rank as colonel of the Guard. + </p> + <p> + “A man of your birth and your fortune ought not to belong to the present + Opposition,” said the prince, smiling. + </p> + <p> + This society of distinguished persons not only pleased Modeste, but it + enabled her to acquire, during her stay, a perfection of manners which + without this revelation she would have lacked all her life. Show a clock + to an embryo mechanic, and you reveal to him the whole mechanism; he thus + develops the germs of his faculty which lie dormant within him. In like + manner Modeste had the instinct to appropriate the distinctive qualities + of Madame de Maufrigneuse and Madame de Chaulieu. For her, the sight of + these women was an education; whereas a bourgeois would merely have + ridiculed their ways or made them absurd by clumsy imitation. A well-born, + well-educated, and right-minded young woman like Modeste fell naturally + into connection with these people, and saw at once the differences that + separate the aristocratic world from the bourgeois world, the provinces + from the faubourg Saint-Germain; she caught the almost imperceptible + shadings; in short, she perceived the grace of the “grande dame” without + doubting that she could herself acquire it. She noticed also that her + father and La Briere appeared infinitely better in this Olympus than + Canalis. The great poet, abdicating his real and incontestable power, that + of the mind, became nothing more than a courtier seeking a ministry, + intriguing for an order, and forced to please the whole galaxy. Ernest de + La Briere, without ambitions, was able to be himself; while Melchior + became, to use a vulgar expression, a mere toady, and courted the Prince + de Loudon, the Duc de Rhetore, the Vicomte de Serizy, or the Duc de + Maufrigneuse, like a man not free to assert himself, as did Colonel + Mignon, who was justly proud of his campaigns, and of the confidence of + the Emperor Napoleon. Modeste took note of the strained efforts of the man + of real talent, seeking some witticism that should raise a laugh, some + clever speech, some compliment with which to flatter these grand + personages, whom it was his interest to please. In a word, to Modeste’s + eyes the peacock plucked out his tail-feathers. + </p> + <p> + Toward the middle of the evening the young girl sat down with the grand + equerry in a corner of the salon. She led him there purposely to end a + suit which she could no longer encourage if she wished to retain her + self-respect. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le duc, if you really knew me,” she said, “you would understand + how deeply I am touched by your attentions. It is because of the profound + respect I feel for your character, and the friendship which a soul like + yours inspires in mine, that I cannot endure to wound your self-love. + Before your arrival in Havre I loved sincerely, deeply, and forever, one + who is worthy of being loved, and my affection for whom is still a secret; + but I wish you to know—and in saying this I am more sincere than + most young girls—that had I not already formed this voluntary + attachment, you would have been my choice, for I recognize your noble and + beautiful qualities. A few words which your aunt and sister have said to + me as to your intentions lead me to make this frank avowal. If you think + it desirable, a letter from my mother shall recall me, on pretence of her + illness, to-morrow morning before the hunt begins. Without your consent I + do not choose to be present at a fete which I owe to your kindness, and + where, if my secret should escape me, you might feel hurt and defrauded. + You will ask me why I have come here at all. I could not withstand the + invitation. Be generous enough not to reproach me for what was almost a + necessary curiosity. But this is not the chief, not the most delicate + thing I have to say to you. You have firm friends in my father and myself,—more + so than perhaps you realize; and as my fortune was the first cause that + brought you to me, I wish to say—but without intending to use it as + a sedative to calm the grief which gallantry requires you to testify—that + my father has thought over the affair of the marshes, his friend Dumay + thinks your project feasible, and they have already taken steps to form a + company. Gobenheim, Dumay, and my father have subscribed fifteen hundred + thousand francs, and undertake to get the rest from capitalists, who will + feel it in their interest to take up the matter. If I have not the honor + of becoming the Duchesse d’Herouville, I have almost the certainty of + enabling you to choose her, free from all trammels in your choice, and in + a higher sphere than mine. Oh! let me finish,” she cried, at a gesture + from the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Judging by my nephew’s emotion,” whispered Mademoiselle d’Herouville to + her niece, “it is easy to see you have a sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le duc, all this was settled in my mind the day of our first + ride, when I heard you deplore your situation. This is what I have wished + to say to you. That day determined my future life. Though you did not make + the conquest of a woman, you have at least gained faithful friends at + Ingouville—if you will deign to accord us that title.” + </p> + <p> + This little discourse, which Modeste had carefully thought over, was said + with so much charm of soul that the tears came to the grand equerry’s + eyes; he seized her hand and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “Stay during the hunt,” he said; “my want of merit has accustomed me to + these refusals; but while accepting your friendship and that of the + colonel, you must let me satisfy myself by the judgment of competent + scientific men, that the draining of those marshes will be no risk to the + company you speak of, before I agree to the generous offer of your + friends. You are a noble girl, and though my heart aches to think I can + only be your friend, I will glory in that title, and prove it to you at + all times and in all seasons.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, Monsieur le duc, let us keep our secret. My choice will not + be known, at least I think not, until after my mother’s complete recovery. + I should like our first blessing to come from her eyes.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + “Ladies,” said the Prince de Cadignan, as the guests were about to + separate for the night, “I know that several of you propose to follow the + hounds with us to-morrow, and it becomes my duty to tell you that if you + will be Dianas you must rise, like Diana, with the dawn. The meet is for + half-past eight o’clock. I have in the course of my life seen many women + display greater courage than men, but for a few seconds only; and you will + need a strong dose of resolution to keep you on horseback the whole day, + barring a halt for breakfast, which we shall take, like true hunters and + huntresses, on the nail. Are you still determined to show yourselves + trained horse-women?” + </p> + <p> + “Prince, it is necessary for me to do so,” said Modeste, adroitly. + </p> + <p> + “I answer for myself,” said the Duchesse de Chaulieu. + </p> + <p> + “And I for my daughter Diane; she is worthy of her name,” added the + prince. “So, then, you all persist in your intentions? However, I shall + arrange, for the sake of Madame and Mademoiselle de Verneuil and others of + the party who stay at home, to drive the stag to the further end of the + pond.” + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself quite easy, mesdames,” said the Prince de Loudon, when the + Royal Huntsman had left the room; “that breakfast ‘on the nail’ will take + place under a comfortable tent.” + </p> + <p> + The next day, at dawn, all signs gave promise of a glorious day. The + skies, veiled by a slight gray vapor, showed spaces of purest blue, and + would surely be swept clear before mid-day by the northwest wind, which + was already playing with the fleecy cloudlets. As the hunting party left + the chateau, the Master of the Hunt, the Duc de Rhetore, and the Prince de + Loudon, who had no ladies to escort, rode in the advance, noticing the + white masses of the chateau, with its rising chimneys relieved against the + brilliant red-brown foliage which the trees in Normandy put on at the + close of a fine autumn. + </p> + <p> + “The ladies are fortunate in their weather,” remarked the Duc de Rhetore. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in spite of all their boasting,” replied the Prince de Cadignan, “I + think they will let us hunt without them!” + </p> + <p> + “So they might, if each had not a squire,” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the attention of these determined huntsmen—for the + Prince de Loudon and the Duc de Rhetore are of the race of Nimrod, and the + best shots of the faubourg Saint-Germain—was attracted by a loud + altercation; and they spurred their horses to an open space at the + entrance to the forest of Rosembray, famous for its mossy turf, which was + appointed for the meet. The cause of the quarrel was soon apparent. The + Prince de Loudon, afflicted with anglomania, had brought out his own + hunting establishment, which was exclusively Britannic, and placed it + under orders of the Master of the Hunt. Now, one of his men, a little + Englishman,—fair, pale, insolent, and phlegmatic, scarcely able to + speak a word of French, and dressed with a neatness which distinguishes + all Britons, even those of the lower classes,—had posted himself on + one side of this open space. John Barry wore a short frock-coat, buttoned + tightly at the waist, made of scarlet cloth, with buttons bearing the De + Verneuil arms, white leather breeches, top-boots, a striped waistcoat, and + a collar and cape of black velvet. He held in his hand a small + hunting-whip, and hanging to his wrist by a silken cord was a brass horn. + This man, the first whipper-in, was accompanied by two thorough-bred dogs,—fox-hounds, + white, with liver spots, long in the leg, fine in the muzzle, with slender + heads, and little ears at their crests. The huntsman—famous in the + English county from which the Prince de Loudon had obtained him at great + cost—was in charge of an establishment of fifteen horses and sixty + English hounds, which cost the Duc de Verneuil, who was nothing of a + huntsman, but chose to indulge his son in this essentially royal taste, an + enormous sum of money to keep up. + </p> + <p> + Now, when John arrived on the ground, he found himself forestalled by + three other whippers-in, in charge of two of the royal packs of hounds + which had been brought there in carts. They were the three best huntsmen + of the Prince de Cadignan, and presented, both in character and in their + distinctively French costume, a marked contrast to the representative of + insolent Albion. These favorites of the Prince, each wearing full-brimmed, + three-cornered hats, very flat and very wide-spreading, beneath which + grinned their swarthy, tanned, and wrinkled faces, lighted by three pairs + of twinkling eyes, were noticeably lean, sinewy, and vigorous, like men in + whom sport had become a passion. All three were supplied with immense + horns of Dampierre, wound with green worsted cords, leaving only the brass + tubes visible; but they controlled their dogs by the eye and voice. Those + noble animals were far more faithful and submissive subjects than the + human lieges whom the king was at that moment addressing; all were marked + with white, black, or liver spots, each having as distinctive a + countenance as the soldiers of Napoleon, their eyes flashing like diamonds + at the slightest noise. One of them, brought from Poitou, was short in the + back, deep in the shoulder, low-jointed, and lop-eared; the other, from + England, white, fine as a greyhound with no belly, small ears, and built + for running. Both were young, impatient, and yelping eagerly, while the + old hounds, on the contrary, covered with scars, lay quietly with their + heads on their forepaws, and their ears to the earth like savages. + </p> + <p> + As the Englishman came up, the royal dogs and huntsmen looked at each + other as though they said, “If we cannot hunt by ourselves his Majesty’s + service is insulted.” + </p> + <p> + Beginning with jests, the quarrel presently grew fiercer between Monsieur + Jacquin La Roulie, the old French whipper-in, and John Barry, the young + islander. The two princes guessed from afar the subject of the + altercation, and the Master of the Hunt, setting spurs to his horse, + brought it to an end by saying, in a voice of authority:— + </p> + <p> + “Who drew the wood?” + </p> + <p> + “I, monseigneur,” said the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said the Prince de Cadignan, proceeding to take Barry’s + report. + </p> + <p> + Dogs and men became silent and respectful before the Royal Huntsman, as + though each recognized his dignity as supreme. The prince laid out the + day’s work; for it is with a hunt as it is with a battle, and the Master + of Charles X.‘s hounds was the Napoleon of forests. Thanks to the + admirable system which he has introduced into French venery, he was able + to turn his thoughts exclusively to the science and strategy of it. He now + quietly assigned a special duty to the Prince de Loudon’s establishment, + that of driving the stag to water, when, as he expected, the royal hounds + had sent it into the Crown forest which outlined the horizon directly in + front of the chateau. The prince knew well how to soothe the self-love of + his old huntsmen by giving them the most arduous part of the work, and + also that of the Englishman, whom he employed at his own speciality, + affording him a chance to show the fleetness of his horses and dogs in the + open. The two national systems were thus face to face and allowed to do + their best under each other’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Does monseigneur wish us to wait any longer?” said La Roulie, + respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean, old friend,” said the prince. “It is late, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Here come the ladies,” said the second whipper-in. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the cavalcade of sixteen riders was seen to approach at the + head of which were the green veils of the four ladies. Modeste, + accompanied by her father, the grand equerry, and La Briere, was in the + advance, beside the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse whom the Vicomte de Serizy + escorted. Behind them rode the Duchesse de Chaulieu, flanked by Canalis, + on whom she was smiling without a trace of rancor. When they had reached + the open space where the huntsmen with their red coats and brass bugles, + surrounded by the hounds, made a picture worthy of Van der Meulen, the + Duchesse de Chaulieu, who, in spite of her embonpoint, sat her horse + admirably, rode up to Modeste, finding it more for her dignity not to + avoid that young person, to whom the evening before she had not said a + single word. + </p> + <p> + When the Master of the Hunt finished his compliments to the ladies on + their amazing punctuality, Eleonore deigned to observe the magnificent + whip which sparked in Modeste’s little hand, and graciously asked leave to + look at it. + </p> + <p> + “I have never seen anything of the kind more beautiful,” she said, showing + it to Diane de Maufrigneuse. “It is in keeping with its possessor,” she + added, returning it to Modeste. + </p> + <p> + “You must admit, Madame la duchesse,” answered Mademoiselle de La Bastie, + with a tender and malicious glance at La Briere, “that it is a rather + strange gift from the hand of a future husband.” + </p> + <p> + “I should take it,” said Madame de Maufrigneuse, “as a declaration of my + rights, in remembrance of Louis XIV.” + </p> + <p> + La Briere’s eyes were suffused, and for a moment he dropped his reins; but + a second glance from Modeste ordered him not to betray his happiness. The + hunt now began. + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Herouville took occasion to say in a low voice to his fortunate + rival; “Monsieur, I hope that you will make your wife happy; if I can be + useful to you in any way, command my services; I should be only too glad + to contribute to the happiness of so charming a pair.” + </p> + <p> + This great day, in which such vast interests of heart and fortune were + decided, caused but one anxiety to the Master of the Hunt,—namely, + whether or not the stag would cross the pond and be killed on the lawn + before the house; for huntsmen of his calibre are like great chess-players + who can predict a checkmate under certain circumstances. The happy old man + succeeded to the height of his wishes; the run was magnificent, and the + ladies released him from his attendance upon them for the hunt of the next + day but one,—which, however, turned out to be rainy. + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Verneuil’s guests stayed five days at Rosembray. On the last + day the Gazette de France announced the appointment of Monsieur le Baron + de Canalis to the rank of commander of the Legion of honor, and to the + post of minister at Carlsruhe. + </p> + <p> + When, early in the month of December, Madame de La Bastie, operated upon + by Desplein, recovered her sight and saw Ernest de La Briere for the first + time, she pressed Modeste’s hand and whispered in her ear, “I should have + chosen him myself.” + </p> + <p> + Toward the last of February all the deeds for the estates in Provence were + signed by Latournelle, and about that time the family of La Bastie + obtained the marked honor of the king’s signature to the marriage contract + and to the ordinance transmitting their title and arms to La Briere, who + henceforth took the name of La Briere-La Bastie. The estate of La Bastie + was entailed by letters-patent issued about the end of April. La Briere’s + witnesses on the occasion of his marriage were Canalis and the minister + whom he had served for five years as secretary. Those of the bride were + the Duc d’Herouville and Desplein, whom the Mignons long held in grateful + remembrance, after giving him magnificent and substantial proofs of their + regard. + </p> + <p> + Later, in the course of this long history of our manners and customs, we + may again meet Monsieur and Madame de La Briere-La Bastie; and those who + have the eyes to see, will then behold how sweet, how easy, is the + marriage yoke with an educated and intelligent woman; for Modeste, who had + the wit to avoid the follies of pedantry, is the pride and happiness of + her husband, as she is of her family and of all those who surround her. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> + <h3> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beaupre, Fanny A Start in Life + The Muse of the Department + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bixiou, Jean-Jacques The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Government Clerks + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Firm of Nucingen + The Muse of the Department + Cousin Betty + The Member for Arcis + Beatrix + A Man of Business + Gaudissart II. + The Unconscious Humorists + Cousin Pons +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Blondet, Emile Jealousies of a Country Town + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Another Study of Woman + The Secrets of a Princess + A Daughter of Eve + The Firm of Nucingen + The Peasantry +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bridau, Joseph The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Start in Life + Another Study of Woman + Pierre Grassou + Letters of Two Brides + Cousin Betty + The Member for Arcis +</pre> + <p> + Cadignan, Prince de The Secrets of a Princess + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Canalis, Constant-Cyr-Melchior, Baron de Letters of Two Brides + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + The Magic Skin + Another Study of Woman + A Start in Life + Beatrix + The Unconscious Humorists + The Member for Arcis +</pre> + <p> + Chatillonest, De A Woman of Thirty + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Chaulieu, Henri, Duc de Letters of Two Brides + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Thirteen +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dauriat A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Desplein The Atheist’s Mass + Cousin Pons + Lost Illusions + The Thirteen + The Government Clerks + Pierrette + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Seamy Side of History + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Honorine +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Estourny, Charles d’ Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + A Man of Business +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fontaine, Comte de The Chouans + The Ball at Sceaux + Cesar Birotteau + The Government Clerks +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Grandlieu, Duc Ferdinand de The Gondreville Mystery + The Thirteen + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Herouville, Duc d’ The Hated Son + Jealousies of a Country Town + Cousin Betty +</pre> + <p> + La Bastie la Briere, Ernest de The Government Clerks + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +La Bastie la Briere, Madame Ernest de (Modeste) The Member for Arcis + Cousin Betty +</pre> + <p> + Loudon, Prince de The Chouans + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Marsay, Henri de The Thirteen + The Unconscious Humorists + Another Study of Woman + The Lily of the Valley + Father Goriot + Jealousies of a Country Town + Ursule Mirouet + A Marriage Settlement + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Letters of Two Brides + The Ball at Sceaux + The Secrets of a Princess + The Gondreville Mystery + A Daughter of Eve +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Maufrigneuse, Duchesse de The Secrets of a Princess + Jealousies of a Country Town + The Muse of the Department + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Letters of Two Brides + Another Study of Woman + The Gondreville Mystery + The Member for Arcis +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nucingen, Baronne Delphine de Father Goriot + The Thirteen + Eugenie Grandet + Cesar Birotteau + Melmoth Reconciled + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + The Commission in Lunacy + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Firm of Nucingen + Another Study of Woman + A Daughter of Eve + The Member for Arcis +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Schinner, Hippolyte The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + A Start in Life + Albert Savarus + The Government Clerks + The Imaginary Mistress + The Unconscious Humorists +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Serizy, Comte Hugret de A Start in Life + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Honorine + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Serizy, Vicomte de A Start in Life + The Imaginary Mistress +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sommervieux, Theodore de At the Sign of the Cat and Racket + The Government Clerks +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stidmann Beatrix + The Member for Arcis + Cousin Betty + Cousin Pons + The Unconscious Humorists +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1482 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |